Mr. Monk and the New Lieutenant by Hy Conrad

except for a few photos of him giving lectures at the San Francisco Law Library. For two days, I had followed him from the O’Brien manse in Pacific Heights to the office and back again.
    â€œHe does spend a lot of time with Gayle Greenwald.” Gayle, to bring you up-to-date, was the woman Sue had identified as the coworker and mistress. “They leave the office within five or ten minutes of each other. Then they go around the corner and meet at Jezebel’s Tavern. It’s one of those super-trendy bars that try to look like dingy dive joints but charge you fifteen dollars for a weak cocktail.”
    â€œI know Jezebel’s,” said Sue with a wry smile. “And it’s a very fitting name.”
    â€œYesterday I managed to get the booth right behind them. I have a little recorder with a directional mic. It’s no good in court, of course, but it’s more reliable than taking notes.”
    â€œAnd what were they talking about?” Sue asked. “Their plans for the future?”
    â€œBusiness, mainly,” I had to admit. “They seemed very friendly. Pet names, that sort of thing, but nothing detailed. They were focused on some high-stakes divorce case they’re working on together.”
    â€œYou mean my divorce case?”
    â€œYou don’t have a divorce case,” I reminded her. “Not yet. If you want to listen to the tape yourself . . .”
    Sue took a deep breath. “I would like that, yes.”
    I retrieved the micro-recorder from my top drawer andslid it across to her, feeling pretty sleazy as I did so. This was one of the downsides of a traditional PI firm, the part that Monk hates: the spying and the sex and the raw emotions. Of course, the other part involves bloody corpses and grieving relatives. That part doesn’t bother him.
    â€œIt’s about twenty-five minutes long,” I said. “To my ears, there’s nothing incriminating, no talk of bank accounts or hidden assets. It doesn’t sound like they’re discussing you. But you may have a better insight into it.”
    â€œI may indeed.” In slow motion, Sue took the recorder, gently placing it in her left palm and poising her right index finger over the play button. “Do you mind if I listen to this alone?”
    â€œNot at all.” I was actually relieved. “Do you want some tea? I think we’re out of tea, so it gives me an excuse to go to the market a few doors down. They have some great teas. I’ll be sure to take my time. Make yourself at home.”
    And that’s how I left her, looking vulnerable in the back corner of my office, her finger motionless over the button.
    I took my time, as promised, roaming the crowded aisles of the cutesy little market. When I came back half an hour later with three selections of overpriced tea, Sue had already finished. She was sitting primly, stone-faced, exactly where I’d left her, her hands folded over the micro-recorder.
    â€œSo?” I asked, pointing to the recorder.
    â€œYou’re right. Nothing incriminating. Maybe they’re not having an affair.” There was a note of optimism in her voice. “Is there any way to find out for sure?”
    â€œYou could go on a trip,” I said. The idea had just occurred to me.
    â€œOn a trip? Why?”
    â€œI can’t follow your husband everywhere. I don’t have the resources, and it’s too easy to get caught. But if you go away to visit a sick aunt or some old classmate, I can concentrate on your house.”
    â€œNo.” Sue gasped and covered her mouth. “You think they would do it in my house? In our own bed?”
    â€œYes,” I said. “From my limited experience, there’s nothing a mistress likes more than shacking up in what may become her future home. You can stay at a local hotel, someplace with a spa. I don’t think Timothy and Gayle will be able to resist spending a night