“The deadly triangle,” Disher said.
“The hit man took a taxi to the airport, the same one that picked up Conrad Stipe,” Monk continued. “But the assassin left something incriminating behind, so he killed Stipe and made it look like a fan did it, and then he killed the cabbie and made it look like a robbery.”
Stottlemeyer sighed. “Yes, so you’ve told me already. And now that I’ve heard it all again, I’m asking myself how I could have bought it the first time. Do you really think it’s plausible that a guy would kill two people on the possibility that somebody might come after him for shooting a corpse?”
“He did it so he wouldn’t forfeit the money he was earning for the assassination,” Monk said. “It was motivated by greed.”
“That explanation doesn’t make the theory sound any more plausible to me,” Stottlemeyer said.
“It’s not a theory and I can prove it,” Monk said. “Could you turn the body halfway over for me?”
“Sure,” Stottlemeyer said and looked at Disher. “Go ahead.”
“Why me?” Disher said.
“Because I’m the captain and these are new shoes,” Stottlemeyer said. “I don’t want to get blood on them.”
Disher put on a pair of rubber gloves, leaned down, and gingerly lifted Mills enough so Monk could see the front of the body.
Monk crouched beside Disher. “As you can see, Kingston Mills has been shot in the shoulder, the back, and the leg.”
“So?” Stottlemeyer said.
Monk stood up.
“Here’s what happened. When Mills got out of the limousine, the shooter emerged from behind the Dumpster and shot him in the shoulder. The bullet spun Mills around and he started to flee towards the hotel. The killer shot him in the leg and then once more in the back before escaping into the crowd in the convention center.”
“Yes, I know,” Stottlemeyer said. “I heard it from a dozen witnesses and I saw it with my own eyes on the security video.”
“But Stipe was shot only once, right in the heart,” Monk said. “Mills was shot three times and only the last bullet was fatal.”
“So what?”
“The man who killed Stipe was a crack shot. The man who killed Mills was not.”
“Or the killer got lucky the first time,” Disher said, rising to his feet again.
“Either the hit man is trying to make it look like this is a copycat killing or that’s exactly what it is,” Monk said. “Either way, this doesn’t change anything.”
“It does for Kingston Mills,” I said.
“I’ve got to go with the evidence, Monk,” Stottlemeyer said.
“I’m glad you’re seeing reason,” Monk said. “So we’re going back to looking for the hit man and whoever hired him.”
“We’re going back to our original notion that Conrad Stipe was killed by someone in the Beyond Earth community, ” Stottlemeyer said. “I’m betting that whoever did that also took out Kingston Mills. It’s the simplest explanation.”
“Simple isn’t always right,” Monk said.
“Nine times out of ten it is,” Stottlemeyer said. “It’s that tenth case that keeps you in business, Monk.”
“Does this mean that the Special Desecration Unit is taking the lead again in the Lorber investigation?” Disher asked Stottlemeyer.
“It’s all yours, Randy,” Stottlemeyer said. “You can start by getting Judson Beck out of that limo.”
“What does that have to do with the Lorber case?”
“Nothing,” Stottlemeyer said.
“No problem. I can do that,” Disher said. “All it takes is a little finesse.”
“That’s why I asked you,” Stottlemeyer said. “Because you’re so smooth.”
Disher took a deep breath and marched over to the limo.
“Could I get a copy of the security video?” Monk asked. “I’d like to see it.”
“I’m glad to hear that. I was afraid you might quit on me in a huff.” Stottlemeyer reached into his jacket and handed me a DVD.
“I don’t huff,” Monk said. “Or puff. I’ve never puffed. I am firmly against all puffing.”
“That’s good to know,” Stottlemeyer said. “I still need you on this one, Monk. We’re back to trying to find a needle in a box of needles and you’re the best man for the job.”
We heard a scream from the limo. We turned to see Disher yanking Beck out of the backseat by the collar of his shirt and dragging him towards a police car.
“Finesse.” Stottlemeyer smiled. “It works every time.”
Monk headed back towards my car. I hurried to catch up with him.
“Where are we going?”
“Home,” he said.
“Don’t tell me you’re giving up,” I said. “The captain just told you how much he needs you.”
“He certainly does,” Monk said. “He’s going in the wrong direction.”
“Then why are you going home?”
“I need to consult an expert,” Monk said.
26
Mr. Monk and the Expert
We sat down with Ambrose on the couch and watched the security camera footage of Kingston Mills getting killed. Watching it reminded me in an odd way of what was happening with Beyond Earth. The shooting of Kingston Mills was the shooting of Conrad Stipe, only reimagined and more authentic.
Like the previous video, the image was divided into four sections, each one giving us a different angle of the loading dock area of the convention center.
The limousine pulled up to the rear of the convention center. The back door of the car opened and Mills bounded out. Almost immediately, Mr. Snork emerged from behind the Dumpster, coughed, and shot him once in the shoulder.
Ambrose grimaced and made a notation on his yellow legal pad. I don’t think he really had anything to write. The images were just too hard to take.
I didn’t blame him for turning away. It’s not easy watching real violence, pain, and bloodshed. The look on Kingston Mills’
