All language subtitles for Homicide life on the street S07E04 - The Twenty Percent Solution

- The Marx Brothers.
- They're hip.

- Excluding Zeppo and Gummo.
- Of course.

- Lenny Bruce.
- Definitely hip, too hip for his own good.

- Sigmund Freud.
- Used to be hip. Not lately, though.

- Penis envy. Pay her no mind.
- What the hell are you talking about?

Jewish and hip.
We're coming up with a list.

- It's a short one.
- Not so short as you'd think.

- 30 and counting, OK?
- Whoa!

Right this way.

- Who's up?
- Ballard and Gharty.

In my office, right now.

- Oh, get your tongue off the floor, Stu.
- Who the hell is she?

Brigid O'Shaughnessy. She shot
Miles Archer with Thursby's gun.

She shot Miles Archer
so we're sending her over.

- Miles Archer? Whose case is that?
- I'm surrounded by oxen.

Ballard, Gharty,
this is Darlene Everett and her attorney.

- Wife of Mr LP Everett.
- The writer.

The spy thriller guy.
"Death in Kiev", "Mutiny on the Nimitz".

- There's a movie, right?
- Four, actually.

Everything he writes is a movie.
He's a bestseller.

- Remember "The Potemkin Factor"?
- Not off hand.

- Mr Everett is missing.
- Not missing, dead.

- Dead?
- He was murdered.

He's been murdered
and the body is where exactly?

Well, that's what I need you for.

- Woody Allen.
- He's Jewish? Who knew?

Sleep with your mother,
it's a Greek tragedy,

but sleep with your girlfriend's
daughter?

- Sammy Davis Jr.
- No way.

- That doesn't count.
- Why?

He converted so
he's an accessory after the fact.

That's right.
He's black, so he's hip by definition.

So all black people are hip?

- Name one who ain't.
- George Washington Carver.

Please! How many things
can a white man do with a peanut?

Shelled or unshelled?

I got one. Meldrick Lewis.

- He's black.
- But not particularly hip.

What are you saying?

Point taken. I guess
Sammy Davis goes back on the list.

No, hold on.
Let's just stop the game right here.

I could be accused of a lot
but not falling off the cutting edge.

- Terri, am I down or am I down?
- What?

Am I hip? Tell these fools.

Er, you have your moments.

- Moments?
- I don't know. Maybe you try too hard.

I'm not playing no more.

LP Everett
has been missing for five days.

He was killed by his literary agent,
Jake Benedek by name.

As police officers, we typically find

foul play to be the least probable
explanation when males disappear.

Excuse me. My husband did not run off
if that's what you're trying to suggest.

- He was killed by his agent.
- You're sure of this?

The last time I spoke with my husband
he was at his office in Canton.

He was killed there.

You're saying that you know
that your husband has been murdered,

where he was killed and who killed him.

That's right.

How can you possibly know that?

My husband told me.

Hey, guys.
Ernestine Meade, 88 years.

No overt trauma.
Found in the front room.

- 88 years old?
- No signs of trauma?

Why did you call us out?
This is a natural death.

Definitely not. It's a burglary.

'Given the nature
of this ongoing dispute

'over literary rights and representation,

'it is now my belief
that my agent, Jake Benedek,

'plans to murder me.

'Ln the event that I disappear,
I would suggest

'that investigators devote
their attention to Mr Benedek.

'This one should write itself!

'We'll call it...

"'The 20 Percent Solution".'

You know, this might be a publicity stunt,

something to get headlines
and sell more books.

We have real murders to work.
Dump this on Missing Persons.

No, it's too high profile for that.

Once the press gets on it, we need
to say we did everything possible, so...

do everything possible.

Yeah.

Ten to one, this hack is at a Vegas
craps table with a bimbo on each arm.

One thing definitely
does not make any sense,

what in God's name is she doing
with the likes of Everett?

A rumpled, middle-aged
white man with glasses

who spends his life
in front of a typewriter?

- Jeez, Stu, who can resist that?
- Oh, rumpled? Rumpled, huh?

So now you're talking trash
on my dry cleaner?

- So who made the call?
- Anonymous male dialled 911.

- The paramedics got here first.
- Who was here when they pulled up?

- Just her.
- Where was the call from?

Communications says it came from
the phone number listed to this address.

OK. I want to get
the phone receiver dusted, please.

- It's a burglary, I'll grant you that.
- Or attempted burglary, anyway.

If I'm half the constabulary giant
I pretend to be...

You're always that.

I conclude that our suspect
entered through the window.

Stacking his booty
by the front door.

Whereupon the lady of the house
awakens and surprises our intruder.

Maybe he hit her with this vase.

And our boy manages enough humanity
to dial the ambulance before departing.

I think he must've panicked. He left
everything he came for right here.

Who can blame him?
He comes for a nice quiet break-in

and he gets Chilled Granny Surprise.

We got ambos, detectives,
a crime scene.

Everybody's undies are in a bunch.

You shoulda stayed in bed.

At 88, what goes bump in the night
is none of your business.

Wait, wait, wait. You're blaming her?

She stays under the covers, it's burglary
detectives who get a ruined afternoon.

- You had a few days off coming up?
- Three.

Had me a weekend rental
and our lovely bartendress, Billie Lou.

One bedroom, beachfront condo.

Ernestine, sweetie,
how could you do this to me?

- He said what?
- Mr Everett made a taped declaration.

He suggested that if he disappeared
or was found murdered,

you would be responsible.

He hasn't been heard from in five days.

- You checked his office?
- Yes.

No sign of foul play
and his Jaguar isn't in the garage.

His wife tells us that your business
relationship had soured recently.

"Three Days in Mombasa".

Wait, he's in Mombasa?

I don't know where the hell he is,

although I could offer
some good guesses.

That there is the first draft
of his next novel,

mailed to me a week ago with
a note from your missing person.

A note?

He said he was exhausted,
but glad to have finished

and that he was going
to get away for a while.

And you have this note?

No, it was on one of those little
yellow Post-its. I tossed it.

A man decides to go on vacation,
he usually takes his wife

or at least tells her where he's headed.

Unless he's going with a mistress.

- Everett has a mistress?
- Hmm, a French one.

Claudette Pinchot.

He has her in a suite at the Colonnade.
You didn't hear that from me.

All right, but this video tape,
the one that gets sent to Mrs Everett

at the time you get this manuscript,
why all this talk about you killing him?

Did you ever read
a book by LP Everett?

All of them.

Jeez. I'm his agent and I've only
flipped pages in the first two!

"Death in Kiev" was brilliant.

Brilliant, huh?

This is a guy from Baltimore who sells
used appliances for most of his adult life.

Then one day, he writes a novel

about spies killing each other
on a nuclear aircraft carrier,

and ba-da-boom,
600,000 copies fly off the shelves.

For ten years,
this nebbish from Patapsco Avenue

has been living
in his weird little macho universe,

where everyone kills everyone else

in very clever ways
for very clever reasons.

He imagines this stuff.

Yet Mrs Everett insists
that he was gonna fire you

and was talking to other agents.

And he told me that he was planning
on leaving her, all right?

Darlene is...

She's a...
She's a lovely girl,

but she doesn't know money
and she doesn't know publishing.

She's an actress, that's what she knows.

She's an actress?

Yeah, you didn't recognise her?

He met her on the set of "Kiev".
She played the Russian hooker.

- Who's decapitated in the missile silo?
- Yeah, that's her.

Jeez! I didn't recognise her.
She looks different somehow.

Well, the hair's the same.

Maybe it's the breast reduction
that threw you.

Reduction?

So do we or do we not have a cause
of death on Ernestine Meade?

- Hard to say.
- What does that mean?

- Well, what do you want it to be?
- I have a choice? I'll take natural.

- Slow down, Munch.
- But Billie Lou, the condo...

Is there any indication
that Ernestine was murdered?

There are no contusions, no abrasions.

She died of heart failure,

straight up angina
with an embolism chaser.

- So as far as that goes...
- Gentlemen, I'm out of here.

Munch, stay! So what's the twist?

It's a burglary, right?

She gets out of bed in the early hours,
she finds a burglar ransacking the place.

If that's the theory,
I'd say he scared her to death.

- He scared her to death?
- She died from a criminal terrifying her.

Well, that doesn't make it a murder.

If you strike someone with your fist,

and he falls down and dies
for whatever reason, it's homicide.

It may be involuntary
manslaughter in court.

You said there's no indication
anybody hit her.

True, but who knows what the burglar
did when she confronted him?

I mean, he might have screamed at her.
He might have threatened her.

These things are assaultive.
Do you know what I mean?

So you're saying
that depending on what happened,

this one could go either way?

If you catch the burglar,
I would like to ask him some questions.

Depending on his answers,
I'll give you a ruling then.

You're standing between me
and true happiness.

What's that on your tie there?
Is it pesto sauce?

You wish.

If you see her, give a call.

According to the garage attendant,
Claudette Pinchot's Mercedes

has been gone longer than a week.

Omar here hasn't seen her either,

and the building manager says
she asked to have her mail held.

I think we have our answer.

You know, that little weasel
and his spice run off for a week

and we are here spinning our wheels.

Let's get back to the rotation,
catch a real murder.

- Does the wife know there's a mistress?
- Not from us.

We should give this to Missing Persons,
not that the guy wants to be found.

She might tell the press
we're doing nothing.

- You're saying we tell her?
- It covers our ass.

- Oh, boy.
- What's the matter, Stu?

Well, he's a guy, I'm a guy. It's...

Speaking from a male perspective,
it doesn't seem like a right moment.

- I'll give her the dish.
- How you gonna do it?

Ring the doorbell, tell the silicone queen
I got good news and bad news.

- Good news?
- He ain't dead.

- Bad news?
- He ain't dead.

Once she hears the story,
there's no difference.

Ballard, Gharty.
Find your missing writer?

- Not yet.
- I guess he can really write a mystery.

Oh, you're a laugh riot, Falsone.

What did I do?

I get the feeling Ballard doesn't like me.

- You really don't get it, do you?
- What?

She likes you.
Ballard likes you a lot.

- You think so?
- Yes.

Hey, what else she say about me?

'An elderly person
has lost consciousness? '

'An old lady. She's really pale.'

'Do you know
her medical situation? '

- 'No, we just met.'
- 'Who are you, sir? '

'Lt doesn't matter who I am.
Just send an ambo.'

'OK, a medic unit is responding.

'You'll be there
to guide the paramedics? '

- 'No. I gotta go.'
- 'Sir? '

House-breaker with a heart of gold.

Play it again. I could use a good cry.

You don't seem surprised that
your husband was having an affair.

It was an open marriage.

Open?

Yes, my husband was
a very sexual being. I understood that.

So then, you also were able
to see other people?

Well, now,
why would I want to do that?

No, LP was good enough for me.

Look, if my husband wanted
to leave town with another woman,

he wouldn't have to hide the fact.

He's been murdered.

Oh, excuse me. Is there a phone?

Yes, right through that door,
in the library.

Mrs Everett,
everything points to the fact

that your husband and his... friend
are out of town together.

Right, yet he hasn't used
any of his credit cards,

or made any airline reservations.

That's unusual, true.

Jake Benedek was taking 20 percent
of everything my husband made.

Do you know
what a literary agent usually takes?

10, maybe 15 percent.

I am telling you,
Jake knew that LP wanted out.

- Mrs Everett...
- That was a State Trooper at BWI.

Your husband's Jaguar
has been located in long-term parking.

He's dead. I know.

We'll get back to you, OK?

We'll see ourselves out.

Um, by the way,

I thought you were great
in "A Death in Kiev".

Er, I mean, until you lost your head.

You think? Gee, I don't know.
My character wasn't very developed.

Oh, no.

I thought you were
very developed in that.

Thank you.

Found it locked,
theft device activated.

No sign of any stripped ignition
or any other damage.

- Let me guess: Parked for a week.
- Yup.

Want to tow it back to be
processed by the crime lab?

What for? This ain't a crime.

Just leave it. He and
his French cutie are gonna need it

when they fly back from wherever.

Come on.

It doesn't sound like there was any intent
to assault or scare Ernestine to me.

- She just keeled over.
- What about the vase?

- He might have threatened her with it.
- Maybe it fell when she collapsed.

We're only gonna find that out
when we find the burglar.

More power to you. You find him.

Are you bailing on me?

This isn't much of a murder,

and buxom barmaids have been
my obsession since my teens.

I guess I'm really not used to having
a partner who's so quick to dump cases.

Frank would have investigated
all the existential implications

in your dogged pursuit of justice.
Me, I'll be back Tuesday.

- Hey, big dog.
- Hey.

Munch.

Gee, this is not a murder.

Our scribe is on the wing
with his girlfriend.

Come in my office.

Oh, lady.

Tell me you're not who I think you are.

Vous tes agents de police?
Bonsoir, je m'appelle Claudette.

Uh-oh.

Everett's mistress has been
at Deep Creek Lake for eight days,

waiting for Everett to arrive.

- You believe her?
- It's credible.

He says he has work to do,
she should go on ahead.

She does and he never shows.

She gets back to Baltimore,
he's not to be found.

Like any responsible mistress,
she reports him "disparu" to the police.

All right, we now have a famous writer
genuinely missing for nine days.

No crime scene,
no physical evidence, no nothing.

You two don't exactly
have this case surrounded.

Stivers, Falsone,
Sheppard, Giardello!

We just backed into a red ball.
Find me a living writer or a dead one.

I don't care which.

Potential suspects include Everett's
agent, his wife, a mistress or two.

Falsone, get a consent search
for both residences.

- Wife first, mistress second.
- Two searches coming up.

Recheck the airlines and ring
State Department and Customs.

You want to be sure our writer hasn't
used a passport to leave the country?

Rene, ring the New York publisher,
make sure everything's in order.

And Terri, get Everett's car
processed for evidence.

- Where's it at?
- BWI.

State Police found it in long-term.
We let it sit.

Everett's office is the last place
he was seen alive.

We checked it twice already.

Now we have a writer
that's really missing,

so let's try it with fresh eyes.

You can't judge an apple
by looking at a tree

You can't judge honey
by looking at the bee

You can't judge a daughter
by looking at the mother

You can't judge a book
by looking at the cover

Can't you see?

Oh, you misjudged me

I look like a farmer but I'm a lover

You can't judge a book
by looking at the cover

Come on in closer, baby

Never mind a body.
We don't have a crime scene.

If I was writing "The 20 Percent
Solution", what would I put in this room?

There is nothing
out of the ordinary here.

There is no blood, no bullet holes,
no sign of a struggle.

- No chair.
- What?

We're looking for what shouldn't be here
and not seeing what should be and ain't.

I'll be damned. There's no chair.

How's he gonna sit here and work
without a chair?

Ah!

Missing writer, missing writer's chair.

Why the hell would
a leather chair be missing?

If there's blood on it, you clean it.
Leather cleans up easy.

A bullet hole.

A bullet hole. Lf...

If you put a couple of slugs
in that chair...

...then there's no repairing it.

Bingo.

Semi-auto. He stood right here
and he walked the shots up.

Boom, boom, boom, boom.

This is the scene.
They killed him here at his own desk.

Yeah, but who's they?

Whoever shot Everett went
to a lot of trouble to try and hide it.

We found a hole in the wall
where a bullet lodged.

The shooter used the sword there
to cover the damage.

Two holes in the desk
were filled.

He couldn't fix the leather chair
so that's gone.

Any... er... trace of blood?

No.

But we checked the cleaning closet
and guess what?

The killer mopped up the blood,
then took the mop out with the body.

Check with the building's management,
check on all employees.

Also, find out if they hired
any new cleaning crews.

And pick up Jake Benedek,

Everett's wife, Everett's mistress,

anyone you think might be a suspect.

It's two in the morning.

I don't give a damn
if it's two in the morning!

The victim's been dead over a week

while some son of a bitch
plays us for a fool.

Now, I'm not a fool.
Are you a fool, Detective?

Can you say rhetorical?

Everett's editor in New York
received a draft manuscript,

Baltimore postmark, a week ago.

That matches what Benedek says.

The editor says Everett
expressed unhappiness with Benedek,

told the publishing house
not to deal with him.

That matches the wife's story.

The editor mentioned some ex-CIA
mercenary type, Grenville Rawlins.

- Ex-CIA?
- Supposedly the real deal.

El Salvador, Beirut, Angola.

Rawlins complained that he gave Everett
an unpublished manuscript,

only to have it
show up in Everett's books.

- He threatened to sue?
- More than that.

Says he used phrases like "terminate"
and "extreme prejudice".

- Where does this Everett live?
- Essex.

I'll take the ride.
You got an address?

She was upset
about being bothered so late,

but now we're getting along just great.

You're very short, no?

Er, aprs vous, mademoiselle.

Er, Mrs Everett meet Miss Pinchot.

Miss Pinchot, Mrs Everett.

Oh, there's the little tramp.

Tu es cochonne.

You flat-chested little trollop.

Salope!

Tu parles, saloperie!
Je vais te...

- Ladies, ladies, ladies.
- Connard!

Lighten up, will you?

Ow? So much for the open marriage.

My God.

Is there anyone on this case
who doesn't have a motive?

Mr Benedek.

You ever hear of an ex-CIA
operative named Grenville Rawlins?

Yeah, he used to pal around with LP.
They had a falling out.

He claims his experiences
were used by Everett in his books.

I said they had a falling out.

Have you had any contact with Rawlins?

I haven't seen him
in a couple of years.

Once he talked about suing my client,
I didn't want anything to do with him.

- Was Rawlins violent?
- You mean, do I think he'd kill Everett?

Would he?

With real spies, I figure... they kill you
and they never talk about it.

But after hearing Rawlins
tell his bar stories,

I would have to say he spent 20 years
at Langley stapling office reports.

He didn't scare anyone.

You move, you die.

Have a seat for me right here, sir.

Hey, kids, that there is Mr Johnson,

maintenance supervisor at the building
where Everett's office was.

He says the maintenance man assigned
to the floor where Everett was killed,

he quit four days ago.

Can we ID this cleaning man?

He used the name of Norman Stokes
on his employment forms.

I ran that through the computer
and there's nothing.

Fake name. Sounds like our shooter.

The description is...

...white male, shock of snow white hair,
medium build, 45-50 years of age.

Call in a sketch artist,
see how good his memory is.

I'm gonna call in a sketch artist
and see how good his memory is.

Good idea.

Oh, my knees are killing me.

Try doing six weeks
in a North Vietnamese tiger cage.

It'd redefine your entire concept of pain.

I'm with the Baltimore Police.
Call the agent in charge.

I remember there used to be
a Special Agent Giardello,

worked counterintelligence
out of Washington.

Did some of the undercover
for the Ames case.

- You got me.
- That was you? Hell of a case.

I got to...
I got to stretch my legs out here.

Why didn't you say
you were a counter spy?

You here on company business?

I'm now the office's liaison
to the Baltimore City Police.

- I'm working on a murder investigation.
- Who got killed?

Maybe no one, maybe LP Everett.

Let's hope that it's not no one.

You don't seem real broken up about it.

I gave Everett a manuscript
that John le Carr would have saluted.

Everett steals it,
turns it into literary tripe.

He's worse than a thief. He's a hack.

Would you mind taking a ride with me,
help us clear some things up?

No problem. I'm always
at the service of this government.

- Something we don't quite understand.
- And what would that be?

The manuscript you showed me
in your office was marked "first draft".

- So?
- So this is a copy of the same work...

...from Everett's
New York publishing house.

Yeah, and this one
is marked "final draft".

If you're buddy-buddy with your client,

why don't you have
an up-to-date copy of his latest work?

Maybe he made a mistake.

So, what you're saying is
that you didn't you kill him,

but if you had killed...

excuse me, terminated him,
you're such a professional...

If it was my work, you wouldn't find
enough of the body to fill a spoon.

Mr Rawlins, I'd like you
to meet Lieutenant Al Giardello.

Pleasure.

Excuse me.

So, how's he feeling today?
Has detention made him more talkative?

He claims to have been tortured
by the best of sadists.

He says we don't even make
the top 100.

Mr Rawlins...

My office intends to prosecute you
for the murder of LP Everett

and I have to tell you, the disappearance
of a best-selling author attracts publicity.

I'm gonna be extremely aggressive
on this case.

Good for you.

You had a motive for killing Everett,
out of revenge for an act of plagiarism.

You gained employment
under a false name

with the cleaning crew
in Everett's office.

And in a manner that would do
your former colleagues proud,

you disposed of the victim completely.

This is a copy

of an invoice for the maintenance
company for which you worked.

It shows the delivery
of eight 55-gallon barrels

of used chemical solvents
to Atco Recovery,

a waste disposal firm in Curtis Bay.

According to Atco, seven of the barrels
weighed between 80 and 120 pounds.

The eighth, strangely enough,

weighed nearly 220.

Figure 150 for Everett himself.

Another 70 or 80
for some assorted items.

Like, say, pieces of a leather chair,

a mop, a pail.

Maybe even a murder weapon.
So we're right up there at 220.

For the sake of my own curiosity,

what happened to the barrels?

You know what happened.

They were neutralised in an acid tank.
They don't exist any more.

Well, no body, no murder.
That's what I figure.

I'll be home after a preliminary hearing.

Listen, you son of a bitch,
with or without a body,

I will find a way to prove
and prosecute this murder.

Your only chance to limit exposure
is to give up Benedek.

Benedek? Now, that's a familiar name,
but I'm not sure.

We subpoenaed bank statements
for Benedek's accounts.

They show cash withdrawals
totalling $80,000

in the two months
prior to Everett's disappearance.

Your statements show cash deposits
in $9,000 increments,

in order to avoid
IRS reporting guidelines,

of about the same amount.

However did you get
so much cash, Mr Rawlins?

Generous relatives, bingo winnings.

I sold a good-sized stamp collection.

We know
Benedek's behind this, all right?

He was gonna lose
Everett's book to another agent.

He knew enough about the plagiarism
to get you to do his dirty work.

You give us Benedek,

and I can offer second degree,

and 30 in.

And in a high profile killing like this,
you can't expect any better.

I used to be in a very competitive
business. Did I mention that?

Sometimes your friends turned out
to be your enemies.

Sometimes they stayed your friends.

But the worst thing,
the most contemptible thing,

was when an enemy
pretended to be a friend.

Tried to turn you, tried to get you
to betray your own people,

get you to betray your own country.

And they would try.
Yes, they would.

If a man can't stand
by the people he sides with,

where the hell can he expect to stand?

LP Everett never understood
that part of it.

Now, you say he's dead.

Maybe so.

I don't know anything about it.

Oh, how was your weekend?

Homeric. How was yours?

Mine? I don't know. Conscientious,
morally and ethically responsible.

- You caught the burglar?
- After much hard effort, no.

You sat here for two days
reading the sports section.

Well, that is a damnable lie.

Before you got shot,
you never read the sports section.

- You mostly read the news columns.
- That's true, very true.

- So out with it.
- Out with what?

Whatever half-baked,
on-the-mountain-top aphorism leads you

to contemplate the fine print
of an NFL line score.

Well, you see the Buddha
taught impermanence.

All that exists is the present moment.

And what is athletic endeavour,

save for a series of perfectly timed
moments executed for their own behalf?

Huh?

See, it's there...

...and it's gone.

Do you believe half
what comes out of your mouth?

Look, the line gives the Ravens
next week and seven points.

That's easy money in my book.

Keep the moment pure, weed-hopper.

Buddha wouldn't take points
on Jacksonville.

You're Bayliss, right?

Questions like that can get you into
a half-hour metaphysical discussion.

Baumgold. I working
felony follow-up in Northeastern.

- Oh, right, yeah.
- I got something for you.

You handled an attempted burglary
up in Lauraville on Friday?

- An old lady got killed.
- What about it?

We had a print hit
on an apartment burglary last night.

Once we jacked the mope up,

he goes for 32 house break-ins,
including the one with the old lady.

He put himself in for that?

- He asked if the woman's OK.
- Did you tell him that it was a murder?

I didn't tell him nothing. He's hoping
Grandma's alive and kicking.

Let's call it homicide.
I could use the clearance.

- Now you want it to be murder.
- He's in our lock-up. Wanna talk to him?

So you're copping to 32 break-ins?

Why not? They offered me seven years
no matter how many cases I cop to.

I look at it like this,

you get to clear lots of cases,
and it don't cost me a thing.

- That's how it works.
- You're burglary detectives?

- You work with that guy I talked to?
- Yeah, we do.

I was asking him about a job I did
up off of Harford Road somewhere.

Hamilton Avenue, I think.

This lady up there passed out, man.

Scared me to death.
I just want to know is she OK?

- She scared you to death, huh?
- Yeah.

I'm creeping around, quiet as can be.

All of a sudden she's standing there
in her nightgown and rollers

and then she just stroked out, man,
right there.

- Yeah, what did you do then?
- I dialled 911.

- Couldn't wait around, though?
- What was I gonna tell 'em?

I tried to make her comfortable.
Took the vase, put water on her face.

She seemed
to be breathing and all when I left.

It's a terrible thing
when you're all alone and old.

Something happens,
who can you rely on?

- Something like a burglary?
- I know. I'm a wrongdoing guy.

But even I draw the line, man.

I'll make a silverware set
disappear in a heartbeat.

But people is people, right?

You know what I'm saying?
People is all that matter in this world.

That old lady?

Is she OK? Is she gonna be all right?

She's fine.

Oh, man, I'm glad to hear that.

Not a murder.

Nope, it was real natural.

Pick a jury and see what happens.

That doesn't sound like you, Ed.
You're usually the voice of caution.

Yeah, what can I tell you?
That nut, Rawlins, he pisses me off.

Without a body,
we are at a real disadvantage.

We can't say with certainty
that a crime occurred.

Maybe we should wait,
see what evidence comes in.

You always say
that you only can try a case once.

- We're not gonna find a body, Al.
- But you think we could win?

We got a circumstantial web
connecting Benedek to Rawlins

and Rawlins
to the disappearance of LP Everett.

- A very thin circumstantial web.
- Yeah, but we can win?

Hell, no, we can't win.

But you all do your job, I'll do mine.

You don't have to be best friends,

but we cannot go into court
with you at each other's throats.

It would be too easy
for the defence to suggest,

for example, that Claudette killed
Mr Everett for not leaving his wife.

Or that Darlene killed her husband
for sleeping around.

If you both loved him,
then do what's necessary

to make sure
that his killers are punished.

- So we need to know...
- Did you love him?

OK.

Whoa. One last thing
I need to know. Forgive me, ladies.

You're both very, very attractive.

I mean, you're both knockouts.

Until he got killed, anyway,
LP Everett, he was...

he was odds on favourite
for luckiest man in Baltimore.

- If you catch my drift.
- For God's sakes.

What I'm trying to say is you're...

See, I've been a cop for some time
and a man for longer and...

To me, the way
the world usually works is,

twos end up with twos
and fours with fours and tens with tens.

I'm sorry. Am I missing something here?
What is he babbling about?

Well, see, you're... you're tens.

And Everett...

I mean, you know...

I mean, he was probably
a great guy and all, but...

You see my point, right?

- Non.
- No.

Excuse me, please.

Thank you.

Well, never mind.

That's my last witness.

The State rests, Your Honour.

Very well.

- Mr Russom?
- Your Honour...

The Defence chooses
to present no evidence

and asks to proceed
with closing arguments.

- Very well.
- Thank you.

Ladies and gentlemen...

...there has been no murder.

There has been no crime at all.

And, in precisely ten seconds,

the noted Baltimore writer LP Everett
will walk through those courtroom doors

and wave to us.

Well... I guess I'm wrong.

But the point, ladies and gentlemen,

the point is that we all turned to look

to see if Everett would show up.

And that, you see,
is reasonable doubt.

Which is why
you have absolutely no choice...

...but to acquit.

- I didn't know you smoked.
- This is my first.

That's a good dog, huh?

- Yeah, as dogs go. Thanks.
- Yeah, don't mention it.

People like to say I'm cheap,
but I pick up a cheque now and again.

What are you doing Saturday?

- Why are you asking?
- I thought we might go out.

Go out?

Yeah, still my treat.

Like dinner and dancing?

How about bowling?

- Bowling?
- Duckpin.

- Duckpin bowling?
- It's big in Baltimore, very big.

- Er...
- Oh, Eddie?

Jury's back.

12 minutes.
That took longer than I thought it would.

Will the defendants please rise?

Madame Forelady,

how say you to the charge
of first-degree murder?

We find the defendants... guilty.

- Why, after my brilliant summation?
- How could you possibly convict?

Actually 11 of us were all set to acquit,
but then Juror Six spoke up.

What did Juror Six say?

Tell these guys
what you told the rest of us, honey.

When everyone was looking at the door,
I looked at Mr Benedek and Mr Rawlins.

- So?
- They weren't looking at the door.

They were looking straight ahead.
They knew he wasn't coming.

Ah, ah. Hey!

Don't look at me.

Yeah.

Hey, who's rumpled now?

I look like a farmer
but I'm a lover

Can't judge a book
by looking at the cover