Mr. Monk Is Open for Business by Hy Conrad Page A

footsteps from below made her stop at the second-floor landing. But she wasn’t quite in time. The first shot hit her in the shoulder. The second shot caught her in the stomach. Her weight pushed open the iron door, and she collapsed into floor two, the upper level of the warehouse.
    “I don’t know why he didn’t come in then,” Sarabeth said. Her energy was fading and we wouldn’t have much longer to question her, not this time.
    “He was reloading,” said Captain Stottlemeyer. “We recovered shells on that landing.”
    “Thank God,” said Sarabeth. “I bolted the door as best I could, then tried to find someplace safe.”
    The place she found to collapse and wait for death was just feet from the door. The two angled crates and the teakchandelier she pulled in behind her blended perfectly with her modest brown blouse and made her nearly invisible.
    “He must have really wanted you dead,” said Monk as gently as you could possibly say those words.
    “Me?” said Sarabeth. “What do you mean?”
    “I mean Noone could have escaped. He knew the SWAT team was coming. Yet he took the time to shoot through the door and search the warehouse. We saw him through the windows, scouring the place. Why do you think he did that?”
    “He was waiting to escape with the EMTs,” said Sarabeth. “That’s what they told me.” I wasn’t surprised she’d already heard this theory. People love to gossip, even doctors and nurses.
    “That’s a faulty theory,” Monk said. “We had a top-notch officer on the door. That’s not how Noone escaped.” It was nice to hear him defending Devlin. “He probably did want you dead. Why did he want you dead?”
    Sarabeth didn’t have an answer. “Why does a crazy person do anything? I was always nice to Wyatt. We never had an argument.”
    Stottlemeyer frowned. “Are you saying Miss Willow was the main target?”
    “No,” said Monk. “If she was the target, he wouldn’t have left her till last. But maybe he needed all four of them. He attacked when the warehouse workers were gone. Just the four office workers. Do you know anything that could help us?”
    Sarabeth shivered. “If I did, I would tell you. Honest.”
    Monk nodded and didn’t press his point. Instead, he turned to the rest of us. “Miss Willow needs some rest,” he said. “We should leave.”
    “Call me Sarabeth.”
    “Sarabeth. Can I come back?”
    “Please,” she said, and reached out to squeeze his hand. “They were all my friends. Please catch him.”
    “I will,” said Monk, and squeezed back. I reached in my bag for a wipe, but he didn’t seem to want it.
    “What was that about?” I asked five minutes later. Captain Stottlemeyer had just said good-bye and left us standing on the third level of the hospital parking garage. “And don’t act all innocent. You know what I mean.”
    Monk wanted to get in the car and end the discussion. But I wouldn’t beep him in. “Sarabeth’s been through a lot,” he said. “It’s called empathy.”
    “I know what empathy is. I’m just surprised you do.”
    “Do you think she likes me?”
    “Likes you?” I was in shock. “Since when do you care if people like you? If you cared, my world would be so much easier.”
    “I noticed she was trembling when I spoke to her. That means she likes me, right?”
    “It means she’s got an arm wound and a stomach wound and is in intensive care.”
    “You’re a very cynical woman.”
    I digested this for a moment, then took a moist wipe from my bag. I held it out. “Wipe.”
    “What?”
    “The spot where she squeezed your hand. Wipe it off.” It was half an offer, half an experiment.
    He shrugged his shoulder and cricked his head. “That’s okay. I don’t have to.”
    “Oh my God. You like her. You want to go out with her.”
    “No,” he said, following it with a hearty laugh. “Not until she’s out of intensive care. According to her background, she’s single, divorced for about three years now,