侦探小说：Mr. Monk Is Cleaned Out 节选(The End)

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侦探小说：Mr. Monk Is Cleaned Out 节选(The End) ZT

MR. MONK IS CLEANED OUT by Lee Goldberg

"Okay, Monk, here it is in a nutshell. Big Country Mortgage gave
very low, adjustable-rate loans to people so they could buy homes
that they actually couldn't afford. Many of those people then
borrowed against the equity in those homes to buy even more things
they couldn't afford."

"Were they insane?" Monk asked.

"They were deceived," Stottlemeyer said. "Big Country convinced them
that there was no risk and that the loans were within their means.
But then interest rates went up, property values fell, and people
ended up owing Big Country more money than their homes were worth.
Hundreds of thousands of people are losing their homes, their
savings, everything."

"I could have been one of them," I said. "I nearly fell for one of
those subprime loans myself."

Monk looked at me with surprise. "How could you?"

"Because I'm paid a pittance and I thought that I could tap into the
equity in my house for some quick cash."

"What do you need more money for?"

"Oh, I don't know," I said. "Frivolous stuff like food, clothing,
and electricity."

"What do you do with all the money I give you?"

"I pay my mortgage," I said.

"And what do you do with what's left over?"

"There is nothing left over," I said.

"You obviously don't know how to handle money," Monk said. "Maybe if
you ironed your cash, you'd learn to appreciate it more."

"I took out one of those loans, Monk," Stottlemeyer said, coming to
my rescue. "It was the only way I could afford an apartment after my
divorce."

"You don't iron your money, either," Monk said.

"Nobody does," Stottlemeyer said. "Only you do."

"Maybe that's why everybody else is losing their homes, their
savings, and their jobs and I'm not."

"You're a sensitive guy, Monk."

"How are you holding up, Captain?" I asked.

"I'm barely holding on, especially now that the city is forcing
detectives to take three weeks off without pay to cut costs. But
I'll manage," Stottlemeyer said with a sigh, then turned back to
Monk. "Getting back to Big Country, the guy who ran the company,
Jack Moggridge, knew how toxic those loans were, but he lied to
investors and regulators, and cashed out all of his company stock
right before the market collapsed."

"That's fraud and insider trading," Monk said. "It's also cheating."

"Yes, it is," Stottlemeyer said. "Clasker was going to help us put
Moggridge away."

"And in return, Clasker got to walk free with his millions and his
Pacific Heights home," I said. "That infuriated a lot of the people
who were swindled by Big Country."

"That's why we were following him from his house to the court, to
protect him," the captain said. "Everything was fine until we hit
the red light at this intersection. When the light turned green, he
didn't move. People started honking their horns. So we got out to
see what was wrong."

The captain turned to look at the BMW and so did we. The tinted
windows were so dark that it was impossible to see inside the BMW
from where Stottlemeyer's car was parked.

"I couldn't see anything until my face was practically pressed
against his driver's-side window," he continued. "That's when I saw
what had happened. There was blood all over. The door was locked, so
I had to break the window with the butt of my gun to get inside."

"How was Clasker killed?" Monk asked.

"He was strangled with piano wire."

"Was there anybody else in the car?" I asked.

"He was all alone," the captain said. "We walked him from his house
to his car, so I know there was nobody in it then. We didn't see
anybody enter or leave the vehicle from the moment we left the house
until now. And we haven't moved from this spot since it happened."

Monk stepped up behind the BMW and crouched down to look underneath
it.

"The car isn't parked over a manhole, if that's what you're
thinking," Stottlemeyer said. "It was the first thing that I
checked."

"I was looking for this." Monk picked something up and then turned
to show it to Stottlemeyer. It was the toothpick that the captain
had tossed earlier.

"That's mine," the captain said.

"I know," Monk said, motioning to me. I took a Baggie out of my
purse and held it open for him. "Littering is a crime. You are
setting a very bad example for your men."

"Sorry," the captain said.

"Littering is just the beginning. Then the rot sets in. The next
thing you know, you're planting evidence, soliciting bribes, and
drinking hard liquor."

Monk dropped the toothpick in the Baggie, which I stuck back into my
purse to throw out later. I have a very large purse to accommodate
the disinfectant wipes, Baggies, antiseptic ointment, rubber gloves,
bottled water, Windex, rattlesnake antivenin, and everything else
that Monk has me carry around. If my purse was any larger, it would
need wheels.

A short, pudgy forensic technician wearing a white jumpsuit, white
bags over his shoes, and a white shower cap climbed out of the
backseat. He looked like the Pill*****ury Doughboy. I wanted to poke
him in the tummy to see if he'd giggle.

"There's no hidden exit in the floor, Captain," Pill*****ury said,
peeling off a pair of white garden gloves. "The only way in or out
of that car is through the four doors or the skylight."

"I want this car towed back to the lab and completely dismantled
anyway, Pete," the captain said. "The answer is in there somewhere."

"Yes, sir," Pill*****ury Pete said and walked back to the forensics van
to confer with the other techs. I suddenly had a craving for slice-
and-bake cookies.

Monk walked around to the driver's side and peered inside. Clasker's
body was gone but the seat, dashboard, and windshield were still
covered with his blood spatter. It was a gruesome sight. I lost my
craving.

Hardcover: Today's read ends on page 19.