All language subtitles for ironside_s01e11_the_man_who_believed

of the world is dead.

Her body was recovered last night from
the dark waters beneath the Golden Gate

Bridge. Yet another victim of stupidity.

Well, now, I agree.

You surprise me.

Why?

Well, any chick that swans off the
Golden Gate Bridge 200 feet into the

cold water, it's at least stupid.

Ah, you assume she jumped.

Well, the Harbor Patrol said that was
suicide.

Right, and that's what's wrong.

That beautiful bridge.

It's an easy out. Find a body in the
bay, retrieve it, wrap it up, freeze it,

label it suicide, close the case, bury
the body, forget the whole thing.

Chief, Mr. Ironside, sir, most of them
are suicide.

Given proof, not assumption.

You're hinting in your delicate way that
Samantha Dane was not a suicide?

Eve, I never hint. Hinting is evasion.
I'm telling you.

You know something we don't know?

Never ask a leading question.

Stop the bullet that put me into this
perambulator. I got 1 ,432 fan letters.

Most of them slush.

Oh, a few of them had the virtue of
honesty.

There were even two or three worth
keeping.

I dug one of them out last night.

On the desk mark, French airmail stare.

Well, I'll read it.

Dear Captain Ironside, I know what it's
like to be lying in a hospital staring

up at the ceiling.

Knowing your world has come to an end,
you find yourself thinking, well,

one easy way out, the big sleep.

But believe me, Captain, living is
better than dying.

You will find out I did.

Signed, Samantha Dane.

Well, what are you staring at?

If that's your whole case, Chief, I for
one would rather not say.

Does that letter sound like a girl who'd
take a 200 -foot shortcut into the bay?

Well, she did land there. Does that mean
she jumped?

There's no elevator and she wasn't
wearing a parachute.

You all seem to have ignored one
familiar means of locomotion.

What? A push.

Suicide by drowning. No question of it.
No question?

Look, don't argue medicine with me,
Chief Ironside. No question.

I'm not arguing medicine. I'm rejecting
assumptions derived out on the basis of

a preliminary examination.

Water in the lungs.

Death by reason of drowning.

No marks of violence.

Those aren't assumptions.

They're facts.

And the conclusion is suicide.

Wouldn't the same symptoms be present if
she'd been held underwater?

Naturally. If she were dazed, helpless?

Of course, yes.

If she were bound and the ropes later
removed?

To be sure, but those aren't medical
questions.

Exactly. So tell me she drowned, but
don't tell me it was suicide.

When I've completed my autopsy, I won't
keep a thing from you.

Thank you for your cooperation, Dr.
Gwinn.

You're welcome, Chief.

Each time we meet, my anticipation
grows.

Anticipation of what?

Doing an autopsy on you.

Not a chance.

I'd roll off the table before I'd let
you lay a finger on me.

What are you grinning at?

Picture of you rolling off the table?

What else?

I want you to meet someone. Who?

Name of Brenner.

He's a witness to the fact that Samantha
Dane went off the Golden Gate Bridge

all by herself.

Saw Samantha Dane last night?

Yeah, on a bridge by the railing.

Where were you?

In my truck going past.

How did you happen to notice her? She
beeped at me.

Beeped?

That'll be 55.

Thank you. It was foggy. I saw her and I
honked my horn and she beeped back.

Sort of sang it up. And she waved at me
laughing.

Very friendly.

And she was alone?

All alone.

I came all the way across the bridge and
it was empty.

How could you figure it?

I didn't realize who she was until I
heard on the radio this morning. The

showed me the body to identify her.

It's a shame. She was so young and
pretty.

What time did you see her, do you
recall?

Yes, it was 10 .52.

How do you happen to remember the exact
time?

I checked, going on to the bridge.

Look, I'm on schedule.

I gotta make it to the aircraft plant
for the 11 o 'clock break.

I was a minute late.

Thank you, Mr. Brenner.

You like some coffee and a sandwich?

If you get any more customers like us,
you'll be broke in a week.

Thanks.

Where'd you get that?

I borrowed it from the psychedelic
daffodil.

What's it for?

Inspiration. Put it there, Mark.

You were saying, Ed?

Only that Brenner's truck passed her at
10 .52.

At 11 p .m., an army convoy crossed the
bridge.

The soldiers would have noticed a
beautiful girl. None of them did. She

gone.

10 .52 to 11 p .m. That leaves eight
minutes unaccounted for.

Eight minutes for someone to push her
over and get away.

Chief. Look at Brenner's evidence.

She was laughing, cheerful.

She waves at him.

And then she jumped. Ed, is that the way
you read it? Okay, okay.

Okay, okay, okay.

We'll see if the good doctor's finished
his autopsy.

Are we looking for anything in
particular?

The conditions of death.

Beyond drowning?

Before drowning.

Mark, you know a toy store in the
neighborhood?

A bookie joint, maybe.

A floating crab game.

I said a toy store.

I want a model truck about this size and
a couple of dolls, maybe so tall. A boy

doll and a girl doll.

Are you all right, Chief?

I'm just a child at heart.

All right, Ed. You are in your truck
crossing the bridge.

And here is the girl alone.

You exchange your little beeps.

And bearing in mind the fact that it's
dark and there's some fog and you have

keep at least one eye on the road, you
drive on.

Now, you would have had the girl in
sight for...

60 feet at the outside.

I buy that.

What else would you see?

Nothing.

Bridge railing and a lot of dark.

So you could testify under oath that you
drove across the bridge, saw the girl

alone, watched her for approximately 60
feet, during which period she remained

alone. Right.

In other words, Brenner's testimony.

Right. Wrong.

Mark, the Prince of Darkness, He was
standing there all the time, just

a couple of feet away.

Took cover when he heard Brenner's
truck.

And when the truck drove away, he came
out and

killed Samantha Dean.

Exactly. Now, all we have to find out is
who that little fellow grew up to be.

Suicide? Of course it's possible.

We're all off balance, on a tight wire
between libido and mortito.

That's a life instinct and death wish.

Yes, I guess so.

But Samantha had a lot to live for. She
was a very real person.

Besides, she was just beginning to make
money.

Well, as her manager, Mr. Harrison, why
would you book her into a place like the

daffodil? A little North Beach place
like that couldn't pay much.

Peanuts. But Samantha was sentimental.
She got her first singing job there, you

know, loyalty, all that.

So to sum it up, she was successful,
well -liked, and making money.

Why would she suicide?

She wouldn't.

Was she ill? Did she have an accident?

She had the health of a cart horse and
the reflexes of a cat.

What about murder?

You do understand the word.

The end product of mortito?

When the death wish becomes death?

You're a shrewd little police girl,
aren't you?

There was no reason for anyone to kill
Samantha Dane.

The reasons are usually love or money.
She was careless with money.

Well, love, then.

An impulse shopper, but not masochistic.

She chose her men, or they chose her
somewhat casually, but she avoided the

really sick ones.

You're rather frank about Samantha.

She's dead, and I'm not sentimental.

I put out the money for her European
tour and it worked. She came back very

And now, she's very, very cold.

More reason than ever to believe she
would not end the tour with a jump.

Assumption? Deduction.

There's still the possibility of an
accident.

Accident?

She accidentally stumbled over a four
-foot railing?

Not likely.

Accident remote.

Suicide? Unlikely.

Due to lack of motive, mood, or
indication by her letter to me. No, it

murder.

Sorry, Chief.

You're wrong.

It was suicide.

By what? By reason of unsound mind.

What are you talking about?

Aside from the habit of going barefoot,
Samantha Dane seems to have been as

solid as a Vermont Republican.

On the night she died, Samantha Dane was
so high, it's a wonder she could walk.

She was nervous.

It was opening night. She took a few. So
what? I didn't say anything about

alcohol.

Drugs? Heroin.

According to the autopsy.

30 months back, Samantha Dane left the
hospital at Lexington, Kentucky.

She turned herself in asking for a cure
for heroin addiction.

Was she cured?

Lexington thought so.

But Lexington was wrong.

All right.

All right, she was high.

That still doesn't mean suicide.

Drug addicts don't have to kill
themselves.

They've already found their way to drop
out.

Well, that may be.

But the reason she went to Lexington was
that she'd already made two

unsuccessful suicide attempts.

And she was scared.

Now, my guess is that the other night
she tried again for the third time.

And made it.

What was that you were doing?

You mean this?

Yeah.

Wild.

If you've stopped trembling, miss, I'd
like to see Harry Brancusi.

Harry?

And there he is, Harry Brancusi.

Pardon me.

My name is Ironside.

Police. Oh, sure, about Samantha.

Take a few.

That's ten, children.

Whatever you want to know, Mr.

Ironside. You knew Samantha Dayne quite
a while.

Six years, ever since she wandered in
here with the old blue jeans, the

the whole bit. Except she could sing.

Nice of you giving her a chance coming
in off the street.

Nice pays no rent.

She came cheap, and she came with a
talent.

That made her a bargain.

See, with these places, you got to have
a few angles.

Used to be I called it the cozy club.

Then it was the blue corner, a little
more sophisticated.

Now it's the psychedelic daffodil. Next
year, who knows what. I handle

merchandise.

Whatever's hot, I got.

It's an art fort.

It was all so businesslike. Why did
Samantha Dayne agree to come back here

two weeks?

Out of loyalty?

Loyalty? Is that what Harrison told you?

When I hire him, I tie him up for seven
years.

Samantha wanted out. So me and Harrison
negotiated and we finally settled.

She paid off with a two -week gig at
scale.

All hard, huh?

This is my place.

You cool it or blow.

I'm cooled.

Completely unprejudiced.

He hates everybody.

I'm Paul Bridger.

You're Robert Ironside.

Tell him about Samantha.

It wasn't suicide.

You sound positive.

I knew Sam a long time.

I was her accompanist when she first
sang at the club.

And you still know all her material.
Right, Paulo?

That's right, Bonnie baby.

Elephants and piano players we'd never
forget.

You were Samantha's accompanist four
years ago?

From the beginning.

I've been here a while.

Oh? Then according to Mr. Brancusi,
you're either incompetent or

Neither. The hours fit my schedule.

I'm working my way through college.

Studying what?

Bridges of the brain.

He started here in his sophomore year.

Of regular college. Now he's a second
year medical student.

Commendable.

And on the side, you accompanied
Samantha.

Right up to the last rehearsal. The day
before she died.

She was happy.

That's an opinion.

She was happy.

Until she blew up.

How?

Bonnie.

I, uh, paid you to dance, not sing.

I repeat.

How did Samantha Dane blow up? Oh, just
temper. She was always edgy at

rehearsals. You know performers.

She rehearsed beautifully.

We taped the session.

She had a great sound, Sam did.

Where's the tape?

Oh, around here somewhere, I guess.
Could we be a little more specific?

I left it on the machine last night.

Well, do we wait for it to roll over to
us, or could you get it for me?

One tape coming up.

Mind if I leave now? I've got to get
some sleep.

Don't be late.

Such a long clock.

It's gone.

Bonnie?

Are you sleepy, Bonnie, or just plain
nervous?

I don't know what you mean.

I have a feeling you knew the tape was
gone because you took it.

Why would I take it?

Exactly what I want to know.

Why?

Bonnie brought the tape to me because I
paid her.

After all, it is the last recording made
by Samantha Dane. It has a certain

sentimental value.

Dead or alive, she's still your meal
ticket.

Well, you're quite a moralizer for a
policeman.

It allows me to indulge my dislikes.
Which include me, I take it.

You censure me while sanctifying a dead
woman.

Samantha Dane wasn't just a pretty
psychedelic poster, you know. She was

and female.

Which is to say she was occasionally
treacherous, frequently cruel, and

difficult. You didn't like her?

I was mad about her as a property. I
didn't get involved with her personally.

Those who did were clawed up a bit.

Care to explain that?

No. Let her have her mystery.

She was a junkie.

Was that her mystery?

Some of it.

I'll leave you the task of unraveling it
all.

Here's your tape.

It's the singing soul of Samantha Dane.

Don't get too close to it.

It might blow up in your face.

A tape of a rehearsal session.

What would it prove?

That she was on key?

People talk when they rehearse.

Maybe Samantha Dane could tell us who
killed her.

Maybe you ought to put that song on
tape. I don't know. I think I'm about to

play on the Chief's team.

If I'm still alive.

I think he's brainwashed you.

Uh -uh.

It's just that there were so many
pressures on the chick.

So many people around her, choking her.

For example, the guy owns the club,
Brian Cousy.

All of a sudden, the girl's big time,
worth big money.

She cuts away from it.

Or the other chick, Bonnie.

Now, she's a star actor for Daffodil.

Back comes Samantha and where's Bonnie?

Nowhere. You can always find a motive
for murder this side of sainthood.

We're loaded with motives.

What we have to find is the one that
killed Samantha.

If she was killed. The fact of the
murder is spelled out in this autopsy

I must have missed the most exciting
chapter.

Samantha was high on heroin when she
went off the bridge, right? That chapter

read. Where was the puncture? The arm.

I'll dwell on that for a second.

She wouldn't have injected herself in
the arm. She was a singer, a performer.

She was about to go on public display.
She couldn't afford to show a puncture

mark or a bruise.

Exactly. Now, where would she inject?

The inside of the thigh.

Any marks on the thigh?

None. Leading to the conclusion that
Samantha Dane did not inject herself.

Query. Who did?

Obviously, the murderer.

But why?

I say the heroin was a decoy to make us
think Samantha found herself hooked

again and took that one last step off
the bridge.

If he had that stuff to give, maybe he
was a user.

Not bad, Mark.

I'll have Narconics run a check on our
friends at the daffodil, see if any of

them were ever busted.

On the other hand, we may be looking for
a man who has no record.

A man who has legal access to the drug,
like a doctor.

Bridger.

Who? The pianist at the daffodil.

We'll double -check him as soon as we
listen to Samantha Dane.

We're all set, Harry, whenever
Samantha's ready.

I'm ready.

So, Quake, is the dressing room okay,
Sam? Oh, grand.

It's so appropriate.

It has all the charm of a prison cell.

We'll audition the jokes later. Let's
go.

Lovely. By all means, let's go.

Listen, I'm one of your managers, Sam,
not your mother, but I said something's

wrong, and what's happened?

One of you knows exactly what.

One of you.

All right. We'll cut the tape.

And afterwards, I want a very good
explanation.

Or else there will be very bad trouble.

I passed the music. We know she can
sing. Let's see if she has something

say.

Good. In the groove and a nice sound,
Sam.

That last chorus.

You're too kind of dumb.

Oh, what do you expect, Harry? She's
just off a 12 -hour flight, and she's

willing. We'll take 15 minutes, folks.
Bye.

Generous.

You look beat.

I'll just collapse right here, Bonnie,
while I get you some coffee.

Oh, it was you.

You could have got me 20 years in jail
for what you did.

Well, darling, you're going to
straighten it out, and I mean tonight.

Because if you don't, I had right for
the police.

Sure. I mean it. And you can't stop me.

I guess I joined the right team.

Somebody did stop her.

Just one little push

Only

rats can win between the day

characteristic voice.

Singer, huh?

That's right.

Well, I can certainly program her voice.

Not hers we want, Professor.

Just before her last words, it was a
man's voice.

Tonight. Because if you don't, I head
right for the police.

Sure. That's it.

That's one word.

Yes, I know.

One whispered word.

Spoken by the man who might have killed
Samantha Dane.

It isn't likely I can make a positive
identification from a single word.

But you can try.

I realize voice prints are still quite
experimental.

I mean, I might identify a particular
voice to my satisfaction, but it might

stand up in court.

I don't think it'll ever get as far as
the witness stand.

Okay. We'll take a stab at it.

Come in.

Hello.

I'm Dan Peabody.

Relax, Professor.

Miss Whitfield is on my staff. She's a
policewoman.

Well, how did our medical student check
out? Hardworking, bright, reliable.

Only one curious thing. His social life.

Curious? How?

He doesn't have any outside of the club.
Not since Samantha left.

I'll be back.

We'll be back.

You!

Physical therapy is the other way.

And just what are you doing dressed?

I was just about to ask you the same
thing.

What are you talking about? Raw passion.

But I'll settle for Dr. Zellman.

Come in, come in.

Your iron side, eh?

I'm Dr. Zellman.

Call me Maury.

Good adjustment you've made.

Very healthy.

Yeah, considering I'll never walk again.

Admit it, admit it.

And that's settled.

Question.

Will you be a crippled vegetable or a
crippled man?

Answer, a man.

Now, how can I help?

I need some information about a woman
named Samantha Dane. She's dead.

Some time ago.

Two years and ten months, to be exact.
You were treating her for heroin

addiction, giving her measured doses of
methadone.

I see.

The girl seems to have used my name
quite freely.

Any reason she shouldn't have?

Several. First, I do not use the
methadone treatment.

Second, three years ago, I was in the
middle of a research project and took

almost no private patients.

And third, I have never treated, seen,
or heard of any Samantha Daly.

down here.

This time of night? Yes.

Don't let me interrupt you.

It won't spoil.

You're a bunch of inches.

I'm a doctor.

Almost.

It's been a long grind.

I'm a culture hero.

Poor fisherman's son earns his white
coat by hard work and clean living.

Why are you bitter? You've made it.

Or is it Samantha that bothers you?

I liked her.

She's dead.

I don't let myself like many people.

Hurts to lose one.

You didn't like her, you loved her.

Which I imagine is why you forged Dr.
Zellman's name to get her methadone.

To get her into Lexington without fuss.

You loved her.

Did she love you back?

No.

She used me.

She had her voice.

I helped her with her material.

No, she worked. We both worked all the
time.

And on the side, we had a nice three
-cornered affair.

Samantha, me.

And her habit.

Where'd she get her heroin?

She found herself a pusher.

But she kicked the habit.

You forged Dr. Zellman's name and
gambled your medical life getting her

Lexington. She came out cured.

All kinds of cured.

Done with heroin.

Done with me.

Mr. Bridger?

Did you kill her?

That's a very stupid question.

If the answer was yes, I'd have to kill
you.

Speaking of stupidity, I'm armed.

You sit there like a crippled duck.

You don't have the guts.

You weren't looking for a love affair
with Samantha. You were looking for a

whipping, and you got it.

Now, don't blame Samantha for your
sickness.

I'm a crippled Bridger.

But so are you.

You've made quite a surgeon, Dr.

Ironside.

You cut right down to the nerves.

I could have killed you. You still
could.

The girl was here direct from the
airport.

Wouldn't even stop at her hotel.

She didn't want to hold up their hours,
so her plane was late.

What about luggage?

She brought it all with her.

Eight pieces.

Came in here like a whirlwind, like
Samantha Dane.

Was she alone?

Sam was never alone.

She cast a permanent shadow called Ray
Harrison.

Her manager?

Always stayed close enough to keep an
eye on us, 25%. All right, then what?

Well, then she came in, everybody said
hello, and she went right back to her

dressing room. May we have a look at it?

Did her shadow go along?

No, he stayed at the bar, and that's
just the way he likes it, too. No

bartender, no tab.

Harrison's happy hour.

What did she take to her dressing room?

Well, uh, let's see, she had her coat,
one of those Mexican serapi things, and

her makeup kit, that's all.

According to her customs slip, she
declared the makeup kit as a new

London.

I wouldn't know anything about that.

What happened to her things?

Police took them.

Nothing else missing?

No. Why?

Because I asked you.

Thank you. That's all, Mr. Brancusi.

Hangs up her coat.

Comes to the table.

Puts down the makeup kit.

Then, being a woman, looks at herself in
the mirror.

Puts on her makeup.

Why not?

For rehearsal.

Anyway, she wasn't in here that long.
She came right out.

That's where the tape starts, that she
came out.

She came out upset.

Angry about something.

Whatever it was, she must have found it
in here.

Not much to find.

The makeup kit.

What about it?

Eve.

Lipsticks, grease pencils, face powders,
cold cream, eyelashes.

Powders.

Why not? Consider this.

She doesn't have to put on makeup for a
rehearsal, but she's a woman.

A woman with a new makeup kit. A new
toy.

She decides to break it in right now.

She opens it.

Takes the lid off one of the jars.

Sees something that looks like makeup.

But what she recognizes, powder.

White powder.

Horse. Exactly.

She's just come back from Europe, and
without knowing it, she's carried heroin

through customs.

What she said on the tape.

You could have got me 20 years in jail.

For smuggling narcotics.

She brought this stuff through customs.

If it were found, she'd be nailed on the
spot. She was an ex -addict.

She'd never make anyone believe she was
innocent.

And she had the bad sense to go to the
rehearsal and tell everybody she knew.

Yeah, and got herself killed for it.

A push.

By a pusher.

Ed, go down to headquarters.

Have the lab check that makeup kit.

Ben, I want everything scraped up in
here.

I know. Down to the paint.

Meanwhile, we'll go back to the campus.

See if the professors come up with
anything on that rehearsal tape.

Maybe he can tell us who killed
Samantha, Dan.

Sure.

Sure.

Sure. I put it on a continual loop.

I've been living with that one whispered
word for a day and a night. And?

I've extrapolated the pattern, checked
it against every other voice on the

original tape. And?

And I'm dead.

What did you say?

Can be anybody from a teeny -bopper to a
full -grown man.

Are you telling me that you cannot
identify that voice?

I'm telling you nobody can.

That whisper is a dead end.

And you've just smashed into it.

What are you getting so excited about?

Is it always like this?

Like rheumatism.

Anytime you learn to live with it.

I wonder if you'd do me a great favor,
Officer Whitfield.

Well, if it's within the law, Professor.

I find your voice intensely interesting.

I wonder if you'd let me program it on
this machine sometime.

Like tonight.

Well, I... Well, answer the man.

Tell him yes, Professor.

With pleasure, Professor.

Very kind of you, Chief Ironside.

You mean you're giving me the night off?

Not likely.

You'll be on the case, and so will your
date, with all his extrapolations. All

right, start packing, Professor.

It promises to be a beautiful evening.

Eve, call up the crew at the Davido.
Tell them I want everyone to make a

tape tonight. Just the one word, sure.

I tell you, it won't work, Chief.

I won't be able to match it to the
rehearsal tape.

You know that, Professor.

And I know that.

but the killer doesn't know it.

To him, that one word can become a whole
sentence.

A death sentence.

Well, darling, you're going to
straighten out, and I mean tonight.

Because if you don't, I head right for
the police.

That's ghoulish.

Stop padding your part, Mr. Harrison.
Your line consists of one word.

I'll kill him, Eve. Just the last part.

Because if you don't, I head right for
the police.

Sure.

Now whisper it, please.

it, Professor.

What? Well, that pattern will really
extrapolate.

Thank you, Mr. Harrison.

We know where to reach you.

Bonnie?

You don't have to cue me. I've
rehearsed.

Sure, sure, sure, sure, sure.

Sure.

Is that really me on that?

That's your voice print, Bonnie.

There isn't another one like it in the
world.

You're telling me?

I'm near the end of the spool.

How many more?

Just Mr.

Brancusi here and Paul Bridger.

I'll go get them. All right.

As long as you're here, why stop the
music?

Sure.

That's the word, isn't it? Sure.

That's right.

All set, Professor?

Okay. I'm ready.

You got a way of putting things.

Club was just a front.

That it, Brancusi?

Dope is the name of the game.

Chief,

I'm going to take you with me.

My guarantee.

Bad odds.

The only ones I have.

Don't move.

Come after me.

He's going to be a cripple all the way
up.

The window.

Alley leads to the plug.

If the kid gets in the way, he gets it
first.

I don't think so.

Do you need a job that bad?

It's all right, Mark.

Mr. Brancusi and I have some private
business.

Go back and enjoy the show.

Okay, Chief.

That sounds good.

When are we going to talk about Samantha
Dane's replacement?

Back up on the stand.

When do we talk?

Beat it, you piano player.

Better do as he says.

Tell me your troubles, I won't tell you
mine.

Step aside now, Grandpa, you're holding
business up. Find yourself another

street to shake your old tin cup.
Between the day...

Saving my life.

That's what a doctor's for, they tell
you.

Saving people's lives.

Question is, were you saving my life or
your own?

Brancusi used Samantha to smuggle
heroin.

She found out.

Must have occurred to you that if
Brancusi was dead, everyone would

automatically assume that he'd killed
Samantha to keep her quiet.

You think I killed her?

I know you did.

How could you know?

The bridge.

Even after a shot of heroin, Samantha
would have been able to tell a friend

an enemy.

She knew Brancusi was an enemy.

A dangerous one.

She wouldn't have gone anywhere near
that bridge with him.

She was laughing.

Cheerful. She must have been with
someone she trusted. With an old friend.

With you.

but honest boy works his way through
college.

I worked my way through grammar school.

It started when I was eight years old.

When I was 12, I was hustling papers,
running errands, anything.

Bailed my old man out of the drunk tank
till he died.

Tired little old man.

Do you know what it means for me to be a
doctor?

Me?

What does a man work for?

I offered it all to Samantha.

She had changed.

She didn't want me.

You want me to close up shop, Chief?

No.

Leave it on, Mark. I'll take care of it.

I figure... Sam owes me a song.