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his chair. "The Hilliard case?  Monk's profile broke that case wide open.  Brilliant."
    "Monk worked hard," Sky admitted.
    "Sixteen girls murdered in just two months," the Chief recounted like a litany, "until Monk took him out with a single gunshot to the forehead.” The Chief wore a satisfied look, as though he'd had a personal role in the kill.
    But Sky was remembering Monk's comment about the Hilliard shooting. "Hilliard committed suicide," he’d said. "I just pulled the trigger for him."
    Sky didn't mention this. Why spoil the Chief’s glow?
    "Your father and I were great friends, you know. We first worked together about a hundred years ago on the Back Bay murders – your dad a rookie, fresh out of Quantico. Boston was his first field-office assignment, it was my first year with Boston homicide. Hell, we were just kids then."
    "My dad worked the Back Bay murders?" Sky was startled. Monk had never spoken of it.
    "Oh, yes. Your father was new to Boston, came with nothing but a shiny new badge and his Smith & Wesson." The Chief laughed uncomfortably. “Monk was a real blue flamer in those days, the job was everything. Not even interested in women. That's how he got his nickname. Until he met your mother, of course."
    Sky knew the story but she let him talk.
    "Everybody thought Monk was nuts, in those days. A system for profiling murders? He invented the term, you know. Nobody even knew what ‘profiling’ meant, except for a couple of sociology and criminology instructors at Quantico." He shook his lion's head. "Sociology, for God's sake. Who knew?" His voice grew somber. "After we broke the Back Bay murders, Monk tried to get me to join the bureau."
    "High praise, coming from Monk."
    The Chief shrugged at the compliment. "Monk called me again when he was promoted to Unit Head, asked if I was interested in joining. I stayed in local law enforcement, no regrets." Magnus shook his head. "But your father and I always spoke the same language."
    The same language indeed.
    Magnus Moriarty, son of an Irish cop from Southie and an Italian mother from the Lake. A product of twenty years with Boston PD. His meteoric rise from arson, to vice, to homicide, had been accompanied by an arrest record so impressive that he was known on the streets as The Terminator. His celebrity among fellow officers was cemented after he talked an armed cop killer into surrendering during a six-hour stand-off in Charlestown.
    Some said Magnus Moriarty's departure from Boston homicide to run the Newton police department was a form of unofficial retirement. But they never said it to his face.
    "There weren't many people Monk respected," Sky said.
    "And the apple doesn't fall far from the tree."
    "Excuse me?"
    "You remind me of your father, that's all." The Chief gestured toward Monk’s photograph. "You see things, Sky. The way Monk saw things. You're like your dad. Smart. But not all the right kinds of smart. That’s not always enough. You gotta work the game.”
    Sky didn't like the direction this conversation was taking. Magnus was setting to launch onto his hobby-horse, give her the pep talk about being a political animal. She never had wanted that life, neither had Monk. "I interview people, Magnus."
    The Chief picked up a sword-shaped letter opener and ran his thick finger along the blade. “You have your critics. Some don’t take you seriously.” He shrugged. “Comes with the territory. A woman, working in a man’s profession. But your track record speaks for itself, Sky. It's no secret. You work a case, that case gets solved." He issued a deep sigh. “You're modest. Like your dad." This small insight seemed to energize Magnus and he jumped up from his chair.
    "But you're so goddamn thin. You need to eat. Put some meat on those bones." He lifted the string of sausages from the lamp and dropped them in a brown paper grocery bag. "Take these home. Fry in a pan with a little olive oil, about twenty minutes."