“Who was murdered?” I asked.

“Paul Braddock,” Stottlemeyer said.

“How?” Monk asked.

“He was strangled in his hotel room,” Stottlemeyer said.

“When?” Monk asked.

“The night of the wake.”

“When you beat him up,” Monk said.

“Yes,” Stottlemeyer said.

“After he humiliated you in front of hundreds of homicide detectives,” I said.

“Yes,” Stottlemeyer said.

“So all the police have against you is one of the strongest motives for murder that I’ve ever heard in all my years of investigating homicides,” Monk said. “It’s not so bad.”

He wasn’t being sarcastic. He didn’t know how to be. I think he was trying-in his own sweet, unconvincing way-to be reassuring. He failed miserably.

Stottlemeyer cleared his throat. “And I was in the hotel at the time of the murder.”

Monk nodded. “Is that all?”

“And he was strangled with a tie identical to the one I was wearing.”

Monk nodded again. “That’s it?”

“And they found my fingerprints on a broken glass in Braddock’s room.”

Monk nodded some more. “Anything else?”

“They found my tie, stained with Braddock’s blood, in my garbage can.”

Monk hadn’t stopped nodding. “Any more?”

“And I fired you shortly before Braddock’s murder, which meant that the one detective in San Francisco with an unbroken record for solving homicides wasn’t around to investigate this case.”

Monk kept right on nodding. He was nodding so much I was afraid he’d give himself a concussion, so I grabbed his head to stop him. He kept trying to nod anyway. I held his head tight.

“You can stop nodding, Mr. Monk, the captain is finished listing all the evidence against him,” I said, glancing at Stottlemeyer. “Aren’t you?”

Now Stottlemeyer nodded.

Monk took a deep breath and let it out slowly, signaling to me that he was calm. He wasn’t fighting against my grip any longer. I let go of his head and he held it steady.

“So,” Monk said. “Why did you kill him?”

“I didn’t,” Stottlemeyer said. “That’s why I called you. I’m being framed and you’re the only one who can prove it.”

“Isn’t Randy working his butt off to clear your name?” I asked.

“Who do you think put together the case against me?” Stottlemeyer said. “He thinks I’m guilty.”

“How could he?” I said.

“Only because the captain had an incredibly strong motive and all the evidence pointed to him,” Monk said. “Other than that, Lieutenant Disher has nothing.”

“That’s comforting,” Stottlemeyer said. “So, will you help me or not?”

“Of course I will,” Monk said.

“Me, too,” I said.

Stottlemeyer smiled. “Then I know this is all going to work out fine.”

“I hope he gets himself a good lawyer,” Monk said as we left the jail and headed for the Lexus, which was parked at a meter a short way up Seventh Street.

“Do you think he’s going to need one?”

“A good lawyer might be able to plea-bargain him down to a sentence that’s less than life in prison.” Monk tapped each meter that we passed. It was a habit of his that I had never understood.

“That won’t be necessary, because this case will never get that far,” I said. “You’ll prove him innocent long before a trial.”

“What makes you think I’m going to do that?”

“Because you just said you would,” I said.

“I said I would help him,” Monk said. “We’ll start interviewing criminal defense attorneys today.”

“What about investigating the murder and proving him innocent instead?”

“Are you kidding?” Monk said. “He did it.”

“How can you say that?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe it’s because he did it.”

“You know Captain Stottlemeyer better than that,” I said. “He couldn’t murder anyone.”

“Until now. Did you hear all the evidence against him?”

“I wouldn’t care if they’d caught Stottlemeyer in the act, cinching the tie around Braddock’s throat.”

“Did they?” Monk asked.

“No, they didn’t,” I said through gritted teeth, withstanding the urge to slap him silly.

“Are you sure? We should double-check, because that’s the only thing they haven’t got against him.”

“If Leland Stottlemeyer says he’s innocent, then he is. You should believe that, too.”

I drove us straight to police headquarters so we could have a talk with that scoundrel Randy Disher.

We found him carrying a box into the captain’s office, which had been completely stripped bare of all of Stottlemeyer’s files and personal belongings.

Disher set the box on the empty desk and faced us grimly. “I heard that the captain had called you. I figured it was better that you heard the bad news directly from him rather than me.”

“I ought to slap you,” I said.

“That would be assaulting a police officer,” Monk said. “It’s a criminal offense.”

“Perfect, then I should do it,” I said. “Lieutenant Disher seems to enjoy arresting his friends.”

“It’s not Lieutenant anymore,” Disher mumbled. “It’s Acting Captain Disher.”

That was when I noticed that the box he’d brought in was full of stuff from his desk. I felt my face get hot.

“So that’s what this is all about. You sold out the captain for a promotion,” I said. “I see it didn’t take you very long to haul away his stuff and move yourself in.”

“It’s a temporary assignment and I had no idea the deputy chief was going to do it,” Disher said. “And it was Internal Affairs that cleaned out his office, not me.”

“They didn’t do a very good job,” Monk said. “There’s still dust on the shelves. If you give me Lysol, a rag, and some rubber gloves, I’ll take care of it.”

I pointed my finger at Monk.

“If you even try, I will break your arm like a chopstick.” Monk flinched and I turned to Disher. “Why did Internal Affairs take the captain’s things?”

“It is standard operating procedure in situations like this,” Disher said. “They are looking for evidence of other crimes he might have committed.”

“Other crimes?” The next thing I knew I was swinging at Disher’s face.

Disher didn’t raise a hand to defend himself or move out of the way. But before the flat of my hand could connect with his boyish cheek, Monk grabbed my arm and pinned it behind me.

“What’s the matter with you?” Monk said. He seemed truly distraught.

“It’s okay, Monk. Let her slap me. I deserve it for what I’ve done.”

“He’s right,” I said to Monk. “Let go of me.”

“Lieutenant Disher was only doing his job,” Monk said.

“Acting Captain Disher,” he corrected.

I tried to slap Disher with my free hand, but with Monk clutching my other arm, I was off balance and the blow fell short of the mark. Disher would have had to lean towards me for the slap to connect. I guess he didn’t want to be punished as much as he claimed or he would have.

“I know that I betrayed the captain,” Disher said. “But I was only following the evidence where it led. I had no choice but to arrest him. My only hope, and his, is that you can prove that he’s innocent.”

“You should be doing that,” I seethed. It’s amazing that I wasn’t foaming at the mouth.

“I’ll help you any way that I can, but it will have to be unofficially,” Disher said. “I am going to leave now and get myself a cup of coffee. While I am gone, you are absolutely forbidden to read the file in the box on the desk, because it contains all of the forensic reports, witness statements, and crime scene photos on the Braddock investigation. Is that clear?”

He gave us a big, exaggerated wink.

“Yes,” Monk said.

Disher nodded, closed the blinds on all of the captain’s office windows, and walked out, closing the door behind him. We were alone and out of sight. Monk let go of me and I jerked away from him.

“Are you having female problems?” he asked.

I glared at him in fury. “Did you actually just ask me if I have my period?”