Free Mr. Monk in Trouble by Lee Goldberg

and a little chilly when we left the Box House and walked towards Main Street. I noticed that it was quiet and still, something I never experienced in San Francisco. The stars were much brighter, too, unobscured by the glare of tens of thousands of city lights. The street was lit by only a few dim lampposts and the glow from a couple of storefront windows.
    “I’ll watch the way ahead,” Monk said. “You keep a look-out behind us.”
    “What am I looking out for?”
    “Burros, coyotes, mountain lions, goats, grizzly bears, rattlesnakes, wild boars,” Monk said. “There could be all kinds of vicious creatures stalking us.”
    “Not to mention dandelions and tumbleweeds.”
    Monk quickened his pace. “It’s a miracle that Manny Feikema is the only one who has been killed here lately.”
    “How’s that investigation going?”
    “You’ve seen and heard the same things I have,” he said. “You tell me.”
    “It looks like we have nothing to go on,” I said. “But I always think that. For all I know, you’re just one tiny clue short of solving it.”
    “I’m not,” he said sadly.
    “So where do we start?”
    “We ask Captain Stottlemeyer to find out where Jake Slocum, the surviving train robber, is these days.”
    “What does he have to do with Manny’s murder?”
    “Nothing,” Monk said.
    “So shouldn’t you be concentrating first on the murder that was committed a couple of days ago rather than a crime that happened in 1962?”
    “The Golden Rail Express robbery isn’t solved,” he said.
    “Two men were caught, tried, and punished for their crimes,” I said. “Justice was done. Case closed.”
    “But there may have been other robbers who got away unpunished with all the cash and gold.”
    “If there was anybody else involved, they’re probably dead and the money long gone. But Manny Feikema’s killer is definitely still out there and very much alive.”
    “I’m going to solve both mysteries,” Monk said.
    “So why not start with Manny’s murder? The other one can wait; it happened nearly fifty years ago.”
    “Because I don’t have anything to go on and you won’t let me leave this savage wasteland until we solve the case. So we might as well accomplish something in the meantime.”
    “This savage wasteland could be your ancestral home.”
    “Be serious,” he said. “The streets aren’t paved. The sidewalks are made of wood. They might not even have running water or electricity. Can you imagine a man like me living here?”
    “I don’t have to,” I said, hefting Abigail Guthrie’s book. “I’ve got this.”
    “Artemis Monk has nothing to do with me.”
    “How much do you and Ambrose know about your family heritage?”
    “Nothing,” Monk said.
    “So now you’ve got another mystery you can solve while you’re here.”
    I called Captain Stottlemeyer’s office on my cell phone as we walked. He wasn’t in, so I left a message on his voice mail asking him if he could track down Jake Slocum, the surviving robber, for us. I didn’t mention that this had to do with a crime that happened in 1962. I figured he’d move faster if he assumed that it had something to do with Manny’s murder.
    We stopped by the police station. My car was parked out front, gleaming in the floodlights as if it had just rolled off the assembly line.
    “I told you it was a lost cause,” Monk said.
    “The car is sparkling, Mr. Monk,” I said.
    “They only did a superficial wash.”
    “It was only superficially dirty,” I said.
    “A cake tainted with poison still looks delicious,” Monk said. “That doesn’t mean it won’t kill you.”
    “It was the exterior that got dirty, not the interior.”
    “I’m sure it seeped in,” Monk said. “It always seeps. It’s a seeping thing.”
    I didn’t bother arguing the point and went inside the station to get my keys while Monk waited outside.
    Chief Kelton was away but the receptionist had my keys. She told me that our rooms were ready at