All language subtitles for Murder.She.Wrote.S11E14.Twice.Dead.WEBRip.x264-ION10

[Jessica] Tonight, on Murder, She Wrote.

Dr. Franklin took the L-214 cultures

because he didn't feel
he was being paid enough?

Now it's at the bottom
of Long Island Sound.

It ought to be quite a story.

Tacky, vulgar... or the truth?

I'm going to keep you
in courts,

defending lawsuits,
till you're too old to stand!

Okay, you've got
maybe 30 seconds.

[horn honks]
-Max!

I won't you let down.

You never really
gave a damn about her.

This one made me look
a little bit...

you know,
like Robert Redford.

Well, um...

Oh, my God, Jessica.

This is too awful
to comprehend.

[cheerful orchestral music playing]

[computer beeping]

[car engine starts]

[truck horn blaring]

According to a spokesman,
Suffolk Air, flight 17,

bound for Montauk,

crashed into
Long Island Sound

shortly after takeoff.

There were no survivors.
Among the passengers,

nobel prize-winning biophysicist
Dr. Max Franklin.

A PHD at 15,
brilliant, unpredictable,

Franklin is believed
to be working

on a breakthrough
cancer drug known as L-214.

Early in his career,
Franklin worked in the European...

[line ringing]

Liz, it's Jessica.

Oh, my God, Jessica.

It's just too awful
to comprehend.

Look, why don't we postpone
our meeting this afternoon?

Thanks, but if it's
all the same,

let's go ahead
with it anyway.

I need something to
take my mind off of it,

and it's probably gonna be
pretty quiet around here.

Well, then I will
see you at 1:00. Bye.

From the scene,
nobel prize-winner, Max Franklin,

dead at the age of 53.

Mr. Gable.
Will Dr. Franklin's death

impact the research

on the anti-cancer drug
he was developing?

The one bright spot

in this horrible
tragedy, Mr. Gable,

is that Dr. Franklin had
completed work on his vaccine,

code name L-214,

only hours before
his tragic accident.

[female reporter]
So you're also saying

that Dr. Franklin's death

will have little
or no negative effect

on your new
stock offering?

Perhaps our underwriter
Richard Ellston

should answer that.

Uh, there'll be
no effect whatever.

The issue is almost
fully subscribed already.

The market knows
good value.

Thank you all.

[reporters chattering]

You're sure
everything is okay?

My God, Richard,
don't you think

I'd tell you
if it wasn't?

Richard,
I plan to issue

bi-weekly press reports
during the trial period.

No one's gonna forget what
Biomec has on its hands

with the L-214.

Max mentioned that
he and Fredrick

had had some
differences.

Miss White,
this came for you.

Thank you, Jim.

That's putting it
mildly.

Besides which,
Dr. Fredrick Grundberg

stands to make more money
than he ever dreamed of

off Max's work.

Will you excuse me
a minute, Jessica?

Of course.

Oh, I'm sorry.

My fault, ma'am.

All I'm asking
is a few days

to run
the enzyme screens

and X-Ray diffractions
Max wanted.

I mean, what's the harm
in that?

I'll tell you the harm.

We run those tests,

even internally,
under tight security,

and it will immediately be
public knowledge

that we've got
problems, doubts.

Well, Fredrick, that is
hardly my concern.

It wasn't Max's, either.

Stuart, you ran backup
on the early tests.

Did you find any of
these alleged glitches

that got Max
all worked up?

-No, I didn't.
-There you go.

Look, whatever it was
Max was worried about,

it will show up
in the clinical trials.

With all respect,
Dr. Grundberg,

that is not necessarily
the case.

The possible side effects
that Max was concerned with

on bone marrow
and the pituitary,

they might not
show up for years.

Liz and Stuart...

I promise you L-214
won't go on the market

if it is in any way defective,
all right?

Well, there's some
good news at least.

Ted Hartley called
this morning.

He likes my first
two chapters.

And so he should.

You have managed
to put microbiology

into layman's terms,

and make it dramatic
besides.

I mean, it's starting to read
like a first-rate mystery.

Well,
thanks to your notes.

I've marked up
chapters three and four.

There are a couple of points
that I'd like to talk to you about later.

I, uh... I have to go through
Max's townhouse in Manhattan.

You know, clean up
some papers and things.

But, Jessica, I...

[sighs] I just don't know
if I can face it.

And it won't be any easier
next week or next month.

I suppose.

You know, I'm just
beginning to realize

how much of my motivation
came from Max,

how I had this need
to prove myself to him.

Not so. I don't think Max felt
you needed to prove anything.

Jessica, Liz.

David.

Face it, Liz. I think
that was Max's problem.

He couldn't let go.

David, you--

Jessica, I'm sorry.

She was so smart to
finally end it with him.

He never really
gave a damn about her.

Never?
I happen to know

that you're wrong
about that, David.

[Grundberg] You're saying
Max switched the cultures?

It looks the same,

and it's labeled
"L-214 group B culture".

But all it is,
is common measles virus.

I've turned the lab
inside out.

He must've taken
the Petrie dish with him,

the one with
the real L-214 culture.

And now it's at the bottom
of Long Island Sound.

There's no way we can start
the clinical trials now.

We haven't got a sufficient
supply of the serum.

So you grow some more
cultures, right?

Isn't that the way
they do it?

Yeah. It'll take
months, at best.

If Ellston or the street
gets wind of this,

all this will be gone.

It gets worse.
I checked Max's computer.

He wiped out
all his files on L-214,

plus what we had
on our network.

All right, David,
I want you to get started

immediately replacing
those cultures.

We'll just have to do
the best we can

to replicate
Max's documentation.

In the meantime, Walter,
I want you to go--

Excuse me, Fredrick,

but I'm not sure
I'm your man.

That's nonsense.

And since Max
was having doubts

-about the efficacy of--
-David!

You're very close
to a breakthrough

on your malarial
synthesis.

We've never
turned you down on staff,

equipment or facilities.

Are you willing to throw
all that away over an issue

which, at best,
is highly questionable?

Search Max's townhouse.

There's a chance he may have
taken the stuff home with him

and that it was not all
lost in that plane crash.

I'll get back to you
on that.

[Ellston] Are you telling me

that Max took
all the cultures down with him?

Why didn't you
tell me this before?

Rich, I only just
found out about it myself.

Give Fredrick
a little credit.

He's doing his best
to keep a lid on it.

-And keep it from me.
-Can you blame him?

If you pull the plug
on the stock offerings,

that's, what, five million
in stock options

Fredrick'll never see.

Are you sure that's
the whole truth?

That Dr. Franklin took
the L-214 cultures

because he didn't feel
he was being paid enough?

That's it.

Look, he was a brilliant,
unpredictable crank.

And now...

not that I haven't been
enjoying the extra money,

but when the dust
settles on this,

the fact that Fredrick
kept you out of the loop

will mean another rip

in his golden parachute,
won't it?

[chuckles] Priscilla,

the first thing I look for
in executive management

is the aptitude
for knowing

exactly where
one wants to land.

A gift you seem to
have in abundance.

I have others.

I rather suspect it.

Now, remember,
I want to hear from you

if there's even a glimmer

that this stuff isn't what
it's cracked up to be.

I won't let you down,
Richard.

[horn honks]

[men shouting]

[gasps]

Max?

[horn blaring]

Max!

[Jessica] Artie, I believe

that cabbie can lead me
to Max Franklin.

"1Z76".
Got it, Jessica.

I'll put it
right into work.

If it is Franklin,
what do you think his game is?

The old
running-from-the-wife dodge?

-Rizzoli!
-No, he's not married.

Just keep this
in mind.

He may not be too
thrilled to see you.

Yeah, Rizzoli,
run this taxicab tag.

Time and location
he picked up

and dropped off his
fares in the last hour.

And fast, too, okay?

I'm gonna put you on
the speakerphone, Jessica.

Do you mind?
Listen, I was gonna call you.

Do you know a good
portrait photographer?

Oh, you mean
for your grandson?

Nah. I was elected

to my high school hall of fame
over in Brooklyn,

and Doris wants me to
have a nice picture.

But not too pricey.

There is a photographer
on West 49th street,

near broadway.
O'Gorman, I think his name is.

He does head shots
for actors.

O'Gorman.
That's perfect.

Listen, I'll let you know
as soon as I hear anything

about your friend
in the taxicab.

If you're right
and it's him,

it ought to be
quite a story.

Good afternoon.
May I help you?

Well, maybe you can.

I was supposed to meet
a gentleman here.

He's one of your guests.

He's a sales representative
from our Albany office.

I had his name written
on a memo someplace,

and I seem to have
mislaid it.

You're welcome to
call your office.

Well, I already did.

But the person
who gave it to me

is on a plane to Memphis.

Now, I met this man once--

Ma'am,
we've got 250 rooms,

and I just cannot remember
all of our guests.

Well, he must've checked in
about an hour ago.

He would've been
medium height,

about 50-ish,
salt-and-pepper hair.

Wait a minute,
wait a minute.

I think I might
have your man.

How about Daniel Weldon?
Does that ring a bell?

That's it! Daniel Weldon!

-Oh, thank you so much!
-You're very welcome.

The house phones are
right over there.

-Oh, fine.
[phone rings]

Front desk.
May I help you, please?

[gasps]

-Max?
-I'm sorry, Jess.

Who is he?

It's no coincidence
he's here.

I think his name is Pell.

He was at Biomec
yesterday morning.

He seems to know
Dr. Fredrick Grundberg.

That's interesting.
I was returning to my room

a few minutes ago.
I saw him letting himself in.

We need to go someplace
where we can talk.

Max, that has to be
the understatement

of the decade.

Jessica, this, I suspect,

is mainly what
Mr. Pell was after.

The cultures
for the L-214 vaccine.

You know,
I first spotted Pell

two weeks ago,
when I was up in Boston.

Anyway, I was
on my way to Montauk

to hole up
for a few days,

but seeing him
following me,

I decided not to
take that plane.

So he inadvertently
saved your life.

You could say that.

When I heard
about the crash,

and I was supposed
to be dead,

I figured, okay,
I'll take advantage of it.

I know it's been a cruel thing
to do to my friends, but--

Well, Liz has taken it
particularly hard.

She'll get over it.

Here it is. "Walter Pell,
investigative services."

Figures. He's liable
to look for me here.

Look, Jessica, please don't
tell anyone you've seen me.

That includes
your police friend

that helped you find me.

If you insist.

I promise I'll explain
it all in a day or two.

Another eight or ten hours
is really all I need.

That and my journal,

which I must retrieve
from my townhouse.

Max, wait. Are you sure
it's a good idea

for you to go back
to your own place?

It's possible
that whoever Pell is working for

may have decided
to do something else

besides just keeping
an eye on you.

Walter Pell has known for at
least two hours that you're alive,

but there's been nothing
about it on the news.

You're right.

But I must get my hands
on those notes.

Well, give me the key.

I'll get your journal
for you.

And put you at risk?
Forget it. No way.

Listen, worst case,
if they stop me,

I'll simply
make something up.

Besides, if you
really need it,

you have no choice.

[sighs]

[chuckles]

It's in my study,
second drawer on my desk.

A red cover.

I will contact you.

Oh, while you're there,

you think you could
feed Harry?

Harry, your cat?
Of course.

Take care, Max.

Jess, that's what
this is all about.

Try to get it
through your head, Liz.

If I don't grow
the damn cultures,

they'll find
someone else to do it.

Maybe this way I can find
the answers Max was after.

How are you holding up?

Fair.

Listen, I apologize
for being such a drag yesterday.

It's okay.
You were right.

I mean,
about Max obsessing

over things and people.

Whoa.

Well, I loved him, but...

I guess I just
outgrew it,

and I didn't have the heart
to walk out on him

these past few weeks
when he needed me so badly.

Listen, I could
probably knock off

in about 45 minutes or so--

She's busy, David.

And, in view
of the gravity of our situation,

the time factor,
I hardly think

Fredrick would approve of you
quitting that early.

Catch you
some other time.

Oh, ever the little
opportunist, aren't we?

Stuart, I don't know
what you're talking about.

In politics,
I think they refer to it as "spin".

Not that I care
what sort of impression

you want to create
about you and Max.

Stuart, that-- that is
so unbelievably--

Oh, what?
Tacky? Vulgar?

Okay, but you might
consider this.

I've just heard
on the news

that they've recovered
the wreckage

of that commuter plane
in Jamaica Bay,

and so far, they've
only found five bodies.

The pilot, the co-pilot

and three
female passengers.

I don't understand.

Oh, I'm not sure I do,

but there has been a great
deal of frantic whispering

between Fredrick
and Priscilla.

A six-unit complex on the Westside
was threatened today

when an unexplained
explosion and fire

ripped through the apartment
of nobelist Max Franklin,

victim of Tuesday's
tragic air crash.

So you never got inside?

No, it was on fire
when I got there.

And then the Fletcher woman
showed up.

I doubt if it was
a social call.

Max had to have
sent her to get something.

-But no trace of him?
-Not yet, but soon.

I got into the basement
of her building,

into the phone circuits.
Put a tape recorder on her line.

He'll call her,
and I'll nail him.

A few hours tops,
and we'll have

all your files
and cultures back.

So what are you doing
in my office?

I called you a couple
of times, but you were out.

I got curious.
I noticed you crossed out

your meetings
for the past two hours.

My appointments cancelled.

I heard about the fire
on my car radio.

Yeah, I can buy that.

Good.

Now, we still have our
loose cannon out there.

I suggest
you defuse him fast.

[Max] Thank heaven
this survived.

Luckily, I knew
the fire captain,

and he found it
for me.

You're probably right,
that it'll turn out to be arson.

[sighs] The question
is who and why.

The who seems obvious,
that Pell character.

The why? To destroy
anything there

that might be useful to me

or potentially damaging
to Biomec.

Or because someone now
really wants you dead.

You know, Max, I'd feel
a lot better going to the police

and putting you into
protective custody.

Oh, thanks, Jess,
but that'd take too much time.

Besides, I'm holed up where
no one'll ever find me.

I'll be in touch in
a few hours. I promise.

Okay.

[elevator bell dings]

He looked fine, Liz.

He was harried,
of course, but--

[phone rings]
-Oh, excuse me.

Yes?

Really?

Thank you,
captain Barnhart.

The fire captain.
It was a fire bomb,

accidentally triggered
by Max's cat.

Somebody was trying
to kill Max?

It certainly
looks that way.

Which means that
whoever it was

still wants him dead.

Jessica, we have to
reach him, let him know.

Didn't he tell you anything
about where he'd be?

Maybe he did.

If we can find out
what was on the piece

that he tore out
of that page.

Max?

Max,
it's Jessica and Liz.

Oh, my God. Max.

[camera shutter clicking]

Looks like he was
clocked with this.

Your basic weapon
of opportunity.

-Bag it. Forensics, ASAP.
-Yes, Sir.

Heh. First time around,

he gets everyone
thinking he's dead,

and now the real thing.

Probably a lesson
in there someplace,

if I had the time and
a poetic inclination.

Artie, that ashtray,

that would indicate that
it wasn't premeditated.

But obviously somebody
was trying to kill him.

The booby-trap in the house,

that I can accept.
But, Jessica, face it,

this neighborhood, they got
more junkies per square block

than they got cockroaches.

Miss White, you said that
you and the victim were close?

Yes, we had been.
For several years.

Ah. Till when?

I'd broken it off
with him a few weeks ago.

I mean, I still cared
about him, but, well...

Max really lived
for his work.

Right. Like I said,
Jessica,

some crackhead who's
also dumb enough

to smoke Conquest
unfiltereds.

We found this butt
in the corridor, near the door.

He gets the victim
to open up

to give him
a handout,

the guy spots
the laptop computer,

which he can turn into ready
cash for his next fix,

and bingo,
we got the eighth--

no, the ninth murder
this month

with the same MO.

Oh, yeah, and that
missing Petrie dish.

I don't figure that
for a biggie.

Our perp probably
just grabbed it

along with
the computer.

Mm-hmm.
And the journal?

Maybe Franklin
was done with it and dumped it.

Artie--

Oh. I've gotta get
to the photographer.

Listen, I'll call you both
about your statements.

Does my hair look okay?

Perfect. Artie,

what I wanted to say

is that a private
investigator

was surveilling
Max's activities.

It might interest you
to know that he smoked

the same brand
of cigarettes as that.

It might.

Guy got a name?

Oh, come on!
I'm not 12 years old.

What the hell was a Nobel
prize-winning scientist doing

holed up in a crummy rental
pretending he's dead?

The police think
it might've been a romantic liaison.

My own theory is that
he may have been in touch

with a rival
pharmaceutical house

and that he was meeting there
clandestinely at that place.

Whatever the problem was,
Richard, it's gone away.

And you're sure
Walter Pell didn't make it happen?

How do you know
about Pell?

Just answer
the question, Fredrick.

I'm already getting
anxious calls

from brokerage houses
handling the stock.

If it turns out
you had him killed--

Oh, for God's sake! Do you
really think I'm that crazy?

You're damned straight,
I do.

Now, what else haven't you
been telling me, Fredrick?

Nothing, Richard.
I swear.

Mrs. Fletcher, get out
of my life, okay?

Thanks to you,
I spent four hours

being questioned
by the police.

Mr. Pell,
as an ex-police officer,

you know that I wouldn't
have been doing my civic duty

had I withheld information
from lieutenant Gelber.

How'd you know
I was a cop?

I have some friends
in the NYPD.

Okay. You got
maybe 30 seconds.

That was your
cigarette butt.

After you met up with Franklin
and gave him his book,

I followed him
downtown.

He went into the
apartment building,

I waited a few minutes,
then went inside.

His door was open,
Franklin was dead.

-Time's up.
-One more question.

Why did
Mr. Fredrick Grundberg

have you following him?

That's his business.

Thank you, Mr. Pell.

I wasn't sure that was
who you were working for.

[Liz] Dr. Grundberg swore us all
to secrecy, Jessica,

about Max's concerns
over the effectiveness of L-214,

and he promised that
he would carry out

all the tests that
Max had started.

On top of that,
I guess,

I just didn't think
that the vaccine

was all that relevant
to Max's murder.

Thank you for forcing us

to air our soiled laundry,
Mrs. Fletcher.

Well, I seem
to have gored

more than my share
of oxen today.

It started out to be
in the interest

of finding out
who killed Max Franklin,

but now that I know what
he was so concerned about,

it may well be in
the public interest as well.

At a cost of God knows
how many millions of dollars,

and the loss of
a potential wonder drug.

Or a potential
killer.

Jessica, miss White.

Liz, good luck
in there.

This Dr. Fredrick Grundberg

is a real sweetheart.

I may never
take a pill again

without wondering what's gonna
happen to me in ten years.

-Your statements.
-Oh, yeah.

You are one lucky
lady, Jessica.

Someone rigged that bomb
with a tripwire.

It could have been you
who tripped it.

-Oh, poor Harry.
-Who?

Oh, Max's cat.

Excuse me, lieutenant.

We found this
in a trash barrel

a few blocks from the place
that Franklin was murdered.

That's Max's laptop.

-It certainly looks like it.
-Any prints?

Negative.
I had the nerds go over and see

if they could find anything
on the hard drive,

but somebody
wiped it clean.

There are ways of
retrieving deleted files.

They've got all the software
downstairs, ma'am.

They figure someone knew how
to permanently total the disk.

You bucking
for stripes, Rizzoli?

Sir?

Heh. That'll be all.

I know what you're
gonna say, Jessica.

A pretty hip junkie.

Something
like that, yes.

Well, this throws us right back
to Fredrick Grundberg,

Richard Ellston,
several thousand investors,

and everybody
and his brother at Biomec.

Maybe my next customer
will be able

to throw some light
on it.

Mr. Himes, your turn.

Liz, Jessica. What kind of
questions are they asking?

Just tell him
the truth, Stuart.

They know about
the cover-up?

All of it, Stuart.

Well, thank heaven.

Liz, you okay?

About as okay
as you can be

when a man that
you loved dies twice.

Liz, what is it?

I-I just realized...
there's a chance

I may have some of
the answers to this in my desk.

Right after the
press conference,

I got a piece of
inter-office mail.

-Yes, I remember.
-It was from Max.

I was so upset,
I couldn't bear to open it

and see
what was inside.

But later,
I glanced at it.

It was a computer diskette
and a note from Max

asking me to keep it
safe for him.

I locked it away,
and then there was the fire.

Whoa. With all that's
been happening,

I was afraid this
might not be here.

Well, that wouldn't have
been terribly surprising.

All right, let's see
what we've got.

Statistics.

I was hoping there'd be
a message of some sort.

It could be just that, Liz.

Might "S.H." stand
for Stuart Himes?

Didn't you say
he'd been running tests for Max?

[David] Hmm,
you're right, Jessica.

Tests on L-214's
possible long-term effects

-on bone marrow.
-Yes, back in July.

It's two versions
of Stuart's tests.

One dated the 12th,
and one dated two days later.

I think he gave Max
the second one.

Sure, and Max found the first one
and compared them.

It looks like Stuart
was falsifying the results.

[Stuart] Time out, David.

Oh, come on, guys.

You look like this is the first time
in this hallowed business

of magical panaceas
and healthy-ever-afters

that anyone's ever doctored
a few figures.

-A few?
-Max was fretting about side effects

that might show up five
to ten years down the line.

I figured by then,
if there are any,

there'll be a cure.

And meanwhile, thousands of
lives will be saved by L-214.

Maybe.

You killed him,
didn't you?

You creep,
you dirty, rotten--

Ah, here you all are.
Especially you, Mr. Himes.

I have a warrant
for your arrest

for the murder of
Dr. Max Franklin.

Lieutenant, we covered all that
this afternoon.

Except your alibi
turned out to be smoke.

Matter of fact,
a little while ago, we paid a visit

to your basement
out in Northport.

We found the ingredients

that went into that
lethal contraption

you put together
in Franklin's brownstone.

His cat blew
that one for you,

but you sure did a job of it
the second time around.

I'm not gonna
say anything more.

Good thinking.

Jessica, everyone,

thanks for your help.

[Jessica]
I think you're wrong.

Artie, I mean,
you have to admit

that fear of exposure for tampering
with those test results

is a pretty weak motive
for murder.

Especially when
you consider that--

I know. I know it is almost
impossible to prove

he's the one who actually
changed the numbers.

But what I'm trying
to say, Jessica,

-is that we've got the motive.
-You do?

And it doesn't have
to get any prettier than this.

Himes begged,
borrowed and mortgaged

every penny he could
get his hands on,

almost
two million bucks.

And invested it all in the new
Biomec stock offering.

You got it.

Himes had to make the L-214 fly,
no matter what.

It explains why he trashed
Franklin's computer, the whole shot.

But how could he have
found the apartment

where Max was hiding?

Hey, you found it.
The PI found it.

Maybe Max called him
and told him.

But I don't recall seeing
a phone in that apartment.

So he called from a booth.
It'll come out in the trial.

Main thing is, I've got
a lot more than I need

and a pile of cases
waiting their turn.

Artie, you're right.
Max did call his killer.

But I don't think
it was from a pay phone,

it was from right there
in the apartment,

from his cellular phone.

I-I don't remember any cellular.

Nope. No cell phone.

Well, that's because
the killer took it.

Until just now, I'd forgotten
I'd seen it in his briefcase.

Artie, if you can locate
Max's cellular phone carrier,

I have a feeling
that you'll find

that one of his
last phone calls

was to or from
the murderer.

Right. I'll call you.

I'm truly sorry you feel
I misled you, but--

Misled?
You miserable, lying...

How about bilked,
scammed, swindled?

[laughs]

I'm out $20 million.

My reputation is in ruins,
my business.

I heard about that.

But, Richard,
if there's anything I can do.

I'll do you.

I'm gonna take you
down with me.

I'm going to keep you
in courts defending lawsuits

till you're
too old to stand!

And that goes for you too!

We are very disappointed
that you feel this way,

but the fact is,
we were both totally in the dark

about this
entire mess.

Now, if you'll
excuse me,

we've got a very
full schedule.

[sighs]

You're going to deny

you knew L-214
was flawed.

Richard, Max Franklin
victimized us, too,

by keeping his doubts
about the vaccine to himself.

And I don't think there's
a court in the land

that would've found
otherwise.

And because we have
a duty to the public

and to medical prudence,

we've withdrawn L-214
from FDA consideration

despite the costs
to Biomec.

And your losses?

Actually, they were gains.

You see, Priscilla had
this premonition.

Something told me
things weren't right,

so I suggested
to Fredrick

that we put all the stock
we'd subscribed for up for sale

prior to its
official issue.

Here you go,
lieutenant.

Okay, so we know
that Max took a call

on his cellular phone
about a half hour before he was killed,

but it was from a pay phone.
It could be anybody.

Meanwhile,
we found Himes' prints

in one of the few unburned
areas at Franklin's brownstone.

Well, Stuart had
visited there socially.

I'm sure you could've
found my prints there, too.

We did. Anyway,
I just ran the goods we got on Himes

past the assistant DA.

She was on the other
side of hog heaven,

said she wished they
were all that solid.

Listen, Jessica,

which one of these
do you like the best?

Oh, that one,
definitely.

Really?

I-I kind of thought
that...

that this one made me
look a little bit,

you know,
like Robert Redford.

Well, um...

Jessica, what?

It did bend.

It was paper.

What bend?
What paper?

Artie, I think I know
who killed Max Franklin,

and I think I know why.

[beeps]

[door clicks open]

Yes? Is someone there?

What are you doing
at Max's computer?

I was, uh...

I was, uh,
taking a break.

Running
some diagnostics

to see if we could get
some use out of it.

Hmm.

Then, by moving
that section up into chapter one--

Of course, it sets the reader up
for what's to come.

Jessica,
that's brilliant.

[phone rings]
It's an old fiction writer's device

called foreshadowing.

Laying in a hint of
what's going to happen,

then the trick
is to surprise them

with a twist that
they don't expect.

[laughs]
-Hello?

Really?

David Randall has
come up with a way

to salvage the files
off Max's computer at Biomec.

The one Max trashed.

Well, when will he
have it all?

Thanks, Artie.
Keep me posted, will you?

Apparently, David's written
some sort of program

that's slowly
restoring them.

What's interesting
is that so far what he's finding

-is pointing directly at Priscilla Lake.
-You're kidding.

They don't expect anything
conclusive till tomorrow,

and even then,
it may be a false alarm.

Now, this note
on page 27,

I-I'm not quite sure
what you meant.

Oh, I hope
I can remember.

[laughing]
Not as much as I do.

[beeping]

[rustling]

Wow, you really are
the night owl, aren't you?

I'm kind of busy, Liz.

I heard.

David, I need to get
at that computer.

There's something
that I've got to find.

[Jessica] That won't be
necessary, Liz.

Sadly, by coming here
tonight,

you've admitted
that you murdered Max.

[scoffs] Jessica!

That doesn't make sense. I--

I could hardly wait to see
what David had found, that's all.

What you could
hardly wait to do

was to get over here
and destroy the file

that would show your motive
for murdering him.

The file containing
the letter that Max wrote,

breaking off his
relationship with you.

Jessica,
you've got it backwards.

I dumped Max weeks ago.

So you said,
and made sure

that several other
people heard you.

But the truth is,
that's the letter

that was delivered to you
via inter-office mail

the morning of
the press conference,

when it appeared that Max
had died in the airplane crash.

It was the computer disk
with Stuart's test data.

No. When I was in
lieutenant Gelber's office today,

I saw an envelope marked,
"do not bend."

It reminded me that
I'd seen you receive it.

I recognized
Max's handwriting

and thought it didn't seem
significant at the time.

I could tell by the way
that you bent the envelope,

it had to have contained
something pliable like paper,

not a rigid diskette.

Yet, earlier today,

when you suddenly
remembered the diskette

Max had supposedly
sent you,

you took it out of
that same envelope.

Jessica, you've made one
really humungous mistake here.

You know that
I wouldn't kill Max.

I loved the guy.
Okay, so I had to--

[Artie] Miss White.

Sad as it is,
Mrs. Fletcher's on the money.

Mind coming downtown?

So tonight,
at your place,

that phone call about
David and Max's computer...

-That was all a set-up, Liz.
-Hers.

When lieutenant Gelber
and his people

searched you apartment
and were unable

to locate the note
Max sent you in that envelope,

I felt we had to take a chance,
that my hunch was right.

It was. We found this
in your car.

Sort of a classic "dear Liz".

A computer-generated
letter.

Sweet, isn't it?

He didn't just
throw me over the side.

Oh, no, he sent me
all the way to the bottom.

Well, when he
turned up alive,

I couldn't think
of anything

except making sure that
he'd die and stay dead.

Because you'd been
working with him,

you knew that he'd
need his journal.

I figured he'd go to
the brownstone to get it.

So you rigged the fire bomb

and planted the materials
in Stuart Himes' basement.

And when that failed
to do the trick,

you called Max on
his cellular phone.

I told him
I didn't blame him,

that he was right,

that I had been too pushy,
too self-involved.

I convinced him I was just
worried about his safety.

All I wanted to do
was to help him finish

the analysis he was running
so he could come

out of hiding and get
some protection.

He agreed to let me
come to the apartment.

He dismissed me
in so many words.

And then he started
to assign chores for me to do,

like nothing had changed!

I spotted
the heavy ashtray.

[Jessica] And, along with everything else,

you took the diskette
with the fake test results.

Four years of my life.

I gave the man everything.

Sacrificed my career,
submerged my own goals

to help him
with his L-214,

the damned tedious
obsession of his.

All I wanted in return
was a commitment.

That's all.

And in local news,
a grand jury

has just handed down
indictments

against Biomec CEO
Fredrick Grundberg

and Priscilla Lake,
charging each

with a dozen counts
of conspiracy to defraud.

There is a God.

Artie, is that your photo
for your high school?

Yeah. Listen, uh,

now that your friend
Max's suspicions

about this L-214
have been confirmed,

what happens?

Well,
David Randall claims

that it'll take him
three or four years

to know if it can
be fixed or not.

Apparently,
Max left quite a road map.

And I hear that David's
gonna do the driving.

Yes. Richard Ellston
has put him in charge of research.

Nice.

Artie?

Oh, I went with
the one you picked.

Listen, Jessica,
I gotta get over to the store.

Henderson's coming
back tomorrow,

and I have a ton
of paperwork to get ready for him.

The picture.

[chuckling]
This is--

I had them do
a little,

you know,
retouching.

Look, it's no sin

to want to look
as good as you can.

You, uh... you've gotta
promise not to laugh.

On my honor.

Artie... it's lovely.

You're sure
it isn't too much?

Absolutely.

You sure?

[laughs]