Chapter 200: Detective Chuck and Detective Monk
"He's really amazing."
Leonard, his mood lifted, grinned. "He was invited to dinner by the president of Princeton University to meet with a donor and talk about science.
He gave the donor a complete verbal beatdown, but instead of losing the donation, he actually got the school even more money. Why? The donor thought Sheldon was refreshingly honest. In the end, Sheldon got a brand-new anti-static chair. That's incredible… It feels like he's the main character of this world."
"You are,"
Chuck said.
"Me?"
Leonard was stunned, then smiled wryly. "Don't mess with me. If we're talking about main characters, you're the protagonist of this world. I'm only an important supporting character because you're nice to me."
Chuck glanced at him, offering no explanation.
It was like receiving that call from Amazing Amy, learning about the formidable Penny from Omaha, and Leonard being terrified by her father's stare—perhaps a cross-dimensional attack from his future father-in-law.
Chuck didn't explain that in The Big Bang Theory, Leonard was the true protagonist, while Sheldon was initially just a supporting character. However, the supporting character eventually became the absolute star, while Leonard, the protagonist, ended up as a sidekick.
The reason is that everyone enjoys a carefree life, and it's easier to identify with Sheldon, who gets everything he wants and expects everyone to accommodate him, rather than the repressed and unconditionally accommodating nice-guy Leonard.
"Don't compare yourself to him."
"I know!"
Leonard grinned. "I was a little down and couldn't get over it, but since I met you, I've come to understand one thing deeply: there's no need to compete with him.
He may be a super genius that I can't match, but above him, there's you, a super genius that he can't match.
I feel bad for him, but he must be even more frustrated dealing with you than I am dealing with him!
And I get to be friends with you… that's enough.
Comparisons are endless!
Actually, I knew this when I was five years old. Back then, I liked stargazing. Although I wasn't an astronomy expert, I understood the basics.
But I saw a news report about a kid in India, about my age, who had made an amazing discovery of a celestial body. Except it wasn't a new planet. He just pointed at the moon and said he'd discovered it, and it actually made international news as a major scientific breakthrough from India.
They said this kid was the future star of Indian science!
Now that I think about it, my reaction when I saw that news was probably the same as yours when you look at Sheldon."
"I know him,"
Chuck nodded. "His name is Rajesh Koothrappali."
"You know him?"
Leonard's eyes widened, then looked enlightened. "Oh right, I remember you've been to India, so it makes sense you'd know this future Indian science star."
He couldn't contain his curiosity. "What do you think of him? If it weren't for the photos of him pointing at the moon claiming he discovered it, and the pictures of him late at night surrounded by books with telescopes and rocket models on his desk, he seemed like one of us."
"That was all staged,"
Chuck said. "Actually, the group of servants standing behind him, ready to cater to his every whim, weren't in those photos."
"Huh?"
Leonard was stunned. "His family is super rich? Wasn't he supposed to be a 'poor kid' from New Delhi who overcame poverty and discrimination, pursuing his scientific dreams through intelligence and hard work..."
He trailed off, unable to continue under Chuck's gaze, his lips twitching. "Okay, I get it."
The fact that someone could point at the moon and claim it was discovered by this 'poor kid' from New Delhi, and that it was reported by so many Indian media outlets and eventually became international news, shows just how much of it was fabricated.
"Just look at his name,"
Chuck reminded him.
"Oh."
Leonard, though not entirely understanding, pretended to, planning to research Indian caste surnames when he got back.
Just then, Sheldon finished popping all his bubble wrap and, with a satisfied look on his face, was urgently taken back by Beverly for an EEG test.
Two days later.
Princeton University.
"Chuck, you know what? Nancy's dead."
Cheryl and Tracy, the twin sisters, approached Chuck, their faces filled with shock. "Nancy Gold! The wife of Evan Gold, the famous New York sculptor, and Tracy's classmate at art school!"
"I know,"
Chuck nodded. "I've been invited by the police to consult on the case."
"Aren't you going yet?"
Cheryl asked in surprise. "The case was just discovered; wouldn't it be easier to investigate if you went sooner?"
"I have classes,"
Chuck said calmly. "That's usually how it works, but it doesn't affect me much. It's not worth disrupting my schedule. I've already sent my assistants over to do the preliminary work."
"Chandler Bing?"
Cheryl said instinctively. "Isn't he the comedian?"
At this point, her expression turned strange. "Are you sending him over to roast Evan Gold?"
"My assistants,"
Chuck explained. "Besides the comedy assistant Chandler Bing, there's also a detective assistant, Jane Banner. She's handling the preliminary investigation; Chandler will wrap things up after the case is solved."
"You think Evan Gold killed his wife?"
Justine immediately understood.
Cheryl and Tracy, catching on, also understood Chuck's meaning. Indeed, as Justine said, Chuck suspected a spousal murder case, so he'd arranged for his comedy assistant Chandler to follow up and prepare to roast Evan Gold, who had clashed with Chuck, afterward.
The two sisters knew it wasn't nice, but they couldn't help laughing, because this kind of humor was totally Chuck's style!
"What do you think?"
Chuck asked back.
"Hmm."
Justine pondered: "Most spousal murder cases are committed by the husband, and looking at Evan Gold's brazen philandering, and Nancy's shrewdness in pretending not to know while secretly enabling him, it's clearly a prelude to divorce. And I heard that Evan Gold publicly clashed with you over Professor Alicia Harper. Now that I think about it, it seems too abrupt and calculated."
"Yeah, I also find it strange."
Cheryl couldn't help but glance at Chuck.
Although she knew of Professor Alicia Harper's charm, she didn't think any woman could make Chuck jealous over another man, not even Professor Alicia Harper!
"I bet it's because of Detective Chuck's reputation!"
Justine blurted out her theory. "Evan Gold knows that when dealing with cases involving celebrities, the police are very likely to invite Chuck as a consultant. And once Chuck's involved, no matter how clever his plan is, he's not confident he can avoid Chuck's investigation. So he cleverly came up with a backup plan: if he can't avoid Chuck's investigation, then he'll disqualify Chuck from investigating. An investigation needs to be impartial."
"And he deliberately clashed with Chuck in public, so theoretically Chuck needs to recuse himself."
Cheryl exclaimed, "Directly preventing Chuck from taking his case… OMG! He's so devious!"
"But will that work?"
Tracy didn't understand the law, but she still had doubts. "If someone doesn't want to be investigated by someone, they deliberately clash with that person. Theoretically, couldn't someone offend all the detectives in charge of investigations before committing a crime, so they could commit crimes without anyone investigating or arresting them?"
"You'll have to ask Dad about that,"
Cheryl said worriedly.
Detective Chuck's reputation is growing. If everyone does this, wouldn't Chuck's consulting detective work be rendered useless?
"Theoretically, it's possible,"
Chuck nodded.
The future large-scale looting sprees would essentially be a ploy to target everyone in the police system, demanding the complete defunding of police departments.
While this argument isn't entirely without merit, their goal isn't to eliminate discrimination and targeting, but simply to legalize theft.
The outcome is predictable.
"What should we do then?"
Tracy looked at Chuck worriedly.
"It's fine,"
Chuck said calmly. "Whether this kind of blatant manipulation is accepted requires evidence and a judge's ruling. And even if I can't personally investigate or testify in court afterward, my presence or absence won't affect the final result, as long as I want to be involved."
"So he's outsmarted himself,"
Cheryl laughed, looking at Chuck who clearly had a plan.
"That's why I say whether he's faking insanity or genuinely crazy, he's truly lost his mind,"
Chuck repeated what he had said before.
Professor Alicia Harper paused slightly upon seeing Chuck in the classroom. After finishing her lesson as usual, she called out to him, "Do you know that Evan Gold's wife has been murdered?"
"I was just about to go,"
Chuck nodded.
"Has he really lost his mind?"
Professor Harper asked incredulously.
In her view, it was almost certainly a case of spousal murder. How could someone dare to do such a thing after publicly professing their feelings for her and having a conflict with Chuck?
This was a blatant motive for murder!
"He's really gone crazy,"
Chuck said.
"You should go investigate right away."
Professor Alicia Harper, who also had a husband, took a deep breath and looked Chuck in the eye. "Don't let his madness hurt anyone else."
"Don't worry."
Chuck nodded to her and left the campus unhurriedly.
Suburban villa.
In the world of American TV shows, because too many poor people and homeless individuals gather in big cities, the cities effectively become overrun. As a result, the wealthy move to the suburbs and commute to the city by car, thus indirectly isolating the poor who cannot afford cars or reliable public transportation.
Like directly arresting homeless people and putting them in jail, this is another example of what the wealthy in America do: "the rich can't stand the poor, so they push them out of sight." It's just a less obvious form of segregation.
Evan Gold, as a famous sculptor in New York, is also among the wealthy and naturally lives in a large suburban villa.
"Chuck, you're here."
Jane had already arrived, her brow furrowed. Seeing Chuck, she immediately breathed a sigh of relief. "This is Captain Randy Disher."
"It's a pleasure to meet you, Dr. Wolfe."
A thin, mustached man, not yet forty, extended his hand to Chuck. "Seeing you is like seeing an old friend. Perhaps you've heard of him—Adrian Monk!"
"Yes."
Chuck returned the handshake and nodded. "He was a truly remarkable detective."
"Yes."
Captain Randy Disher sighed with nostalgia. "He was truly remarkable. I was very honored to be his partner."
"How long did you work together?"
Chuck asked.
"Eleven years,"
Captain Randy Disher sighed. "If it weren't for my marriage to Sharona, I really wouldn't have wanted to leave him, to leave San Francisco."
"Then he should be honored,"
Chuck said bluntly. "Anyone who can work with him for a day is a good person, someone who can work with him for a year is a great person, and someone who can work with him for eleven years is a saint!"
"Hahaha!"
Captain Randy Disher burst into laughter. "You really do know him! Actually, the real saints aren't us, his work partners, but Monk's nurses and assistants."
He added with a happy expression, "My wife, Sharona, was Monk's nurse. She's the one who pulled Monk back on track from his breakdown. She's the saint!"
Adrian Monk, known in law enforcement circles as Detective Monk, is unparalleled in solving cases, but his personality is also unusually eccentric. He has obsessive-compulsive disorder, germaphobia, and various phobias. He can be simply understood as the Sheldon Cooper of the detective world.
"Boss!"
Chandler called out in a peculiar tone. Seeing everyone's eyes on him, he tugged at his clothes and said sarcastically, "Then what am I?"
"Gay?"
Captain Randy Disher blurted out instinctively.
"…"
Chandler's lips twitched. "I mean, Detective Chuck and this Detective Monk are very similar. You've worked with Detective Monk for 11 years and you're a saint. I've worked with Detective Chuck for less than a year, so what am I?"
"A nice gay guy?"
Captain Randy Disher's brain just wouldn't follow Chandler's train of thought.
"…Can you please stop bringing up gay!"
Chandler retorted.
"Sorry."
Captain Randy Disher seemed to finally realize what was happening, looking at Chandler apologetically. "I forgot this isn't the West Coast. I thought you guys were more open about this kind of thing here. Turns out it's still hush-hush... I'm really sorry, I haven't been here long, but I'm in a band too, I'm a cool guy, so you don't have to worry about it."
He nudged Chandler with his shoulder, giving him an "I'm cool, I understand and accept your lifestyle" look.
"..."
Chandler was completely speechless.
"What's the situation?"
Chuck ignored the two's nonsensical yet somewhat amusing dynamic and looked at Jane.
"Nancy Gold, 28 years old, female, was found dead in her home. The front door glass was smashed; it appears someone broke in and hit her on the back of the head with a crowbar, killing her instantly,"
Jane explained what she knew.
"What do you think?"
Chuck asked.
"My first instinct was spousal murder,"
Jane said quietly. "But after questioning, the victim's husband, Evan Gold, appears to have an alibi."
"Appears?"
Chuck looked at her.
"Yes."
Captain Randy Disher picked up his notebook and flipped through the records. "At the time of the incident, he was sculpting his new goddess statue in his studio. He said he didn't have time to commit the crime because it takes two hours to drive there and back, and sculpting the new goddess statue would take more than twelve hours straight."
"I've consulted some people in the industry, and they all confirm it does take that much time,"
Jane said with a headache. "And he started sculpting after ordering two tons of marble, and now that it's finished, it does seem like an alibi. But I feel like he did it, not some random burglary-murder."
"What's the evidence?"
Chuck asked.
"…"
Jane was speechless. She knew this was training, but she still felt very uncomfortable, especially with another assistant, Chandler, who was also Monica's friend, present. Before Chuck arrived, she had racked her brains; if she had discovered anything, she would have said it already.
"Look at that hole in the window,"
Chuck pointed out.
"A hole?"
Jane immediately looked at the small opening made by the crowbar, then suddenly realized, "No, it's too small. Unless it's a child, it's impossible to reach through that hole to unlock the door."
"Let me try!"
Captain Randy Disher immediately went over and stuck his hand into the hole to test if an adult's hand could fit. "Ow, ow, ow!"
The hole wasn't smooth; it was full of glass shards. Forcing his hand in immediately caused him to bleed profusely.
"You're way too dedicated!"
Chandler scoffed, "You could have just looked, why did you have to stick your hand in there!"
"Thank you!"
Captain Randy Disher, seemingly oblivious to the sarcasm in Chandler's words, withdrew his bleeding hand despite the pain, and smiled with satisfaction, "That's what we police officers do!"
He then reached in with his other hand.
"What are you doing?"
Chandler was stunned.
"I need to test with both hands to make sure,"
Captain Randy Disher said earnestly, enduring the pain.
"..."
Chandler stared at Captain Randy Disher, whose hands were bleeding, whose face was contorted in pain, yet who was undeniably serious and not joking. He could only give him two thumbs up in disbelief.
If the guy was joking, then he was truly impressed.
If not, he still had to be impressed, after all, this kind of seemingly simpleminded but hardcore person was not to be messed with.
"Don't worry, my wife is the best nurse,"
Captain Randy Disher reassured everyone with pride, seeing their expressions.
"Is your wife here right now?"
Jane reminded him.
Captain Randy Disher froze, then suddenly realized, "Oh yeah, she's still at work, she's not here."
Everyone: "..."
(End of Chapter)
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