Mr. Monk and the Blue Flu by Lee Goldberg

track?”
    That was a dumb question. He counted the lamp-posts on the street, the ceiling tiles in the police station, the raisins in his Raisin Bran, and probably even the granules of salt in his saltshaker. Of course he counted the cases he’d solved and how long it took him to do it.
    “This is really going to hurt my stats,” Monk said.
    “Forget those numbers; look at the big picture,” I said. “You’ve solved every murder you’ve ever investigated.”
    “All except one,” he said sadly. He was talking about Trudy, of course. His wife. The most important case of all to him.
    “You’ll solve that one, too,” I said. “No matter how long it takes.”
    “What if I’ve lost my mojo?”
    “You haven’t.”
    “Maybe I should resign and save the mayor the embarrassment of my dismal failure.”
    “ That’s your strategy for success? Quit the moment the job gets difficult?”
    “It could work,” Monk said.
    “Is that how you got this far, by quitting? No. You did it by relentlessly pushing ahead, battling your anxieties, phobias, and fears until you got what you wanted: your badge. And now that you’ve got it, you’re going to just give up? I’m surprised at you, Mr. Monk.”
    “You don’t understand, Natalie. I’ve got nothing on these three murders today. All the facts and questions are jumbled together in my head. It’s like it’s all one case. I can’t think.”
    “You’re being too hard on yourself.”
    “I’m stumped, and these aren’t even clever murders,” Monk said. “They’re mundane. Simple. They don’t compare to the impossible murders I’ve solved.”
    “Because these are the kinds of murders that Stottlemeyer and Disher handle every day and that you never hear about. They don’t call you in for this stuff. The problem is that you’re not a consultant anymore. You’ve got to deal with every homicide that comes along. And what I’ve learned so far is that most of them aren’t committed by rational people who intricately plot every move. They’re done on the spur of the moment by irrational people in desperate situations.”
    “So they should be easier to solve,” Monk said.
    “Maybe it’s the mundane, half-assed nature of these killings that’s messing you up,” I said. “I think there’s no real plotting involved, so you can’t get a sense of the thinking and thinkers behind the murders.”
    “You think?” Monk said.
    “Besides, you don’t have the luxury of devoting your mind to just one case. You had three murders thrown at you today on top of the Golden Gate Strangler killings. Of course you’re finding it hard to concentrate.”
    Monk shook his head. “I don’t know how the captain does it.”
    “You could ask him,” I said.
    “He won’t help me,” Monk said.
    I shrugged. “Then I guess you’ll just have to do what he does when things get tough.”
    “What’s that?”
    “Rely on you.”
    Monk looked at me. “You’re suggesting that I rely on myself?”
    I nodded.
    He groaned. “I’m doomed.”
    “That’s the spirit,” I said.
    At least he wasn’t talking about quitting anymore. I take my little victories where I can find them.
     
    Picking Julie up at her friend Katie’s house in a police car was a big hit. Julie made me give her and Katie and Katie’s mom a ride around the block with the siren on.
    Monk was really nice about it. He endured the squeals of glee from the kids in silence, a handkerchief over his nose and mouth to protect himself from their germs.
    I think he was too preoccupied with his own troubles to really make much of a fuss. Besides, there was a big Plexiglas screen between him and the kids in the backseat, so there was little chance of their touching him. He thinks all kids, including my own daughter, are basically no different from the rats who spread the Black Death throughout Europe.
    We dropped Katie and her mother back at their place and headed home. Julie bounced excitedly in her seat, thrilled to ride