Free Mr. Monk and the New Lieutenant by Hy Conrad

raining. No one was out.”
    â€œDid the mongrel pick up anything off the street? Did youboth touch anything?” Monk shivered. “Did you pick up the dog’s poop in some unsanitary way? Not that there is a sanitary way.”
    â€œTeddy didn’t poop and I didn’t touch anything.”
    Trudy took her husband by the hand and started leading him toward the door. “We’re going to the emergency room. Natalie, there’s a number on the fridge for the emergency vet. Also the address. It might be quicker. . . .”
    â€œI’ll take care of Teddy,” I said, and I rushed off to get the information. Then the captain let me take Teddy out of his arms. I could feel the poor thing shivering through his fur.
    Monk and I hadn’t bothered to take off our coats, so we were on the porch, ready when Leland and his wife emerged wearing theirs. The rain hadn’t let up in the least. “Adrian, you go with the captain. I’ll drop off Teddy and join you as soon as I can. What do I tell the vet?”
    â€œTell him to check for heavy metals. Probably thallium.”
    â€œIs there an antidote to thallium poisoning?”
    â€œPrussian blue,” said Monk.
    â€œPrussian blue?” I asked. “What is that, a color?”
    â€œIt’s a pigment. The Germans used it in their uniforms for centuries. It’s lighter than cobalt but darker than sky blue. It’s close to the classic Levi’s blue in color. If the vet happens to be a painter, he might have some on hand. Obviously, if you’re poisoned, you’re not supposed to just wear the color; that would be silly. You have to eat the pigment.”
    I had to ask. “How do you know these things?”
    â€œHow do you not? It’s basic survival.”
    â€œJust save Teddy, okay?” the captain said, then reached for his black golf umbrella. “Let’s go.” But Monk had alreadygrabbed the captain’s hand, pulling him off-balance. He almost fell. “Monk? This is no time for sentiment.”
    â€œDon’t.” Monk took a second, his hand still clutching his friend’s hand, his eyes focused on the three umbrellas dripping in the clay pot. “It must be in your umbrella.”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œThallium powder. That’s why Teddy’s sick. That’s why Trudy isn’t sick. That’s why there wasn’t a trace in Judge Oberlin’s house. That’s why you and the judge both collapsed on rainy days.”
    â€œIn the umbrella?” I asked.
    Monk almost smiled. “It’s a brilliant plan. The killer wouldn’t need access to your house, just your umbrella. The second you opened it . . .”
    â€œAdrian, thank you, but shut up,” said Trudy. Then she beeped open her husband’s car and began to drag him out into the rain.

CHAPTER NINE
    Mr. Monk and the Visiting Hours
    A s Monk had said, it was brilliant—a heavy dusting of thallium powder inside the folds of a closed umbrella. When the umbrella was opened, the powder would be released and be either inhaled or absorbed by the skin. If the killer had been careful enough to keep the powder in the outside folds, the rain would wash away the remaining evidence into the street. As for timing, the poison could have been put in place weeks ago, anytime after the last good downpour. The murderer wouldn’t need to have access to the house.
    â€œIt could have killed Trudy,” the captain said over and over. He was in a hospital bed at SF General, barely wheezing out the words.
    â€œDoes she ever use your umbrella?” I asked.
    â€œA big, black golf umbrella? No,” he admitted. “She has her own. But they were side by side in the damn pot. What kind of coward endangers a man’s wife?”
    We were talking about her as if she weren’t there. But Trudy was in the room with us—physically, at least.
    â€œI don’t think he