Mr. Monk Is Open for Business Read Online Free PDF Page A

your fault, whatever happened. Did you get involved with drugs somehow? Do you owe them money? If they were threatening you, it could be called self-defense.”
    “No comment.”
    Daniela rolled her eyes. “See what I’ve been dealing with. Henry, dear, if you don’t explain what happened, you could be convicted of murder. Whatever you’re hiding, it can’t be worse than murder.”
    I could go on and re-create the next few minutes of this one-sided conversation, but it wouldn’t be helpful. This was all there was to learn from Henry Pickler. He himself called the meeting short, preferring, I guess, the company of his domestically abusive cellmate (accused) to that of his lawyer and the two private investigators who were trying their best to help.
    We watched a guard lead him out. Then Daniela asked the other guard if we could use the room for another few minutes. “As long as we have a clean table,” she asked, “and the microphones are still turned off.” We were told we had fifteen minutes, the rest of our allotted time, until they needed the room.
    “I need to know this.” Monk paused, waiting until the guard left and the door closed behind him. “Why did you employ a terrible house cleaner?”
    “Henry’s wife? She wasn’t terrible. She was hardworking and reliable, and she didn’t steal.”
    “I could say the same for Natalie. But I wouldn’t let her clean.”
    “Okay, guys,” I interrupted. “Let’s stay focused. Henry must be protecting someone.”
    “I thought of that,” said Daniela. “But he’s pretty much a loner. He works from home as a Web site designer. His one phone call after his arrest was to me, the only lawyer he remotely knew. According to the jail records, no one else has come to visit. Henry is an only child. His parents died a decade or so ago and left him a sizable inheritance, which is frankly the only reason I’m continuing to represent him and bill his hours.”
    “So, he’s willing to pay for a top-notch lawyer,” said Monk. “And yet he won’t explain what happened. Where’s the logic in that? Spending money for help and then refusing it?”
    “That’s why you’re here,” Daniela said. “The inexplicable. Isn’t that your specialty?”
    “Did we really say that?” Monk asked.
    “You did. It’s in the brochure you gave me on the ship.”
    “Did we mean it? I’m not sure we meant it.”
    “We meant it,” I assured Daniela. “How about Henry’s wife? I know they’re separated. But could he be protecting her?”
    Daniela shook her head. “Becky hasn’t been back. We’ve traded e-mails a few times and I follow her on Facebook. She’s living in the Seattle area. Don’t tell Henry, but I think she’s seeing someone.”
    Monk grunted at the news and shifted his shoulders. Icould see him mentally changing gears. “Okay, what about the victim?”
    Daniela reached down into her yellow leather Gucci handbag and pulled out a manila file folder. “Esteban Rivera. A legal immigrant from Guatemala, twenty-six. From his DEA sheet, we know he was a small-time street pusher—crack, weed, meth—working North Beach for the Mexican cartel.”
    It was fascinating to hear Daniela Grace using a little street lingo. She had the look and manners of an upscale real estate broker showing off a Nob Hill condo. I had to remind myself that this matron was a top-notch defense attorney.
    “North Beach?” Monk said, making a face. “That’s Lucarelli territory. What are the Mexicans doing selling drugs in North Beach?”
    “Trying to get a foothold,” said Daniela. “If this murder had occurred on an inner-city street corner, it would be a textbook turf hit; the Lucarellis sending a message with a nine-millimeter shell delivered at close range. There was a similar example last year. Also the Lucarellis. Suspected to be the Lucarellis, I should say. They were investigated. No one was arrested.”
    “Had the body been moved?” I asked. “Maybe he’d been killed