In an apartment in Santa Clara, a group of police officers stand watching Adrian Monk work. Monk turns in a circle, looking from the ceiling to a dead woman--Nicole Vasques--lying on the floor.
Monk: The stove.
Lt. Gitomer: (pointing to the stove) Over here, it's in the kitchen.
Monk: No, I mean my stove. I think I left it on.
Sharona: It's okay. I, uh, checked it as we were leaving.
Monk: Are you sure? Did you turn the knob?
Sharona: Yeah.
Monk: The little knob, though.
Sharona: I turned all the knobs. The stove is off, Adrian.
Lt. Gitomer: Excuse me, sir. We believe it was a burglary gone sour. She walked in, she surprised him, he panicked. He grabbed a knife from the kitchen-
Monk: (interrupting him) No. No. No, no, no, no, this - this was no burglary.
Lt. Gitomer: It wasn't?
Monk: He tried to make it look like one, but this guy was cold as ice.
He pauses to touch a lamp.
Monk: He wore slippers to avoid leaving shoeprints. (touching the lamp again) Not something your neighborhood crackhead is prone to do.
Sharona gives Monk - who is still touching the lamp - a dirty look.
Sharona: Adrian. Adrian!
Monk touches the lamp a final time.
Monk: He was in here. He was waiting.
Lt. Gitomer: Waiting for what?
Monk: (gesturing to the body) You know, for her. He was here for at least an hour. He was smoking. You can still smell it on the curtains. (he smells the curtain) Menthols, Salems. Possibly Newports.
Lt. Gitomer: Maybe she was the smoker.
Monk: No, no, she was a Dutch Calvinist. They don't smoke. They consider their bodies to be a holy - a holy chalice of, uh... I'm sorry, I'm having trouble concentrating because I think I smell gas. (turns to Sharona) Did you hear the click? Because you gotta hear the click, not just feel the click. Hear it.
She glares at him. He gulps.
Monk: Anyway, uh, after he killed Ms...
Lt. Gitomer: Nicole Vasques. 25.
Monk: Yeah, Ms. Vasques - he hung around. He was looking for something.
Lt. Gitomer: Looking for what?
Monk: I don't know. He checked something on her computer. He could've erased a file.
Lt. Gitomer: Anything else?
Monk: Yes, he's tall. He's 6'3'', maybe 6'4''. (to Sharona) What about the pilot light? Because, you know, sometimes it goes out. You remember the last time it almost went out?
Sharona: The pilot light is fine! It's fine! (sighs) Do you want me to drive all the way back to the city and check the stove? I mean, is that what you're telling me to do?
Monk: No. No, no. Would you? Could you? That would be great.
Sharona: Um, excuse me, gentleman. Just one second, okay? Just...
Officer: (to Gitomer) Who is she?
Lt. Gitomer: Just his nurse.
Sharona: (to Monk) Forget about the damn stove, okay? You are on a job here. You're a private consultant.
Monk: I know, but I smelled it. And -
Sharona: You gotta shut up. The department thinks you're nuts. You're never gonna get reinstated, you're never gonna get hired again, and we're both gonna be unemployed. Do you understand the importance of what I am saying?
Monk nods.
Sharona: Now, pull your twisted self together, concentrate, and be brilliant. You're brilliant.
Monk beams.
Lt. Gitomer: Excuse me, sir. I'm sure that you're right, but how do you know all that? I mean, about the computer.
Monk: It's patently obvious, isn't it? There are no prints on the keyboard, not even hers. Why? He used it, he wiped them clean.
Lt. Gitomer: And you said that he was tall?
Monk: Well, the victim's short. Maybe 5'4". But look at the chair, it's lowered almost all the way.
Lt. Gitomer: Wow. We've been here all morning and nobody even noticed that.
Sharona grins. Monk shrugs.
Monk: Well.
Lt. Gitomer: Sir, if you can stick around for a bit, the coroner's on his way. We should have a...
Monk: No, no, I'm sorry, I gotta go. I'm pretty sure I smell gas!
Sharona: Gentlemen, you know where to find us. Just call.
She and Monk rush out of the room.
Officer: So that's the famous Adrian Monk?
Officer 2: Yeah, the living legend.
Lt. Gitomer: If you call that living.
Back in his apartment, Monk is getting ready for a session with his therapist, Dr. Kroger. He uses a wipe to clean his window and brushes his teeth.
Monk: (garbled) 31, 32, 33, 34, 35, 36, 37, 38, 39, 40. (puts toothbrush down) Doc, I'm feeling great. Dr. Kroger. I'm feeling great, Dr. Kroger.
He goes back to brushing his teeth. A few minutes later, he's taking a shirt out of his dresser.
Monk: (still talking to himself) You can't sweat the small stuff. Just... you go with the flow.
Deciding that his shirts are out of order, he frantically rearranges them. Opening a different drawer, he takes out a ziploc bag with his socks in it.
Monk: It's a new me! It's a whole new me. Thanks to you. I owe it all to you. Feel like I'm back in the saddle. I owe it all to you, doc. Took your advice, doc. I'm going with the flow.
Monk is now talking to his reflection in his bedroom mirror as he flosses. He finishes, smiles, and walks out the door.
Now Monk is finally at Dr. Kroger's office. He sits in a yellow armchair, listening to the waterfall in the courtyard outside and watching Kroger take notes.
Dr. Kroger: So. "Going with the flow." (laughs) Good. Good for you. You've been, what, doing some consulting?
Monk: Yeah, in Santa Clara. I have an old friend there who's a second lieutenant, and he called me in.
Dr. Kroger: Well, how'd that make you feel? I mean, you know, being called in.
Monk: It feels great. Feels like old times.
He glances at Dr. Kroger's couch. One of the pillows is lying on the cushion instead of neatly set against the back. Dr. Kroger follows Monk's gaze.
Monk: Back in the saddle!
Dr. Kroger: Well, do you think you're ready to go back full-time? No, I don't mean consulting. I mean, back on the force.
Monk: Definitely. Absolutely. Do you think I'm ready? That's the question. (he looks back at the pillow.)
Dr. Kroger: Are you okay?
Monk: Yeah, I'm fine.
Dr. Kroger: Well, you keep looking at the pillow. I mean, if you want to fix the pillow, it's okay. You can fix the pillow, it's okay. No, really.
Monk: No, no, no, no, I was just thinking about... No, I'm fine.
Dr. Kroger: How are you sleeping? Are you still having those dreams?
Monk: Well, Trudy and I were married for seven years. It would be weird if I... if I never dreamt about her, right? (about the pillow) You're testing me, aren't you? You left it like that on purpose.
Dr. Kroger: Did I?
Monk: (laughs) Okay. Okay. Yeah, so anyway, um... I've been feeling... excuse me.
He suddenly stands up and walks over to the misaligned pillow, straightening it.
Monk: Hold on. That... just...There. Just... there. Okay. (straightens a flower vase as well) No big deal. Where were we?
A mysterious man grabs a bucket of paint from his van and heads into a building. The elevator chimes and he steps out, walking with purpose through hallways being renovated. He steps into a taped-off room and locks the door. Once alone, we see that what he has been carrying wrapped in a stained cloth is a rifle, which he clicks on and brings up to the window. It's pointing directly at a campaign below, where mayoral candidate Warren St. Claire stands talking to the crowd.
St. Claire: You people sound like you're ready for a change! (crowd cheers) Am I right or am I right?
Gavin Lloyd, St. Claire's campaign manager, is talking to a man at the side of the stage.
Gavin: The band doesn't start playing until the balloons go, okay? Right? Yeah.
St. Claire: Now, San Francisco has a simple decision to make.
Gavin: Wait for my cue.
St. Claire: Do we tread water or do we move ahead?
Crowd: Ahead!
St. Claire: But hell, that's all right.
The scope of the man above's rifle has located St. Claire.
Gavin: (sitting next to St. Claire's wife, Miranda) Hey, how we doing?
Miranda: I'm getting lockjaw, Gavin. When can I stop smiling?
Gavin: I'm afraid you're gonna have to get used to it, Miranda. I told you when I signed on, City Hall is just the beginning. I am your Moses and I'm going to take you and your husband to the promised land.
St. Claire: As my old man used to say...
Miranda: I've seen Sacramento, Gavin. It's hardly the promised land.
Gavin: Forget Sacramento, I'm talking 'bout the White House.
St. Claire: And don't forget, when you elect me, you're getting two mayors for the price of one. My wife Miranda.
He gestures to Miranda, who stands up, still smiling, and joins him at the podium.
St. Claire: I'm not just talking the talk, I'm ready to walk the walk. Are you ready to walk with me?
The crowd cheers and the band begins playing. St. Claire waves at the crowd. A shot fires suddenly - hitting his bodyguard, Jason Rondstadt. The cheering stops abruptly and changes to screams.
Gavin: (pointing at the window) He's up there! Up there!
Captain Leland Stottlemeyer sits at his desk in the SFPD, talking to someone at the phone. There's a knock at his door.
Stottlemeyer: Okay, I'll call you back. I'll call you back! Okay.
Randy Disher enters.
Randy: St. Claire just issued another statement.
Stottlemeyer: Is he blaming us?
Randy: Not yet, just ra-ra stuff. He will not be silenced, he will not be intimidated -
Stottlemeyer: - and he will be blaming us, soon enough. Everybody does, sooner or later. We gotta make a statement too. Is the press here? Who's here?
Randy: Uh, the girl from Channel 3.
Stottlemeyer: The pretty one?
Randy: No, the other one.
Stottlemeyer: That's okay.
Randy: Good, who do you want on camera?
Stottlemeyer: Me. I'll do it. Yep, I think it'll reassure people to see me taking point.
Randy: Yes, sir.
Stottlemeyer: Anything on the shooter? Say yes.
Randy: Uh, the forensic boys are still on site, but nothing so far. (looking at the door) Incoming deputy mayor.
Stottlemeyer: Hello, Sheldon Berger. Who let you off your leash?
Sheldon: I just came from the hospital. The bodyguard didn't make it. Mayor's on his way back from Sacramento. Look, I don't have to tell you, Captain, we're on a bus to hell.
Stottlemeyer: I understand.
Sheldon: If we don't slam-dunk this thing, it's gonna look like we're not trying.
Stottlemeyer: I'm not an idiot, Sheldon! I've got every available man on the case.
Sheldon: No, you don't. The mayor wants you to bring in... your old friend.
Stottlemeyer: Monk?!
Monk and Sharona are driving to meet Stottlemeyer and Disher.
Monk: Bus, bus, bus!
Sharona: I still can't believe this. The mayor asked for you personally.
Monk: Hey, there's a bus on the right.
Sharona: Oh, this is great. This is gonna get you back on the force, I'm telling you.
Monk: I already have a job, remember? The girl in Santa Clara - Merging, merging! Everybody's - What lane are you in?!
Sharona: You know what, you wanna drive? You wanna drive? I'll sit there and yell and point and drive you nuts, 'cause you're driving me nuts, Adrian!
Monk: Okay. All right. I'm sorry. (as Sharona speeds through a red light) It's red! It's red! Come on, it's red!
They've arrived at the building where Stottlemeyer and Randy wait. Sharona fends off reporters as they make their way to the doors.
Sharona: Be cool. No, no, not today. No, you can't today.
Randy: Look who's here, the defective detective.
Stottlemeyer: Hello, Monk. Sharona.
Monk: Captain. Lieutanant.
Monk and Stottlemeyer shake hands. Sharona hands Monk a wipe.
Sharona: Hi.
Stottlemeyer: You look good. Dr. Kroger says you've been getting out some.
Sharona: Oh, he's really doing great. I can't even keep up with him - thanks. (Monk had handed her the wipe back.)
Stottlemeyer: Excellent. Well, the candidate is waiting for us upstairs. (as they climb the stairs) I want to make this crystal clear: you are here because the mayor thinks you can walk on water, but you're a civilian now, Monk. You have observer status only. Okay? When I'm in there, I talk, you say nothing. Understand? Look, Monk, when I took your badge three years ago, I told you nothing would give me more pleasure than to see you reinstated, and I meant that. But you're obviously not ready.
Monk: Is that you talking or the uniform?
Stottlemeyer: I am the uniform, Monk. You didn't understand that back when I was your watch commander. Now, you just stay out of my way, and we'll be fine.
Monk: Yes, sir. And I'm sure you and Karen will work things out.
Stottlemeyer freezes.
Stottlemeyer: What did you say?
Monk: You and your wife. You're having some problems.
Stottlemeyer: What are you talking about? Karen and I are fine. We're 100%.
Monk: Yes, sir. My mistake. Never been happier to be wrong.
They continue walking, but Stottlemeyer takes Monk aside.
Stottlemeyer: Hey, Monk. C'mere. How did you know that?
Monk: You missed a spot shaving. Karen would've caught that. And your necktie, she always ties it for you. She uses that double slip knot. Conclusion: you dressed yourself. And, uh, Ramada Inn cup. Send her some roses maybe.
Stottlemeyer: When we get in there, you don't say anything.
Inside the room:
Gavin: No, no, no, forget it. We're four points behind with ten days to go. I am not putting my man in a box.
Stottlemeyer: Nobody wants to put anybody in a box, Mr. Lloyd.
Randy: All we want to do is limit your public appearances and not announce your schedule in advance.
Gavin: Oh, well, I'm sure the mayor would love that. Maybe we should move the whole campaign and run it from the basement, how 'bout that?
St. Claire: Now, Gavin, that's not fair. The captain's just doing his job.
Stottlemeyer: Mr. St. Claire, can you think of anybody who might wish you harm? A disgruntled employee?
Miranda: Or an ex-wife? Or a union official. I know a couple of ex-business partners who no longer send us Christmas cars. (pats St. Claire's head) You boys have your work cut out for you.
St. Claire: A man who hasn't made any enemies hasn't done squat.
Jesse: Warren, you're sure you want to go through with this? After yesterday, no one would blame you if you quit.
St. Claire: Jesse, you used to say quit was a four-letter word.
Stottlemeyer: Excuse me, we haven't been introduced. I'm sorry, who are you?
Jesse: Jesse Goodman. I work upstairs. Senior vice president/concerned friend.
Stottlemeyer nods. Monk, unbeknownst to the others, has made his way across the room to a board covered in pushpins and is organizing them by color.
St. Claire: I couldn't make this run if Jesse wasn't upstairs minding the store. (spots Miranda, who is in the corner, drinking) Baby! Do you need, uh...
Miranda: Yes, I do. Somebody tried to kill my husband yesterday right in front of me.
Stottlemeyer: (upon seeing Monk) Monk!
Miranda: Excuse me! What are you doing?
Monk: I was just straightening up...
Gavin: Oh, my God, excuse me. That's color-coded by voting precinct! It took me three weeks to set this up.
Monk: I'm sorry.
Stottlemeyer: Monk!
Miranda: What department are you with?
Gavin turns the board away from Monk.
Stottlemeyer: Ma'am, this is Adrian Monk. He's no longer with our department, he's here as a private consultant.
Monk: (flipping the board over so it faces him again) I'll put 'em all back the way they were.
Gavin: (grabbing the board) No, no, no stop. You can't possible remember how everything was, so just -
Sharona: Yes, he can. Yes, he can.
Monk: If you just give me a chance, it really won't take too long. It'll take one second, really, I can do it -
Sharona: Adrian, let go of the board!
Monk obeys. The board suddenly flips back to its original position, and about fifty pushpins fly out, littering the floor and table. Everybody gasps. Monk looks sheepish.
Only a few seconds later has Monk gathered all the pins back into a bowl, proving to everybody that he can indeed remember where they all went. Sharona is grinning again. Stottlemeyer looks exasperated.
Gavin: So, Captain, you say he's no longer with the department?
Stottlemeyer: He was given a 315.
Randy: Psychological discharge.
Sharona: It's a temporary suspension.
Randy: A psychological discharge.
Sharona: It's a temporary suspension. He's up for a review next week.
Miranda: Is this a joke? Someone tries to kill my husband, and you send in Rain Man?
Monk is still hard at work putting the pins back on the board as everyone watches in disbelief.
Stottlemeyer: Mrs. St. Claire, I can assure you, Mr. Monk's involvement is an indication of just how seriously we are taking this case.
Gavin: Is he, uh... (whistles)
Sharona: No, no, it's a form of anxiety disorder. A severe case like this is usually triggered by a single traumatic incident.
Miranda: (amused) Someone hit him over the head with a shovel?
Sharona: (coldly) His wife was murdered four years ago. A car bomb.
Monk finishes arranging the pins and smiles as Gavin, stunned, walks up to him.
Monk: There!
Gavin: Unbelievable.
Monk: Wait! (switches two pins around) There. Now I'd like to see where the shots were fired from.
Stottlemeyer, Randy, Sharona, and a police officer are watching Monk as he does the same routine he did with Nicole Vasques's apartment, but now in the paint-stained room from where St. Claire was shot at. He turns in a circle, hands outstretched, completely silent.
Female Officer: What's he doing?
Sharona: I love this part. He does this zen-Sherlock Holmes thing.
Monk spots a clue. Smiling, he indicates the window.
Stottlemeyer: What?
Monk: He used the drawstring to steady his shot. I've seen it before. In the field manual for the green berets. Special forces.
Stottlemeyer: It's possible.
Monk: (bending over to pick up a ruler) Captain, could you grab this? It'll just take a minute. Hold this up. Like a rifle.
Stottlemeyer: Right. (he takes the ruler and stands with it by the window)
Monk: How tall are you?
Stottlemeyer: 6 foot.
Monk: No, really.
Stottlemeyer: 5'11''.
Monk: Our guy was taller. 6'3", maybe 6'4". Just like Santa Clara.
Stottlemeyer: Just like what?
Sharona: The homicide in Santa Clara. We've been consulting on it.
Randy: I've read about that. It's a completely different M.O.
Stottlemeyer: Oh, what, you think there's a connection because this guy might be tall? (sarcastically) Lieutenant, get the Warriors on the line. I want to talk to Antoine Sanderson, see if he's got an alibi for Thursday morning.
Monk: Captain, do you know the percentage of men over 6'3"?
Stottlemeyer: No, do you?
Monk: Maybe 0.5%. The odds of two men in this city in that category committing premeditated murder within two days of each other are astronomical.
Stottlemeyer: What, all because of a twisted Venetian blind cord? Monk, Monk, that's a stretch, even for you.
Monk: That and he wore slippers. (sniffs the curtains) And he smokes Newports.
Stottlemeyer: (laughs) This isn't police work. This is Vaudeville.
Monk: He's already killed two... (freezes upon seeing how high up they are from the window) Two...
Sharona walks over to Monk and takes him by the arm, leading him out of the room.
Sharona: Oh, it's nothing. He just has a little problem with heights.
Later, Monk and Sharona meet with a campaign volunteer, Jake, in the hope of discovering more about Nicole Vasques.
Jake: 'Kay, we, uh, just gotta find an open computer and then I can check up the name. Oh, over here.
He leads them to a computer and sits down.
Jake: So, um, V-A-S -
Sharona: Q-U-E-S. Nicole Vasques.
Jake: I don't know her, but that doesn't mean anything. I only been here a couple of days. But, uh, let's see.
He types something into the computer. A list of names scroll by, and then a sign pops up that says 'no result.'
Jake: She's not a volunteer. And she's not on staff, sorry.
Monk: What's your name?
Jake: Jake.
Monk: Jake. My name's Adrian Monk. (hands a business card to Jake) Here's my card. You think of anything, you give me a call.
Jake: (stowing business card away in his hat) Okay, sure.
Monk and Sharona have arrived at a church for Jason Rondstadt's funeral. Outside, a bell tolls. Inside, Warren St. Claire is delivering a touching eulogy.
St. Claire: What does a man say about a friend who took a bullet that was meant for him? Mere words like "thank you" seem so hollow. When I heard Jason had passed, I considered quitting the race.
Sharona: (to Monk) This guy is too good to be true.
Monk: Maybe he's a decent man. Isn't that possible?
Sharona shrugs.
St. Claire: And then I talked to Risa, Jason's mother. And she reminded me her son was no quitter. Jason detested...
Sharona: You know what I think? I think he did it.
Monk: Who?
Sharona: St. Claire. (off Monk's scoff) You can't buy this kind of publicity, come on.
Monk: Right.
St. Claire: See it through or why begin at all?
Sharona: Well, what do you think?
Monk: I think this case and the girl in Santa Clara are connected somehow.
Sharona: So...?
Monk: (searching his pockets) Someone who knew them both. Someone, uh... (patting his coat frantically)
Sharona: What are you doing?
Monk: Do you have my keys? I can't find my keys.
Sharona: I don't have your keys. I never - Adrian, calm down.
Monk: Did you put them in your bag?
Sharona: No! I don't touch your keys, because if I touch your keys, you freak out! Calm down!
St. Claire: (continuing his speech) The democracy of death...
Sharona scoffs as Monk flails around with his coat. Miranda St. Claire looks up at them suspiciously.
St. Claire: Let's remember Jason as he was.
Monk: (finally finds his keys; begins to toss them in the air and catch them) Ah, got 'em. Okay. I got 'em. Okay. Such a relief, you know?
Monk tosses the keys a bit too far. They fly over the edge of the balcony and land... in the casket, right near the dead bodyguard's hand. Monk peers over the edge.
St. Claire: In a few seconds, we will be closing the casket, and saying goodbye to Jason forever.
Sharona: Adrian, would you - it's okay. We'll make new ones.
Monk: No, it's the key chain. The key chain, it was Trudy's. I gotta... I gotta.. I've got to have those keys. (motioning to a pamphlet) That packet right there - I - just get it.
Sharona: No.
Monk reaches for the packet anyway, and Sharona smacks his hand away. Rolling her eyes, she grabs it herself, and holds it up for Monk. He takes the paperclip.
Sharona: You are going straight to hell.
Monk: I am in hell.
St. Claire: May his loving spirit live forever in our hearts and in our prayers.
Monk pulls some dental floss out of his pocket with an 'I-told-you-so' look at Sharona, who has probably berated him many times for carrying around floss. She glares at him. He briefly stops, maybe frightened by Sharona, but soon resumes pulling out as much floss as he can from the container.
St. Claire: Why don't we take a moment, and meditate silently.
Monk's homemade fishing hook is already on its way down, and as everyone lowers their heads in respect for Jason, he inches the paperclip closer to the keychain.
St. Claire: Now, old friend... we turn and salute you one last time.
St. Claire turns to salute his beloved bodyguard just as Monk's paperclip hooks onto his sleeve, and the dead body salutes back. The church erupts in screams.
Outside:
Miranda: You should be ashamed of yourself! Do you lie awake at night, thinking of ways to disrupt my husband's campaign?
St. Claire: Now, Miranda...
Monk: No, ma'am, I lie awake at night and try not to think at all.
St. Claire: These things happen. Hell, for a minute, I thought I had a new campaign slogan: Vote for St. Claire, he can raise the dead! (laughs) Where's my boy?
Jesse: Right here, sir.
St. Claire: Make sure Miranda gets home.
Jesse: Of course.
Monk: Mrs. St. Claire? Uh, couple of questions.
Miranda: Let me ask you a question. How can you investigate anything? I'm told you're germaphobic, afraid of the dark, heights, crowds... and milk.
Sharona: We're working on the milk. He's making good progress on milk.
Monk: Mrs. St. Claire, I sense that you're a little upset, but I can tell you why I dropped my keys. I've been a bit preoccupied with another case. A girl was murdered in Santa Clara. Uh, Nicole Vasques. Did you know her? (holds up a photo)
Miranda: No.
Monk: No?
Miranda: No.
Monk: No. (to St. Claire) Sir? Sir? Did you know her? Uh, Nicole Vasques.
St. Claire: Uh, no. Should I?
Monk: No, no, no reason you should.
St. Claire: Excuse me. Jesse.
Monk: (to Miranda) Ma'am, if you could take another look. Nicole Vasques.
Miranda: I don't know anyone by that name. What I do know is that if my husband is elected mayor, you will never work in this town again. (to Jesse) Let's go.
Monk: Are you registered to vote?
Sharona: I never vote; it only encourages them. Ugh, let's get out of here. She makes me sick. (as they hurry to the car) Do you know how much her husband's worth?
Monk: No.
Sharona: $150 million. They were talking about it on the radio.
Monk: That's a lot of motive.
Sharona: Yes, it is.
Monk stops for a second despite the pouring rain, watching Miranda and Jesse flirt in their car across the street.
Jesse: You trying to kill yourself?
Miranda: Maybe.
Monk and Sharona are at the police station, waiting for Captain Stottlemeyer. Monk fidgets with his keychain, careful not to let it slip out of his hand. Stottlemeyer enters the room.
Stottlemeyer: Miranda St. Claire called the mayor personally. You couldn't just buy another keychain?
Sharona: Trudy gave it to him. It's irreplaceable.
Randy: Captain! We just got the forensic report back. The bullets were hollow-point. Designed to deform on impact.
Stottlemeyer: Those can't be traced.
Randy: Yeah, but we caught a lucky break. One of them was still intact. They ID'd the weapon. It's a Weatherby Fibermark, which is -
Monk: British. It's British. Long-range. Preferred by mercenaries in paramilitary groups.
Randy: That's right. He's right.
Stottlemeyer: Well, start a list of weapons and/or ammunition sales.
Randy: Yes, sir.
Monk: Could you cross-check that against Nicole Vasques?
Stottlemeyer: Who?
Sharona: The homicide in Santa Clara.
Randy: Sir, your 10:00?
Stottlemeyer: The cases don't overlap, Monk. She worked for the DMV; he was a candidate for mayor. She was behind on her rent; he has houses all over the world! He was stabbed; she was shot! Let it go.
Sharona: We gonna let it go?
Monk: Hell no.
Sharona: What are we gonna do now?
Monk: We're gonna follow the money. Mm! Ah! I've always wanted to say that!
In a classroom, Monk and Sharona watch as Miranda St. Claire reads a story to a group of children and their parents.
Miranda: The queen said to the royal doctor, "I'm so worried about the princess. She has all the emeralds and rubies and riches in the kingdom, but she never laughs. Who can make the princess laugh?" So they called the court jester. The court jester, as everyone knew, was the silliest and funniest court jester that ever there was.
Monk flinches as the press near him scramble to get a shot of Miranda. A child standing in front of Monk begins to cough, not bothering to cover their mouth.
Miranda: With a jingle and a jangle, he rolled into the court. "My queen calls," he sang out as he bowed.
Monk watches, disgusted, as another child rubs his nose.
Miranda: "Jester," said the queen, "the princess has forgotten how to laugh, and I am giving you the job of bringing back her smiles to this court." "When shall I start?" he asked.
Monk pulls his sweater up over his mouth and nose as another boy starts to cough. Sharona gives him a look. Monk sits down awkwardly next to another reporter and a boy picking his nose.
Miranda: Just then, the princess entered the court, and everyone fell silent. "Now is a good a time as any," she said. The jester turned and greeted the princess; he bowed; he rolled end over end, and when he stopped, flowers appeared in his -
Horrified, he makes eye contact with the boy, who studies his finger and proceeds to put it in his mouth. Monk screams and throws himself against the wall. The bell rings.
Later, after the children and their families have left:
Sharona: Are you okay?
Monk: Yeah, I'm better. Where is she?
Sharona: I don't know.
Miranda: (entering the room) Just give me a moment, please.
Sharona: There she is. Hey, you're great with the kids.
Miranda: Yeah, well, it's easy when you don't have any of your own. Let's get this over with. I have a fundraiser in Denver tonight.
Monk: Sure, sure, uh, I only have a couple of questions, Mrs. St. Claire. Just basic background stuff, really.
He drags a kid-sized chair over to sit down and Sharona hands him a wipe to clean it. The chair is too small for Monk, however, and he ends up balancing himself on its small wooden arms.
Monk: Do you have any bank accounts in your own name?
Miranda: No.
Monk: (to Sharona) Do you wanna maybe take some notes here?
Sharona: No, I'll remember it.
Monk: Yeah, probably better to write it down.
He turns the chair around, hoping to sit on the back of it.
Sharona: You don't think I can remember it?
Monk: How long have you and, uh, Warren been married?
Miranda: Five years.
Monk: That must be tough. He's so busy, and now he's running for mayor. I would think that would be kind of stressful.
His plan fails, and he falls off the chair right into Sharona.
Miranda: You've been married, right?
Monk: (trying to compose himself) Yes, uh, I have.
Miranda: Then I don't have to tell you every marriage is stressful. That's why they call it "marriage." Is there anything else?
Monk turns the chair forward again, trying to sit in it sideways.
Monk: Yeah. Uh, are you going to be seeing Mr. Goodman later?
Miranda: Jesse?
Monk: Jesse.
Miranda: Why do you ask?
Monk: Well, if you see him, you know, uh, would you tell him to call me? Because I would just - I'd love to talk to him. And, you know, if you see him.
Miranda: Are you accusing me of something, Mr. Monk?
Monk: I don't know, are you guilty of something? (realizes he's stuck in the chair and chuckles nervously)
Miranda: Oh, Mr. Monk, you seem like an intelligent person. On occasion. Warren is the first man in my life that never gave up on me. Last week if I could have, I would've taken that bullet myself. You have to believe me.
Monk: Mrs. St. Claire, I have to listen to you. (attempts to stand up) I don't have to believe you.
Miranda: I'm leaving now.
Sharona: (once Miranda leaves) She did it. There's no doubt in my mind that witch did it. (answers her phone) Hello? Adrian, it's for you. Okay?
Monk: Yes, Monk.
Jake: Mr. Monk, it's Jake from the St. Claire campaign. I think I found something.
Monk: I'll be right there.
Jake: Actually, I was about to leave. I could drop it off at your place. I'll be there in about a half hour.
Monk: Good, I'll meet you there.
Gavin: Is that a personal call?
Jake: Uh, no, sir -
Gavin: Good.
Monk: I may be a little late.
Jake hangs up.
Gavin: All right, my beautiful people, I love each and every one of you but these envelopes will not get stuffed by themselves.
Later, Jake is on his way to Monk's apartment, bopping his head to the radio as he drives down a hill. He stops for an intersection, and a homeless man rushes across the street to wash his window.
Jake: Oh. No, no, no, no. No, no, no, no, no, no thanks, no, not today! Come on, I just cleaned it! Come on! Aw, all right, fine, fine. Fine.
He rummages in his bag for a quarter, which he hands to the man cleaning his windshield. Instead of taking it, the man grabs Jake's head and bashes it against his steering wheel. He opens the door. pushes Jake to the passenger seat, and keeps driving.
Later, Monk and Sharona approach a crime scene on a steep, muddy slope. Jake's car, thoroughly banged up, lies about halfway down the hill.
Randy: (making his way down the hill with a rope) Hey, Captain. (loses control of the rope, skidding down the hill a few feet) Captain. Captain. We got the preliminary. Probable accident. Severe blunt trauma to the head.
Stottlemeyer: Uh-huh. Okay.
Sharona: (calling out from the road above) Captain? Captain? Are there any documents in the car? Like a notebook?
Stottlemeyer: No.
Sharona turns around to confer with Monk, who mutters something to her and turns back around.
Sharona: Uh, Captain?
Stottlemeyer: What?
Sharona: Check his hat.
Stottlemeyer: What?
Sharona: He used to carry things in his hat.
Stottlemeyer: Was there a hat?
Randy: They didn't pull anything.
Stottlemeyer: He wasn't wearing a hat!
Sharona turns back to Monk.
Stottlemeyer: What are you doing? Come on down. The accident scene's down here.
Monk shuffles up to Sharona to give an answer. Sharona repeats it:
Sharona: He's not wearing the right shoes today.
Stottlemeyer: (exasperated) He's not wearing the right shoes today. Well, look, there's nothing to do here. Coroner's already called it. It's a single-car accident.
Monk: No, no, no, this was no accident. There's no skid marks on the road.
Stottlemeyer: It's wet! You're not the only detective here, Monk. I checked for skid marks. It happens all the time on this hill. He hit this curve at 85, 90 miles an hour. (mimes swerving) Boom!
Monk: No, no, this was staged. He was killed somewhere else.
Stottlemeyer: Well, maybe you could tell me where this murder took place, because that would be very helpful.
Monk: Cole Avenue and 17th Street.
Stottlemeyer: (dumbfounded) How could you possibly know that?
Monk: We were meeting at my house. He probably took Cole. I'm thinking he was killed at that stop sign on 17th Street.
Stottlemeyer: Why 17th?
Monk: There's a homeless shelter there, they wash windshields for spare change. I'm thinking somebody approached the car, started washing the window, and then attacked him. You can see the windshield even better from here. The driver's side's clean. Passenger's side's filthy.
Stottlemeyer: Go check the windshield fluid.
Randy obeys.
Sharona: Go, Adrian. Good going. Excuse me, officer?
Stottlemeyer: Son of a bitch.
Sharona: Adrian, this officer is going to drive you home, okay? Thank you. Behave yourself; he's armed!
Monk: Why? Where are you going?
Sharona: I have a date. I told you about it.
Monk: Oh, I thought you were joking.
Sharona: You thought I was joking? What, you don't think I could possibly have a date?
Monk: No, I didn't mean that.
Sharona: What is so funny about me dating, Adrian?
Monk: Nothing. Sorry. It's just - It's Tuesday. It's chicken pot pie night.
Sharona: (rolling her eyes) Don't be such a baby. My 11-year-old kid could bake a chicken pot pie. I'll see you later, okay?
Later, Monk, with no other option, has taken Sharona literally and decided to call her son Benjy for advice on making dinner.
Monk: Okay, okay, slow down. Slow down one second. All right, then you said 2/3 of a cup, 2/3?
Sharona: Benjy, who are you on the phone with? Give me that phone.
Benjy: No one.
Sharona: Give me the phone. (takes the phone) Monk? Is that you? Okay, I'm hanging up now, and don't call back. Benjy's got homework. Lots of it.
Monk: Don't hang up! Don't - no - Benjy, call me back!
At the restaurant:
Carl: He sounds certifiable.
Sharona: Oh, it's the worst job I ever had.
Carl: Yeah? So why don't you quit?
Sharona: Well, because it's also the best job I ever had. I'm having adventures. I mean, I can't believe it. I'm putting bad guys behind bars. I feel like, um - what is her name? Um, Superman's girlfriend.
Carl: Oh! Lois Lane. Yeah.
Sharona: I'm Lois Lane. I mean, how many practical nurses can say that? Not many. Not many. (laughs, smiles)
Carl: You see, that looks so fine on you.
Sharona: What, the dress?
Carl: The smile.
Sharona: Oh. (smiles) Thank you.
Back at home, Monk is carefully dispensing peas into his neatly-made crust. On the television screen, a report about the St. Claire shooting plays.
Monk: Five... six... seven... eight... nine... ten...
Reporter: The investigation into last week's attempted assassination is apparently stalled. We have some new footage of the event that was taken by a tourist who was at the scene. I should warn you, though, some of this is very graphic.
Monk turns the volume up. Later, Sharona and her date are still having dinner.
Carl: To moderation in all things. Hm? (their glasses clink) Except love.
They both drink, and just then, Monk walks up to their table. Sharona almost does a spit-take.
Monk: (quietly) Hey.
Sharona: Monk. What are you doing here?
Monk: I was watching the news. There was a videotape of the St. Claire thing. Something about it just does not add up.
Carl: Mr. Monk, I presume?
Monk: You must be Carl from the health club.
Carl: Mm-hmm. Well, uh, why don't you join us?
Sharona: No, he shouldn't. You know, two's company, three's a crowd, and Monk hates crowds. (coldly) Don't you?
But Monk has already taken off his coat and brought over a chair.
Monk: I feel okay when you're around. Boy, this is nice, isn't it?
Sharona: I forgot, what were we talking about?
Carl: England.
Sharona: Oh, my God, that's right. Um, Carl said that, uh - he was talking about living in England. He was a Rhodes scholar. Yeah.
Monk: No kidding.
Carl: Mm-hmm.
Sharona: He graduated magna cum laud-e.
Monk: Cum laude.
Sharona: Right. I know. And now he has a private practice. He's an entertainment lawyer. Guess who he represents. Can I tell him?
Carl: Yeah, sure.
Sharona: Francis Ford Coppola.
Carl: Yeah, but it-it's no big deal. A tabloid wrote something about him, that, you know, he was drunk at the Oscars. So now we're suing them for slander.
Monk: I don't know what to do here. Uh, I'm no good at this. Okay, this man is lying to you. He's not a lawyer.
Carl: What?
Monk: Oxford doesn't have a magna cum laude. And you sue a newspaper for libel, not slander. (long pause - both Sharona and Carl glare at him) I'll just shut up. Forget I said anything. It's no big deal, Carl. (sees Sharona's food) Whoa... that looks... What the hell is that?
The date has ended, disastrously, and Sharona is walking so fast to catch a taxi that Monk is running to catch up to her, while still stopping to touch every lamppost.
Monk: What should I have done? Just let him lie to you?
Sharona: Yes, yes! It was the first date! Taxi! Everybody embellishes their resume. It's called himan nature. Do you think I told him about Benjy, or about that summer I spent dancing in Atlantic City? No!
Monk: What kind of dancing?
Sharona: I can't do this anymore. I quit.
Monk: Not again!
Sharona: No, no, I mean it this time. I'm sending my sister over for my stuff.
Monk: Okay, well, you know you're just gonna come back.
Sharona: Don't tell me what I'm gonna do. You think you know everything, but believe it or not, you don't know me that well.
Monk: All right, let's just go back inside.
Sharona: No. No. It's too late. Look, I have responsibilities now. I got a kid. And I think I have to find a normal job before I go completely crazy.
Monk: Like me.
Sharona climbs into the taxi, ignoring him.
Monk: Like me? (pause) Well, I'll never forget you.
Sharona: You never forget anything. (to the driver) Valencia and 28th.
The taxi speeds away, leaving Monk alone. Sorrowful, he heads back to his apartment and goes back to poring over Trudy's case file. His desk is filled with papers and photographs, but none of it makes sense anymore. In a flashback, he watches as a smiling Trudy turns over in bed, and looks at him. Soon enough, he falls asleep at his desk. The screen reads "to be continued..."
Part 2: Stottlemeyer is walking through a building to where Randy waits next to Jake's wrecked car, hopefully with new information.
Stottlemeyer: Okay, make me happy.
Randy: We found it wedged under the passenger's seat. Uh, in his hat.
He hands Stottlemeyer a piece of paper with a list of addresses on it - one of them Nicole Vasques's.
Randy: Third name from the bottom -
Stottlemeyer: Yeah, I see it, I see it.
Randy: She was a part-time volunteer. She quit two months ago. That's why her name didn't come up. So, Monk was right. There is a connection.
Stottlemeyer: How does he do it? I have two eyes, I see everything that he sees. But I don't see what he sees.
Randy: Sir, if I may... what Monk does, it's a parlor trick. I mean, can you do all this? Can you organize a city-wide investigation? Inspire the troops? Motivate people? Adrian Monk isn't half the cop, or a third of the man, that you are, sir.
Stottlemeyer: Thank you, Lieutenant. Nonetheless... We need him now. Go get him.
Randy: He's not home.
Stottlemeyer: Well, then he's at Sharona's. Call Sharona.
Randy: I tried her. She said she quit.
Stottlemeyer: Sharona quit? You mean Monk's alone? Out there in public?
Later, the deputy mayor Sheldon Berger knocks at Sharona's door. Benjy answers.
Benjy: Hello?
Sheldon: Are you Benjy?
Benjy: Yeah, who are you?
Sheldon: I'm Sheldon Berger, deputy mayor. Hey, you like skateboarding?
Benjy: (yelling across the house) Mom, something happened to Monk!
In the kitchen:
Sharona: Forget it.
Sheldon: Monk's been one step ahead of us all the way, but the man can't function without you.
Sharona: Mm-hmm.
Sheldon: The city of San Francisco would be eternally grateful. (pauses) Wow. These are really good, did you make these?
Sharona: They're Oreos, Sheldon.
Sheldon: They are?
Benjy: They say "Oreos" on them.
Sheldon: Oh, yeah.
Sharona: Exactly how eternally grateful would the city be?
Sheldon: You tell us, Sharona. Whatever you want.
Benjy: Skateboard track. Mom, make him build a skateboard track in the park!
Sharona: Okay, here's the deal. I'll find Monk and I'll bring him back, and you'll owe me one.
Sheldon: One what?
Sharona: Someday, there'll be a knock on your door. Whatever I say, whatever I want... you'll have to say yes.
Sheldon: Within reason.
Sharona: Then forget it.
Sheldon: Okay, okay, okay! Not within reason.
Sharona grins. Later, in a graveyard, Monk stands at a grave playing the clarinet beautifully. Sharona approaches him as he finishes the song. The grave reads "Trudy Anne Monk, 1962-1997. Beloved wife and daughter."
Monk: That was our song.
Sharona: I'm sure she heard you.
Monk: I don't see how, she's been dead for four years. (chuckles) Welcome back.
Sharona: Now don't pretend you're surprised. You know, you were right about the cases being connected. Nicole Vasques did volunteer work for the St. Claire campaign. How does it feel, always being right?
Monk: Terrible.
Sharona: Come on, let's go.
Monk: I don't know if I'm gonna be able to pull this off.
Sharona: Adrian, you're gonna be fine.
Monk: So you ever gonna tell me what kind of dancing you did in Atlantic City?
Sharona: Ballroom.
Monk: Really?
Later, in Monk's kitchen, he is watching one section of the report on the St. Claire rally slowed down, listening to the gunshots.
Monk: Campaign volunteer, campaign volunteer. What did she do there?
Sharona: Oh, this and that. Mostly helping the bookkeeper. She quit after seven weeks, which I'm told is not unusual.
Monk: (looking at the television) Pretty small crowd.
Sharona: How many times you need to watch that, Adrian? I'm missing The Price Is Right.
Monk: The rally! I mean, why would Gavin Lloyd set it there. Weekday in the middle of the financial district.
Sharona: They were just talking about Gavin Lloyd on the radio. Apparently he was this hotshot political genius, and now the national parties won't even touch him.
Monk: Why not?
Sharona: Well, he was never officially charged, but the word is some campaign contributions Gavin collected were there one minute and gone the next.
Monk: Oh, right. That was a senate race, right? In North Carolina.
He walks over to the sink and opens a cabinet beneath it for a garbage bin, throwing away one of his cans.
Sharona: Adrian... what are you doing?
Monk: It was dented.
Sharona: (walking over to grab the can from him) Where? You can't even see it.
Monk: I am what I am. Do you want it?
Sharona: Of course I want it. I'm not the mental case.
She picks up another can and bangs it against the counter.
Sharona: Oh, look, this one's dented too.
Monk: (forced laugh) That's funny.
Sharona: I know. I don't know why you shop at that place, Adrian.
Later, Monk is walking along a sidewalk, touching every parking meter and lamppost he passes.
Monk: 105. 106. 107, 108. 109.
A car parked across the street speeds toward him, but Monk, oblivious, goes back to the curb to touch a stop sign he missed.
Monk: 110.
As the car makes a dramatic turn, tires squealing, Monk realizes what just happened and makes a run for it, continuing to touch every pole he sprints by.
Monk: 122! 123! 124! (as he encounters a pile of fish guts) Aah!
He enters an abandoned toilet, flinches at how dirty it is, and runs back the other way - finally losing the car. Later, he's hurrying to keep up with Sharona, excitedly telling her about it.
Monk: You should have seen me, I'm telling you! I had the moves! No, I was diving, I was running - I was diving out of the way!
Sharona: That's great, Adrian.
Monk: Don't you get it? It means we're getting close. It means we're making somebody nervous.
Sharona: I just can't picture you outrunning a car.
Monk: I wasn't even running my fastest.
Sharona: Why not?
Monk: You know.
Sharona: Were you touching all the poles again?
Monk: Yeah, I was touching the poles, yeah. (they reach a desk, he addresses the woman behind it) Adrian Monk for Gavin Lloyd.
Gavin: How old was she?
Sharona: 25.
Gavin: That's heartbreaking.
Sharona: She worked for Flo, your bookkeeper. She was here last summer for about seven weeks.
Gavin: We get kids like this all the time. Every campaign does. We call them floaters. You know, their boyfriend comes back, they get a new job--psht, they're gone.
Monk: So Flo said that you took Nicole aside one day.
Gavin: I did?
Monk: Yes, this would've been last July sometime. And you talked to her for a while, and then she never came back to work.
Gavin: I talk to a hundred kids every day, you know? More. We, uh, actually, as a matter of fact, we lost another one last week. Car crash in Sausalito.
Monk: Mm, yeah. We heard about that. (reaches into a nearby trash can, pulling out strips of shredded paper) Sir, I - I don't pretend to know much about politics...
Gavin: Vote for, uh, Warren St. Claire. That's all you need to know.
He smiles at Sharona, who forces a smile in return.
Monk: But what was the reason you held the rally at that plaza?
Gavin: Heart of the financial district. We wanted to assure the business community that Warren St. Claire is on their side, and it's working. Have you seen the latest poll numbers?
Monk: Yes, congratulations.
Gavin: Thank you.
Monk finishes arranged the strips of paper to reveal a boarding pass, a flight Miranda St. Claire took to Chicago.
Monk: (whispers) Chicago...
Gavin: Uh, that's a confidential document.
Monk: Sorry.
Gavin: That's why we shred it.
Monk: Sorry.
Gavin: Okay. I have a suggestion, Mr. Monk. I'll do my job, (pointing around the room) she'll do her job, he'll do his job, and you, sir, you and Miss -
Sharona: Fleming.
Gavin: Fleming, go out and do your job. (he leads them out the door)
Monk: Thanks.
Gavin: Good luck.
Monk: Thank you.
Gavin: Okay.
Monk and Sharona stand in Jesse Goodman's office, admiring one of his paintings. Jesse clears his throat as he enters the room to get their attention.
Jesse: Mr. Monk, sorry to keep you waiting.
Sharona: That's okay. You know, Mr. Goodman, your painting is very, um... I can't think of the word, it's...
Monk: Scary.
Jesse: I just got that piece. Something about it, I just - I just had to have it.
Sharona: Yeah.
Monk: You can tell a lot about a person from his taste in art.
Sharona: (quietly) He did it.
Monk: Just a couple of questions, sir. How long have you worked for Mr. St. Claire?
Jesse: Nine years. I was the first person he hired.
Monk: But he never made you partner.
Jesse: You don't see me complaining. I'm a lucky man.
Monk: (indicating a bag) I see you've been out of town.
Jesse: Uh, upstate. My family has a cabin on Rockaway Lake. I needed some time to clear my thoughts. It's been a hell of a week.
Monk: Mr. Goodman, I'm sure of two things. One--
He touches the lamp on the desk.
Sharona: Adrian.
Monk: One, your cabin is quite lovely. And two, you were nowhere near it.
Jesse: What?
Monk: Your wristwatch, it's set two hours ahead to central time. You haven't been north. You've been east. Unless I'm wrong, which, you know, I'm not, you were in Chicago.
Jesse: Well, that's crazy. I don't know anyone in Chicago.
Monk: You know MIranda St. Claire. She told us she was going to Denver, but her travel itinerary said Chicago. So you see, what we have here, Sharona, are two consenting adults both lying about where they spent last night.
Jesse: What I'm about to say can't leave this room. Miranda and I have, uh, been together twice.
Sharona: So last night makes three.
Jesse: No. Last night it ended. I swear I didn't want her. I wanted to hurt Warren. The legendary Warren St. Claire. I was sick of being his keychain.
Monk: You say you wanted to hurt him.
Jesse: No, no, no. I didn't mean--I wouldn't really hurt him.
Sharona: Oh, of course not. You just wanted to hump his wife.
Jesse: Look, you want to charge me with something, you call my lawyer.
Monk: (distracted by another strange painting) What is this?
Jesse: What?
Monk: It's me, isn't it?
Jesse: Look... I don't have time for this. All right, this meeting is over. (he storms out)
Sharona: He's gone. (her phone rings) Hello?
Monk: (weakly) It's me, isn't it? Isn't it?
Sharona: Okay.
Monk: It's me.
Sharona: Hey, they got him. We gotta go. They got him. Come on!
Monk stares at the painting as he leaves.
Stottlemeyer: The FBI coughed up a major file on this guy Ian Sykes, ex special forces. Last April, he purchased a scope for a Weatherby Fibermark rifle. (He pauses at the top of the stairway they're climbing.) You guys stay here until we're inside, all right?
Sharona: Did he mention how tall he was?
Stottlemeyer: Yes, he's 6'5'' tall.
Monk: I got lucky.
Stottlemeyer, Randy, and the rest of the officers accompanying them rush up the stairs. Sharona beams at Monk. As the officers reach Sykes' apartment, they draw silent, taking their positions before one breaks down the door.
Officer: Police! Police! Go, go! Clear! Police! Come out! Slow, easy.
Slowly, Sykes rolls into view--wearing both a wheelchair and a faux look of fright. He raises his hands unsteadily.
Officer: Are you alone?
Sykes nods.
A few minutes later, Monk and Sharona have joined the captain to question Sykes.
Sykes: You don't have to keep apologizing, sir. Everybody makes mistakes. The fact is, I was 6'5''. Once.
Monk: You did buy a scope for a Weatherby Fibermark rifle?
Sykes: Yes, sir. For my father. He hunts alone now. The Rocky Mountains aren't exactly handicap accessible.
Stottlemeyer sighs and leaves the apartment; all the other officers follow suit--except for Monk and Sharona.
Randy: Sorry.
Monk stands making eye contact with Sykes for a few more seconds, then gives him an awkward smile and leaves. Outside:
Stottlemeyer: Okay, boys and girls, the beat goes on. We've got to talk to that profiler again. Call the mayor and tell him we're back at square one.
Monk freezes.
Stottlemeyer: What?
Monk: Your shoes.
Stottlemeyer: Yes?
Monk: They're all scuffed up, and they've got little creases in them.
Stottlemeyer: Yeah, my shoes are scuffed up, Monk. They're not spotless like yours because I actually use them.
Monk: His were all scuffed up too.
Stottlemeyer: (after a pause) Call up SWAT. You go get in your car. Go, go, go, go, go, go. Get him out of here. Go!
Sykes watches from the window, no longer in his wheelchair. Monk and Sharona hurry away from the scene.
Monk: Stottlemeyer said we'd be safer over here.
Sharona: That's a crock. He puts us in the cheap seats so he can take all the credit. (at her phone) Oh, great. The battery's dead. Look, I gotta check on Benjy. Stay here and don't move. I'm gonna find a phone.
Monk: Well, hurry.
Sharona: I will, I promise.
She speeds off, just as Monk happens to glimpse Sykes up on the roof of his apartment, unnoticed so far.
Monk: Hey. Hey! Over--over here! Hey! He's here! Hey, what are you--!
Sykes moves out of view, and Monk gives up calling for help. He runs after him. Monk approaches a ladder hanging on the side of the building Sykes was on.
Monk: (to passerby) Call the--get... Come on.
He uses his sleeve to extend the ladder, tentatively wiping each rung before he touches it.
Monk: Don't look down. Don't look down. Don't look--don't look up. Don't look down. (he looks down) Ah...
Just as Sykes reaches the top of the ladder from the roof, Monk has frozen, clinging to the sides of the ladder.
Monk: Don't look down...don't look down...
Sykes: Excuse me.
Monk: You--you--you have the right to remain silent.
Later, Monk sits in the back of a van, wrapped in a blanket, while Stottlemeyer berates him.
Stottlemeyer: What, he actually said, "excuse me," and then he crawled over you?
Monk: No, no, it was more like he crawled around me.
Randy: (sarcastically) Good work, detective.
Monk: You know, I don't think he recognized me. Before, up in his room, or just now on the fire escape.
Stottlemeyer: Which means what?
Monk: Which means he's not the guy who tried to run me down. I think we're looking for two different guys.
Randy: Well, if only we had him in custody, we could've questioned him.
Stottlemeyer: All right, let me get this straight now. You--I'm confused, Monk. You say you want your badge back, is that right? You want your badge back so you can protect the people of this city from rapists and murderers, as long as they don't climb any ladders, or run across any big, bad, scary bridges. Is that right?
Sharona: Give him a break, Captain.
Stottlemeyer: No, no, you give me a break. Look, you wanna carry a gun? Are you gonna carry a loaded gun and have other cops depend on you? No. No, no, I don't think so. You're off the case.
Sharona: Oh, bite me.
Stottlemeyer: I'm sorry, what did you say? What did you say?
Monk: Leland, this isn't about what happened today. Is it? This is about you and me. This is about you and me.
Stottlemeyer: No, no, Monk. This isn't personal. The fact of the matter is, the most wanted man in the city got away because you got dizzy! Am I right? Don't expect the mayor to help you either, because after this, you're a leper.
He storms off. Randy lingers behind.
Sharona: What is that, your tough look?
Randy, offended, leaves.
-- This scene is not featured in all versions of the episode --
Late at night on a dock, a mysterious car drives up to a man waiting in the dark--it's Ian Sykes, who approaches the car window.
Sykes: You know, this better be important, because I've been made. I gotta just-- (he spots a gun in the driver's hand) You gotta be kidding. (the gun fires. Sykes screams and falls into the bay.)
--
Monk stands alone in a parking garage. Sharona's car pulls up.
Benjy: Hey, Mom, what's he doing?
Sharona: This is where his wife was--this is where Mrs. Monk passed away.
Benjy: Oh.
They both approach Monk.
Sharona: Hey, Monk.
Benjy: Hey, Monk! (rides off on his skateboard)
Sharona: Benjy, be careful.
Monk: She--she must have been meeting somebody, but who? Was it a story she was working on?
Sharona: I don't know.
Monk: And I can't see it, and why can't I see it?
Sharona: I think you're too close to it, Monk.
A loud crash comes from the other side of the parking garage--Benjy has crashed into a trash can. Both Monk and Sharona run over to him.
Sharona: Benjy!
Monk: Is he okay?
Sharona: He's okay.
Benjy: Yeah, I'm okay.
Monk listens to their voices echo--he's realized something.
Sharona: How many times have I told you to be careful? How many?
Benjy: Don't worry, I'm okay.
Sharona: You could've killed yourself, and I'm gonna take it away if you don't watch it.
Benjy: I'm fine.
Monk: (loudly) Are you okay?
Benjy: I'm okay.
Monk: Are you okay?
Benjy: Yeah, I'm okay.
Monk: (now shouting to the ceiling as Sharona and Benjy stare at him in confusion) Are you okay?
Benjy: I'm okay!
Monk: Did you hear that?
Benjy: Yeah, it's an echo. You have to get out more. (he rides off again)
Sharona: Benjy, be careful.
Benjy: Okay!
Monk places a hand on Sharona's shoulder and points to the ceiling again.
Sharona: What? What?
Monk: I've got it.
Sharona: You got what? You know who did it? You know who tried to kill St. Claire? Monk, who did it? You're not gonna tell me who did it?
Monk: It doesn't matter. They're not gonna listen to me. You heard the captain. I'm a leper.
He walks off. Sharona thinks to herself.
Later that night, Sharona knocks on the door of a house. The door opens, revealing Sheldon Berger.
Sheldon: Hi, Sharona.
Sharona: Hey, Sheldon. Um, can I come in?
Sheldon: Yeah.
The next day: Sharona has cashed in her favor from Sheldon, earning Monk a chance to reveal the person behind the shooting.
Monk: Okay. I need everybody to stand exactly where they were after the shots were fired. Mrs. St. Claire, you were standing right here.
Miranda: What is the point? We know who tried to kill my husband. It was that lunatic, whats-his-name.
Jesse: Ian Sykes.
Gavin: He's probably halfway to Mexico by now.
Monk: That's true--Mr. Goodman, if you would--That's true, Ian Sykes got away.
Randy: Yes, he did.
Monk: And I feel terrible about that, but today we're looking for his accomplice. The person who hired Ian Sykes.
St. Claire: Are you a poker player, Mr. Monk? Because you're either bluffing your ass off here or you're sitting on a very sweet hand.
Monk: Well, let's find out. Sir, all week long I have been wracking my brain--who would want to take a shot at you? Then last night, it occurred to me. Maybe we've all been asking the wrong question. Maybe the shooter hit exactly what he was aiming at--your bodyguard.
Jesse: That's insane. Who'd want to hurt Jason Rondstadt?
Miranda: That's not exactly showing initiative.
Monk: Right, but what if--what if Jason Rondstadt was the bodyguard who knew too much? (turns to Gavin) You were dipping into the war chest again.
Gavin: (laughs) You gotta be kidding.
St. Claire: That's old news, Monk.
Monk: Mr. St. Claire, bear with me, please, sir. On your mark. Here's what I think happened. Nicole Vasques was going over the books and some numbers didn't add up.
Flashback:
Nicole: Uh, excuse me, sir, I was just wondering if I could talk to you for a sec. It seems that a large sum of money is going into a different account, and I--
Gavin: Okay, where?
Monk: (V.O.) She asked you about it, and you brushed her off.
Gavin: Thanks for catching that, honey. That's what I pay you for. All right, I'll look into it, all right?
Flashback ends.
Monk: Maybe you even accused her of stealing the money.
Gavin: (laughs nervously) Can you believe this guy? You are out of your mind. Out of your mind.
Monk: You started to worry the girl might talk. You couldn't buy her off. She had a little something we call integrity. So you decided it was time to hire somebody to kill her. But who? You asked Jason Rondstadt, but he turned you down. You were in hell, surrounded by honest people.
Gavin: I don't have to stand here and listen to this.
Stottlemeyer: Yes, you do. Yes, you do.
Gavin: Okay.
Monk: Thanks, captain. You kept shopping around. You found a professional, Ian Sykes. Sykes killed the girl, but you still had one loose end left... Jason Rondstadt, the first guy you asked.
Flashback:
St. Claire: I mean, hell, that's all right. Flying 17 combat missions in the gulf wasn't easy. Flying a fleet of--
Sykes shoots Rondstadt. The crowd screams.
Monk: (V.O.) Killing Jason Rondstadt in public was brilliant, 'cause everyone assumed it was an assassination attempt, and you got a two-fer. Your problem was eliminated, and your candidate gets to look heroic.
Flashback ends.
Gavin: I don't suppose you're gonna be able to prove any of this?
Monk: (reaching into his pocket) Well, here was your mistake.
Gavin: My mistake?
Everyone crowds around Monk to see what he's holding, including St. Claire--whom Monk flashes an annoyed look for stepping off his mark again.
Monk: Hey. (points back to where St. Claire should be standing) This photograph was taken seconds after the shooting. That's you, isn't it, pointing up at the sniper?
Gavin: Yeah, yeah, so what?
Flashback:
Gavin: He's up there! Up there!
Man: I need an ambulance--
Flashback ends.
Monk: You're the only one pointing. How did you know where he was?
Gavin: (scoffs) Because I saw him. He was right up there. Look.
Monk: Oh, yeah, I almost forgot. Gentlemen? Gentlemen, if you please.
Some of the police officers bring bunches of balloons from the rally over to the stage.
Monk: Last Thursday, there were approximately 400 balloons right here. There's only one way you could've known where Ian Sykes was. You hired the man.
Gavin: This is totally ridiculous. I mean, it all happened so fast. It was chaotic--it was chaos! Maybe I, uh, maybe I didn't see them! Maybe I heard the shots!
Monk: You heard them?
Gavin: Yes, I definitely heard them. Definitely heard them. We all heard them, and they were coming from up there.
Monk: Well, if that's true, then you won't have any trouble finding Sharona.
Gavin: What?
Monk: She's up there, in one of these buildings, with a starter's pistol. (into his walkie-talkie) Heckle, this is Jeckle.. Are you all set?
Sharona: Anytime, Jeckle.
Monk: Let's do it.
Sharona pulls out her starter's pistol and fires it out the window. Just as Monk expected, it echoes. There is no way of telling which building the shot came from.
Monk: It's kind of like an echo chamber, isn't it? You want to take another chance? (to the walkie) Heckle, we're going for best out of three.
Sharona fires again, and again the sound echoes. Stottlemeyer grins.
Gavin: There.
Monk: There?
Gavin: No, uh... over there.
Monk: Are you sure?
Miranda: Oh, my God.
Gavin: No, wait, wait, wait--do it again. Do it again!
St. Claire: And you called yourself my Moses.
Monk: Like the real Moses, he won't be joining you in the promised land.
Gavin: (hoarsely, near-sobbing) W--Warren, I didn't have any choice! That girl, Nicole, she would've buried me! She would've buried both of us! Warren!
St. Claire shakes his head and leaves. Another shot fires.
Monk: Okay, Sharona, cut it out. That's enough. We got him. It's over, it's all over.
Gavin stumbles, pressing his hand to his shoulder--there's blood. Monk realizes.
Monk: Sharona?
Officer: Let's go!
Stottlemeyer: (grabbing Gavin, running off the stage) Get everybody out of here! Go, go!
Randy: Go, go, go!
Stottlemeyer: Go! Go!
The gun fires again, hitting the window of the police car everyone has taken cover behind. Sharona looks to a window and spots Sykes--positioned across from her in the same building, taking aim yet again at everyone by the stage.
Sharona: Oh, my God. It's Sykes. He's here.
Stottlemeyer: Sykes? What's he doing here?
Monk: I think he and Gavin are having some sort of contract dispute.
Sykes takes a final shot and steps down from the window.
Sharona: He's leaving. I'm gonna follow him.
Monk: Where are you going, Sharona? Just stay put!
Sharona slowly approaches a stairwell, and looks down to see Sykes on the next level. He hides the rifle he was using under a pile of garbage bags.
Sharona: He's stashing his gun. He's going downstairs.
Monk: All right, just stay put. Stay right where you are.
Stottlemeyer: Who does she think she is?
Monk: I don't know, Lois Lane.
Sharona: He's in the boiler room.
Monk: Sharona! I can't hear you. I've lost you. Come back.
Stottlemeyer: Okay, we got him. Block it up. Cover every door, every window.
Monk: He's not coming out.
Stottlemeyer: What?
Monk: No. He'd expect you to cover the street. He's got some other way. He has a plan.
Randy: How do you know that?
Monk: 'Cause he's smart. (to his walkie) Sharona. Come back.
Stottlemeyer: Keep an eye on him. (to his walkie) How many guys you got in the back?
Sharona watches Sykes go through a trapdoor.
Sharona: Monk, he's going through a door. I think it's a tunnel. I'm gonna follow him.
Monk rushes after Randy.
Officers: On three! Let's go, let's go! Everybody out!
Monk: Lieutenant! Lieutenant! What about the basement?
Randy: By the book, Monk. We secure the exits, then we work top to bottom. Give me that. (he takes Monk's walkie-talkie)
Monk: (grabbing Randy by his coat) What about Sharona? He might have Sharona!
Randy: We'll take care of Sharona, Monk. Just stay here!
Monk manages to grab Randy's gun off his coat without him noticing. He pockets it quickly. Meanwhile, Sharona follows Sykes into the tunnel. The trapdoor bangs closed above her, and Sykes turns around briefly, then continuing on his way. Sharona climbs down the ladder.
Sharona: Monk, can you hear-- (she gasps, startled by the loud feedback from the walkie)
Monk makes his way toward the tunnel, clearing his throat nervously at the "DANGER" sign proceeding it.
Sharona: Monk.
Monk: (spotting the filthy water filling the tunnel) Ugh...
Sharona: Adrian, can you hear me? I can't hear you.
She walks faster, unaware that Sykes was hiding in a tunnel off to the side. Monk carefully climbs down the ladder, putting wipes on each rung and whimpering as some of them fall into the sewage.
Sharona: Monk, where are--?
Suddenly, Sykes grabs Sharona from behind. She tries to scream.
Sykes: Oh, great. A hostage.
Sharona: Help!
Sharona's scream echoes--Monk hears it from the ladder. He finds the courage to jump into the water. Across the tunnel, Sykes is dragging a struggling Sharona along with him.
Upstairs:
Officer: We've got upstairs secured.
Stottlemeyer: Good, now do the basement, and watch your back.
Randy: Uh, captain, have you seen Monk?
Stottlemeyer: No, why?
Randy: He's, uh, got my gun.
Back in the basement, a miserable Monk trudges through sewage holding a wipe firmly over his mouth and nose. He spots a "DANGER--KEEP OUT" sign and goes to straighten it, but it falls into the water. Sykes turns around and walks back toward Monk. Sharona screams.
A rat falls abruptly onto Monk's shoulder, squeaking. He gasps and lets out a high-pitched scream.
Sharona: Monk, help!
Sharona throws Sykes against the wall and makes a run for it. Monk digs the gun out of his pocket.
Monk: Hold it! I have a gun! Sykes, hold it!
Sharona: Shoot him!
A gush of sewage water knocks the gun out of Monk's hands.
Sharona: Shoot him!
Monk: I'm not bluffing! I have a gun...
Sykes manages to pull Sharona down from the ladder where she was trying to escape. He chases after her.
Sharona: Shoot him!
Monk tentatively reaches a hand into the dirty water and retrieves the gun.
Sharona: Will you shoot him?! (screams)
Monk: Let her go, Sykes. Let her go!
Sykes tugs on a wire and the power flickers out, leaving the three in complete darkness.
Sharona: Monk!
Monk fires. The shot echoes through the dark tunnels.
Monk and Sharona climb out of the tunnel.
Sharona: What the hell were you thinking?
Monk: You kept saying, "shoot him, shoot him!"
Sharona: Adrian, ugh! I could've been killed!
Monk: I knew what I was doing. I was aiming high. He's like 20 feet tall!
Sharona: What if you missed? You could've missed!
Monk: Oh, right. How could I have missed? The guy's King Kong.
Sharona climbs out of the tunnel and looks down at him
Sharona: What if it ricocheted?
Monk: Well, that--that's true, I didn't think of that.
They look around. They're surrounded by snowmen and various holiday decorations.
Monk: Hello?
Sharona: Snowmen.
Later, reporters clamor as police lead Sykes away. His head is heavily bandaged. Stottlemeyer and Randy walk with Monk and Sharona, who are both wrapped in blankets.
Stottlemeyer: Give me the gun. Give me the gun. (he takes Randy's gun from Monk)
St. Claire: Here he is. Come and meet a genuine hero.
Reporter: Congratulations, Mr. Monk!
St. Claire: Mr. Monk, on behalf of myself, Miranda, and the city of San Francisco, I want to thank you. (he embraces Monk, pushing the captain aside) Well done. Well done.
St. Claire puts his arm around Monk and beams as the reporters snap pictures and pose questions. Monk gradually smiles.
At Dr. Kroger's office:
Dr. Kroger: My son wants your autograph.
Monk: Really?
Dr. Kroger: You know, no, you're his hero. He--he put your picture up on the wall.
Monk: Oh, well, I would be happy to meet the boy, but anybody would've done the same thing.
Dr. Kroger: Well, I don't know about that, Adrian. I mean, there were 20 cops at that scene; nobody did what you did.
Monk: Well--well. (laughs quietly)
Dr. Kroger: You know, I think we're making some real progress here, and I think... I think it might be time that I talk to the department about reinstatement.
Monk is teary-eyed.
Dr. Kroger: Would you like that?
Monk nods, smiling.
After the session: Dr. Kroger and an overjoyed Monk walk to the elevator.
Dr. Kroger: I can't promise anything.
Monk: No, I understand!
Dr. Kroger: I can only make a recommendation. Okay?
Monk: I understand.
Dr. Kroger: All right. And, you know--and they might want you to meet with some other doctors.
Monk: No problem.
Dr. Kroger: Alright, well, it's not going to be that easy, Adrian. I mean, there's going to be more testing.
Monk: Okay, let's do it. I wanna take them right now.
The elevator opens.
Monk: I mean it, I wanna take them right now.
Dr. Kroger: All right, all right.
Monk stops abruptly at the sight of a coughing woman in the elevator.
Woman: (coughing) Going down?
Monk glances at Dr. Kroger warily.
Dr. Kroger: See you next week.
Monk: Okay.
Sharona waits by a bridge, reading a book. Monk approaches her.
Sharona: How'd it go?
Monk: (shrugs) Mm. You know.
Sharona: Ah, don't worry. We'll get 'em next time. Come on, I'll make you some dinner.
They walk off. Monk touches the posts as he passes them.
Monk: Oh, yeah, it's Tuesday. Tuesday night's chicken pot pie.
Sharona: You know, actually, I thought we'd try something a little different this week.
Monk freezes.
Sharona: I'm--I'm kidding. I'm kidding. Just kidding. Adrian... you missed one.
Monk hops back to touch the post he missed. They keep walking and Monk counts every post he touches.
Monk: Four... five... six... seven... eight... nine... ten... eleven... twelve...
Sharona: You're doing better, Adrian. Next time. We'll get 'em next time.
Monk: Yeah.