Free Mr. Monk and the Dirty Cop by Lee Goldberg

was as “clean” as his was.
    I didn’t bother telling him that, despite his gift, none of his neighbors would ever seal every single thing in their trash cans into bags and sort them according to his specifications (which he’d printed up and passed out to them on numerous occasions over the years). He’d find out on his own soon enough.
    When I got home, I put my Diaper Genie in a corner in the kitchen, because I knew it would be the first thing he’d look for every time he visited me. I didn’t have to worry about him ever checking Julie’s room for hers, though. Because she had put a DANGER—HAZARDOUS WASTE sign on her door and he took her at her word.
    Julie didn’t notice the Diaper Genie until we were cleaning up after dinner. She glanced at it and gave me a look.
    “Is there something I should know?” she asked.
    “I’m not pregnant, if that’s what you’re getting at, and I’m controlling my bladder just fine. Mr. Monk gave that to us to use as a garbage can.”
    “Why?”
    “So we can wrap up all of our trash,” I said. “I have one for your room if you’d like it.”
    “No way. It was bad enough when he gave us Tupperware containers for our toothbrushes, our underwear, and our socks. This is too much.”
    “It’s just his way of showing that he cares about us,” I said. “And I show him how much we care about him by letting him think that we follow some of his rules.”
    She shook her head, grabbed a cookie, and headed for her room. “He doesn’t pay you nearly enough, Mom.”
    “No,” I said, “he doesn’t.”
     
    The next morning I arrived at Monk’s apartment promptly at nine, as I always do. He was waiting for me at the door with two Diaper Genies with ribbons tied around them.
    “You already gave us Diaper Genies,” I said. “Two more would be an embarrassment of riches.”
    “They aren’t for you,” he said. “They’re for Captain Stottlemeyer and Lieutenant Disher. Let’s go deliver them.”
    He handed me one, he took the other, and we trooped back to my car for the ride downtown.
    We got some strange looks as we carried the Diaper Genies through the Homicide squad room and stopped at Disher’s desk. Stottlemeyer hadn’t noticed us yet; his door was closed and he seemed to be buried in paperwork.
    Monk set the Diaper Genie down on Disher’s desk. “This is for you.”
    Disher studied it. “What is it?”
    “A Diaper Genie,” Monk said.
    The detectives nearby started to snicker. Disher reddened with embarrassment and glared at us.
    “If this is your idea of a joke, I don’t think it’s funny. I’m not the baby cop around here anymore and I’m tired of being treated like I am.”
    “Randy, you get carded every time you try to buy a beer,” I said. “Or go to see an R-rated move. You asked me to go to The Dark Knight with you so you wouldn’t have to show your ID.”
    “I’ve got news for you both—beneath this deceptively boyish exterior is the soul of a battle-scarred, coldhearted cop.” He pointed to the detective at the next desk. “I’ve got three years on Lansdale. Give the diaper can to him.”
    “I have no idea what you’re talking about. This is for your trash,” Monk said. “It will change your life.”
    “How will a trash can do that?”
    “It will individually wrap everything you throw away in its own bag so you don’t have to.”
    “I’ve never done that,” Disher said.
    “I know, God help me, I know,” Monk said, then addressed the other detectives in the room. “You should all use it.” They just stared at him. “You’ll thank me later.”
    He knocked on Stottlemeyer’s door and walked in without waiting to be invited. I dutifully followed after him, holding the Diaper Genie.
    Stottlemeyer didn’t lift his eyes from the mess of papers in front of him and tapped numbers into a calculator that was so old, the numbers had worn off the keys.
    “Come right in, make yourselves at home,” he said. “Don’t let the