“Why?”

“Because this could be dangerous,” I said.

“But no crime has been committed,” Monk said.

“There have been three murders,” I said. “I’d rather there weren’t three more.”

“Call Danielle and tell her we’re sneaking into the warehouse and to join us inside,” he said. “Let’s see who Linda is meeting with so late at night in such a desolate place.”

I called Danielle, then the two of us went on foot to the warehouse, Monk trying hard not to brush against anything dirty or step in anything that might stain his shoes.

There was a sign outside of the warehouse. It featured an architect’s colorful drawing of a quaint Mediterranean village, complete with a marina and gardens, under a headline that read, A NEW RETAIL AND RESIDENTIAL DEVELOPMENT COMING SOON FROM DALBERG ENTERPRISES.

This is going to sound stupid, but after I saw that sign, I felt safer, as if I were shielded from harm by the powers of gentrification.

There was a door ajar at the back of the warehouse and we crept inside.

The space was lit by the glare of high-beams from Wurzel’s Maybach and Slade’s Bentley, which were parked in the center of the massive machine shop. Wurzel and Slade stood face-to-face in front of the cars, lit like two singers on a stage. But I doubted that they’d come to sing and dance.

I could hear their voices but I couldn’t make out what was being said. She sounded angry, though.

We cautiously and quietly weaved around piles of broken bricks, twisted pipes, and piles of rusting machines that could have been the skeletons of huge metal beasts.

Wurzel and Slade were only a few yards in front of us. I muted the ringer on my cell, so no incoming calls would inadvertently reveal our location, and hit speed dial.

“It happened so long ago I actually stopped worrying that anyone would find out,” she said. “What went wrong?”

“We were victims of the vagaries of old age,” Slade said. “But I took care of it.”

“If you did, they wouldn’t have come to me,” she said. “How did they connect me to any of it?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Slade said.

“Of course it does,” she said. “You made this mess. I expect you to clean it up.”

“I intend to, Linda.” Slade pulled out a gun from inside his jacket. He took a silencer from a pocket and screwed it onto the end of the gun. “You’re going to sleep with the fishes tonight.”

She started to back up. “You’re not seriously considering shooting me.”

“Only if you don’t dive off the pier into the bay on your own,” he said. “Don’t worry, being in the water will do wonders for your complexion. The fish will eat all of your dead skin. You can have an open casket at your funeral.”

He aimed the gun at her. We weren’t armed. There was nothing we could do to stop this.

Monk stepped out of hiding. “It’s over, Slade.”

I stepped out beside him.

Slade seemed more amused than startled by our sudden appearance.

He kept the gun on Linda Wurzel, who stood frozen in place, her mouth hanging open in shock.

“So I guess that’s not you driving my Lexus all over Berkeley,” Slade said. “I underestimated you both.”

For a moment, I forgot all about Slade, the gun, and the deadly situation we were in.

What was Julie doing out after midnight in Berkeley? Who was she with? I was tempted to call her right then and give her hell.

“I knew that she would call you in a panic but I didn’t expect you to kill her,” Monk said.

“I’m on a spree,” Slade said jovially. No one seemed to find it very funny except him.

“It’s over,” Monk said. “Put down the gun.”

“Not until I’ve shot her and the two of you,” Slade said.

“I don’t think so,” I said, raising my voice so it echoed through the warehouse. “We called the police. Any minute now this pier will be crawling with cops.”

I hoped that Danielle was hiding in the darkness somewhere out there and made the call or we were dead.

“I don’t believe you,” Slade said. “But even if you’re telling the truth, we’ll be done in just a few moments. Tell me, Monk, what was my undoing?”

“You killed Steve Wurzel instead of arresting Linda Wurzel,” Monk said.

“I mean besides that,” Slade said.

“You didn’t make any mistakes,” Monk said. “You covered your tracks flawlessly.”

“And yet, here you are,” Slade said.

“Because we believe Stottlemeyer is innocent. Nobody else thinks so. You were the only one who knew Stottlemeyer, Peschel, and Braddock and attended the conference. And you shared something else with Peschel: an investment in InTouchSpace stock that changed your lives ten years ago.”

“But where’s the evidence?”

“There isn’t any,” Monk said. “Unless she talks, or you do.”

Slade smiled. “That was my thinking, too.”

“So there’s no reason to kill me,” Wurzel said. “It would be suicidal for me to talk.”

“I’m playing it safe,” Slade said. “You might make another stupid mistake like you did tonight or go as nutty as Peschel did someday.”

“She already has,” Monk said. “You should see what she puts on her face.”

“Shut up, you fool,” Wurzel said. “You’re not helping any of us.”

I had to agree but I kept my mouth shut. The more they talked the more likely it was that the police would show up before we got killed.

“Don’t be angry at Monk,” Slade said. “I’ve already made up my mind.”

He lifted his gun and aimed at Wurzel’s head. Her time, and ours, had just run out.

That was when Danielle leapt from atop a pile of bricks with a banshee scream, flying through the air like an arrow, her legs extended in front of her.

She slammed into Slade before he could react, knocking the gun from his hand as he fell, his errant shot blasting one of the tires on Wurzel’s car.

Slade popped up on his feet almost immediately and so did Danielle. The two of them danced across the floor in a violent ballet of karate kicks, spins, and chops.

Wurzel, Monk, and I searched for the gun. I found it at the same moment Wurzel did. I elbowed her out of the way and snatched up the gun just as Slade trapped Danielle in a choke hold and turned to face us.

Danielle gurgled, her face bright red, her eyes bulging out. She couldn’t breathe.

“Drop the gun or I will break her neck,” Slade said.

I took aim. “You do and I’ll blow your head off. I’ll do it anyway if you don’t let her go in the next ten seconds.”

Wurzel stood to my far left, clutching herself and shaking. I didn’t know whether it was from fear or fury or both.

“You don’t have any firearms training,” Slade said. “You’re probably a lousy shot.”

Danielle looked as if she were close to passing out. A few more seconds and it wouldn’t matter whether I shot him or not.

“My husband was a navy fighter pilot,” I said, trying to keep my voice and my hand steady. I told myself that I was Dirty Harry in a bra. “Do you really want to gamble that he didn’t teach me how to shoot?”

“I did a thorough check on you,” he said.

“Then you know I met Mr. Monk after I killed an intruder in my home with my bare hands,” I said. “Whether I’m a lousy shot or not, this has got to be easier than that was.”

“Actually, you used a pair of scissors,” Monk said.

“That were in my bare hands,” I said.

“It’s not the same thing,” Monk said.

“The point is that I’m capable of killing, and giving me a gun makes it easy.” I turned back to Slade. “Shall we see if I’m right?”

“You might hit Danielle instead,” Slade said.

She gurgled some more, becoming deadweight in Slade’s arms.

“If I’m lucky, the bullet will go through her and into you,” I said. “If not, I’ll shoot again.”

“Maybe you should reconsider,” Monk said to me.

“Maybe he should,” I said.

Slade studied me like a poker player trying to detect a bluff. The pot at stake was Danielle’s life and his freedom. If he judged wrong, he could die.