Free Mr. Monk and the New Lieutenant by Hy Conrad Page A

was concerned about collateraldamage,” Monk said calmly. “He was after you. Not your wife. Not your dog.”
    â€œReally, Monk? You’re going to school me in keeping things logical? In a situation like this?” The captain didn’t have to say any more, not with a wife named Trudy who could have been killed.
    â€œYou’re right, Leland. I’m sorry.”
    Everyone had survived that rainy night in Dogpatch. The emergency room staff had done an immediate blood test. When they found a dose of thallium in the captain’s system, a nurse went running to the drug dispensary, where they kept a poison control cupboard, complete with an airtight canister of Prussian blue. They fed four of the Levi’s-hued pills to Stottlemeyer, twenty milligrams, then sent a messenger in an ambulance to the Paw and Claw Vet Clinic on Indiana Street, where I was waiting at the door. Teddy didn’t feel like eating, of course. But a calm, highly skilled vet managed to pry apart his teeth, get a single pill into the dog’s mouth, and massage his throat until it slid down.
    The rest of us tried not to overreact. We had a lot to be thankful for. The captain was alive. Teddy was alive and spending the night at the vet’s. A forensics team had taken the umbrella pot and its contents to the lab. Unfortunately, that left Monk with only two backup umbrellas, but he could deal with that. It was probably our refusal to overreact that sent Trudy over the edge. She stayed at Stottlemeyer’s side all night, holding his hand, shivering almost as much as the dog had been. When I returned to the hospital at nine a.m., I had to practically drag her out and drive her home for a few hours of rest. Captain’s orders.
    On my way back to the hospital, I stopped to pick up Monk. He had been up all night, too, vacuuming his apartment and making waffles. I could tell how disturbed he felt about the captain and his Trudy. It must have brought back all sorts of memories. But we didn’t talk about it. Instead, I sat down at his kitchen counter and shared in some waffle therapy, with a dollop of syrup centered in every square. When it comes to making square food, he’s actually a pretty good cook.
    An hour or so later, when we walked back into the captain’s private room, we were thrilled to see Lieutenant Amy Devlin sitting by his bed, looking as buff and hard as ever. “Hey, guys. Long time.” It was as if nothing had happened, as if she hadn’t taken an administrative leave and dropped off the face of the earth, not even bothering to call. “Did you hear that his poop is blue now? Not that I’ve personally seen it.”
    â€œIt’s true,” confirmed the captain. “That blue stuff absorbs the thallium and flushes it out. Literally.”
    â€œNo more poop talk,” said Monk. “Isn’t it enough that we have to put up with cold-blooded killers?”
    Amy got to her feet. “Well, Leland, now that my replacements are here, I can go.” She almost never called him Leland. It seemed both too personal and too distant. “It was great to see you. We shouldn’t wait until the next attempt on your life to be in touch.”
    â€œYou know where to find me.” The captain spread his arms. “At least for the next few days.”
    â€œYou’re leaving?” I said. “But we just got here. We haven’t seen you in ages.”
    â€œWe’ll catch up,” Amy promised. “But you guys are in the middle of an investigation. I don’t want to interfere.”
    I didn’t know how to respond. “Let me walk you out,” I said, hoping the right response might come to me along the way.
    â€œI spoke to the doctor right before you came,” whispered Amy as we headed down the hall side by side.
    â€œAnd?”
    â€œLeland will be fine. A day or two more of the blue stuff, just to make sure. Then he’ll be