Adrian Monk: I couldn't prove a thing until I found this. Your shirtsleeve was torn off when you attacked Juror Number 11.
Stewart Babcock: Can you prove that's my shirt?
Adrian Monk: No, sir, I can't. But I know someone who can. As soon as I saw this, I had the strange feeling that the killer and I might have something in common. We both use the same dry cleaner.
Mrs. Ling: Mr. Monk, why you bring me here? I got to close my shop. I'm losing money. You're just my worst customer.
Lieutenant Disher: The longest car ride of my life.
Adrian Monk: I'm sorry, Mrs. Ling, but this is very important. Do you recognize this?
Mrs. Ling: Yeah. Yeah, I know this shirt. I clean this shirt. Silk. Beautiful shirt. Hanger, no starch. What you do to this shirt?
Adrian Monk: Mrs. Ling, there must be a thousand shirts like this in the world. How do you know you cleaned this particular one?
Mrs. Ling: You know how. The button, it fall off. I sewed it back on.
Adrian Monk: The thread is parallel, not crisscrossed. No one else sews a button on like this.
Mrs. Ling: I told you, Mr. Monk. That's my style! Always complaining about the button. Hey, Mr. Babcock! When I fixed this shirt for you, you don't complain, right, 'cause you're a good customer.
Captain Stottlemeyer: Mrs. Ling, are you certain that this shirt belongs to Mr. Babcock?
Mrs. Ling: Yeah, I'm sure. He's a good customer. You come back anytime, Mr. Babcock.
Lieutenant Disher: Ma'am, he just killed 11 people.
Captain Stottlemeyer: Twelve. Let's not forget about the first Mrs. Babcock, who I'll bet is buried under that new porch.
Mrs. Ling: Well, he's still a good customer. Not crazy like that Mr. Monk over there.