Mr. Monk and the New Lieutenant Read Free Page B

been touched in a century, with a beamed ceiling, dark wood wainscoting that came up to my shoulders, and a stacked stone fireplace you could roast an ox in.
    Two CSIs were working the room, one of them dusting for prints, the other taking scrapings from under the fingernails of the body on the hardwood floor beside the grand piano. He finished with the second hand, bagged the results, then stepped back and let Monk in there to do his thing.
    The victim was an elderly woman dressed in a sky blue bathrobe and matching slippers. The presumed weapon was at her side—a carved stone doorstop, probably used to hold open the substantial front door during the month or two of hospitable weather we get every year. Monk examined thebloodstains on the stone and the gaping wound on her left temple where a section of her skull had been caved in.
    â€œThe name is Margery Burns,” said A.J., referring to a small spiral notebook. “She lived alone. No one else came or went on a regular basis except the weekly cleaning service. Today was their day. Around one p.m. they found her like this. The body was a few hours old, ten a.m. or thereabouts. The ironic thing is . . .” He paused to chuckle.
    â€œToday was her birthday,” said Monk, barely looking up from the body.
    â€œHow did you know?” The lieutenant glared at Monk the way a Puritan might have glared at a witch.
    â€œThe piano is covered with unopened birthday presents and cards,” Monk pointed out, “meaning that her birthday was coming up but hadn’t yet arrived. She didn’t open things until her birthday, apparently. I approve of that.”
    â€œSo what?” said A.J. “Tomorrow could be her birthday. Ever think of that? Or the day after.”
    â€œNo,” countered Monk. “Ms. Burns has a ring of pearl and alexandrite on her right ring finger. Those are both stones for June and today is June thirtieth, last day of the month. Alexandrite is a fairly rare stone and combined with a pearl, it practically screams birthstone ring. Plus, you just said the word ‘ironic’ with that mean little laugh of yours. What was I supposed to think?”
    â€œToday’s her birthday,” A.J. confirmed, and went back to his notes. “Our reconstruction is that a burglar broke in through the kitchen pantry door. When the victim heard the noise and came downstairs, she confronted the intruder and was attacked with the doorstop. On her birthday. Theburglar then ran upstairs, took a jewelry box and cash from the victim’s bedroom, and fled the scene.”
    â€œWhy didn’t he take the rings from her fingers?” I asked. This was a standard question.
    â€œBecause he’d just killed an old lady and wasn’t cold enough to pry them off,” said the lieutenant. “Besides, anyone who watches TV knows that handling a corpse can leave tracers—fingerprints, skin fragments.”
    â€œAnd why did he use the doorstop?” Monk asked. This was not a standard question.
    â€œWhat do you mean?” asked the captain.
    Monk stood up from the body. “I mean there are heavy objects all around.” He pointed. “There’s what looks like a Roman bust on the piano, a heavy crystal vase in that niche by the stairs, two matching Chinese pots on the tables under the window. Sharp objects and blunt objects everywhere. Yet the killer walks over to the front door and bends down to pick up a doorstop. Why?”
    â€œWhy do you think, Monk?” asked A.J. Monk rolled his shoulders but didn’t answer.
    â€œCaptain?” The dusting CSI had finished the room and was ready to give a preliminary briefing. “We’ll need to take elimination prints from the body and the cleaning service. But it looks like the perp did some wiping down. There are wipe streaks on the doorstop and the doorknob. Also the coffee table top and one of the chairs; chair arms and back.” He pointed