Free Mr. Monk on the Couch by Lee Goldberg

will,” Monk said. “But I won’t be petty and vindictive about it.”
    “Just smug and superior,” I said.
    “Thoroughly and justifiably,” Monk said.
    I turned to Ambrose. “I’ll understand if you don’t want to help.”
    “I would be glad to assist you,” Ambrose said.
    “Me, too,” Yuki said. “I know something about how terminal cancer affects a man. As Dub got sicker, nothing else mattered to him except finishing his last story. Maybe, in his own way, Griffin was trying to do the same thing.”
    Ambrose nodded. “Isn’t she incredible?”
    Monk groaned.
    “Thank you both,” I said. “I’m hoping that the photograph and his belongings will give us clues that could explain who he was and why he came to San Francisco to die.”
    I took out my notebook and shared with them my inventory of items, as well as my observations and questions. While I spoke, Yuki went to the living room, got a notepad and pen, and made some notes of her own.
    When I was done, Ambrose picked up the picture again, sat back in his chair, and nodded. “That’s an excellent start, Natalie. But I think there’s a lot more information we can extract from this photograph.”
    “Like what?” I asked.
    “Well, there’s the materials used in the roofing, the setback of the home from the street, the location and type of sewer grate in the curb, the dimensions of the sidewalk, and the shape, height, and position of the streetlamp,” Ambrose said. “From all of that, we can make some informed assumptions about the building codes and utility requirements that were in force at the time, which could help us pinpoint where and when this picture was taken. We might also be able to determine the manufacturer of the roofing, the sewer grate, the streetlamp, and so forth.”
    “Wow,” I said. “I never thought of that. I wouldn’t know where to begin to find that information.”
    “Of course you do or you wouldn’t be here,” Ambrose said. “It’s with me. I wrote the book on sewer grates.”
    Knowing Ambrose, I assumed he meant that literally. He probably wrote the books on roofing materials and streetlamps as well.
    “There’s also the snapshot itself,” Yuki said. “We might be able to determine the type of photo paper and the process used to develop it, and from that, the type of camera that took the picture. If you let us hold on to the photo, I’ll scan it and e-mail you a high-res jpeg so you can examine it in detail.”
    “Isn’t she wonderful?” Ambrose said.
    “You’re sweet, Ambrose. I’m going to go get dressed.” She got up and nodded to Monk and me. “It was nice to see you both again. Don’t be strangers.”
    Monk watched her leave the room, and the instant she was gone, he turned to Ambrose.
    “Are you out of your mind?”
    “Why do you say that, Adrian?”
    “You don’t even know that woman,” he said.
    “I know more about her than you knew about Natalie before you hired her,” Ambrose said. “And I know how I feel.”
    “You’ve lived in this house for decades,” Monk said. “Frankly, you are naive in the ways of the world and how predatory and dangerous it is out there.”
    “Why do you think that I’ve stayed inside all of these years?” Ambrose asked.
    “Well, now you’ve opened the door and let that outside world right in,” Monk said.
    “I would have done it sooner if I’d known it would be Yuki. She’s changed my life,” Ambrose said. “And I have the two of you to thank for it. If you hadn’t taken me on that road trip for my birthday, I never would have met Yuki. I feel reborn. That road trip was the greatest present anyone has ever given me.”
    I smiled and squeezed Ambrose’s hand. “I am so happy for you, Ambrose.”
    “Oh for God’s sake, wake up. What do we know about this woman?” Monk asked. “She could be an ex-con.”
    “She is,” Ambrose said.
    “She could have killed someone,” Monk said.
    “She has,” Ambrose said.
    Monk slapped his hands on