All language subtitles for kojak_s03e22_justice_deferred

What's your boss this time?

Nothing. Look.

Hey, we better call a break.

Free? For this you call a cop.

No, Lieutenant.

I can't sell a dental appointment for
this.

All right, all right. I'm here. What do
you got?

Well, I'm not sure, Lieutenant.

On the face of it, it looks like a
typical syndicate's crotch.

Hardly worth the paperwork.

Man had a pair of these, he could start
a mariachi band, right?

Is that the center of the foundation?

Standard class, they conquered him
bombing job.

Anything else? Just bones, clothings and
shreds.

Okay, Curly.

You said on the face of it, it had the
earmarks of a model hit, but only you

obviously have reason to suspect
otherwise. Give. Well, clean entry?

No exit?

The size of the aperture indicates a
small bore weapon.

Possibly a .22. So?

So, it's safe to assume that the shot
wasn't fired point blank.

And a .22 is not your typical kill gun.

Execution. Looks more like dumb luck to
me.

Any idea when this building went up?

Yeah, 1957, according to the foreman
here.

So we got ourselves an 18 -year -old
DOA.

Let's see if we can't narrow it down.

Find out the exact date on which the
foundations were put.

Working from that, start wading through
the missing persons report, crime files,

newspaper morgues, etc.

Eighteen years.

Kenneth, do you know what you're asking?

You know, archaeologists are still
trying to solve the mystery of the

You don't hear them yelling, do you?

Detective?

What the hell's the big mystery about
the pyramid?

They don't have guns.

No, that's all right. I'll take it.

Nilo? Keith.

Monica, how nice to hear from you again.

Have you seen the papers?

Yes, of course.

And you're not concerned?

No, not in the least.

Keith! Monica, listen to me.

I have to go up to Albany for a few
days. It's on business.

Now, I want you to get out of the
apartment.

Dedicate a tree, go to an auction, have
your poodle clipped. But keep your hours

occupied.

I'll see you when I come back, all
right?

Send to me bios.

And what's the good word?

Gomez, you're on.

No, I'm getting out. Stay, stay.

Yeah. Emmy reports, although the teeth
reveal several gold fillings, it'll be

next to impossible to establish identity
through existing dental records.

Yeah, the concrete was poured May 8th,
1957, Captain.

The trail that leads to Judge Crater, it
ain't a hell of a lot colder than this

one. There is, however, a small bridge,
and there's a slim chance we might be

able to nail down the manufacturer and
through him get a line on the dentist

ordered it. Dentist? According to the
autopsy findings, the victim was 5 '11",

weighed in the neighborhood of 175
pounds, and was somewhere between 30, 35

years of age when snuffed.

Rizzo.

I want you to phone Doc Eggenweiler.

See if you can squeeze me in this
afternoon.

Okay, because I got a tooth that's
callous.

My cuspid.

Yeah, what made you see it?

Go ahead. There's two additional pieces
of information.

Our DOA's left leg's been broken and is
now held together by bone grafts and two

steel pins.

ME states orthopedic surgery transpired
within three years of decedent's demise.

Among the foreign matter, forensic
recovery of the scene was a set of bone

buttons, which, unlike the fabric they
were attached to, The main attack we're

linking into is 10 -4.

Any labels from the close?

Uh, no, nothing.

All I said was, what's the good word?
For this, I get Washington's farewell to

the troops.

You know, somewhere in this mashuganum
metropolis of ours, Gomez, there's a bed

with your name on it. See, can you show
fine?

You think we're working the kid too
hard?

It's obvious you haven't met this
little, uh, red -headed number that he's

running around with lately.

Lieutenant, don't you want to hear what
ballistics had to say?

It was a .22, possibly a target pistol,
but its slants and its grooves

failed to match up with anything on our
files.

How did you do that, Captain?

Don't ask me.

I just come here for the coffee.

Monsieur Rocher?

A thousand pardons.

Monsieur McCallum just telephoned.

He implores your forgiveness, but he has
been unavoidably detained.

Detained?

For how long? I don't know.

We traced the brickwork to a firm in
Yonkers. We're out of business since

A list of all the customers was obtained
and the dentist was contacted.

And who are the smoke surgeons?

Hide in.

The phone button turns out to be a
specialty item, and the entire

was bought by a Kornbold & Sons, a local
manufacturer of quality men's suits,

and they carry the line in three stores.

An Excel and a Kaiser roll hold the
letter to ego tracing. We managed to

with a fairly comprehensive list of all
the regular customers during the crucial

time period.

I can't even pick a list.

Simultaneously...

And with the cooperation of the local
medical society, all the available

orthopedic surgeons were canvassed and
pertinent information elicited wherever

possible. Pastrami on rye, Russian
dressing.

Huh? Your party.

Madison's in it.

Here.

Stop. Stop. Go.

We'll reject our information against
those men who were reported missing

calendar year 1957.

who generally match the victim's
physical description.

Well, don't stop there. Give me, give
me, give me. Give me a bookish. We came

dry. Nothing.

Give me the M .E. Right, Lieutenant.

Here, let me talk to Moskowitz. This is
Saperstein.

Since when did we start a catering
service for homicide suspects?

Captain, who do you think picked up the
tab for all of this?

Huh. So he killed his wife. Well,
nobody's perfect, right?

Lieutenant, the M .E.'s on the line.

Moskowitz.

That the DOA wasn't a blue -collar
worker, which means that it isn't too

he busted that leg in the performance of
his job.

How else?

Auto accident?

No, no, that's the only break.

There's not another fracture, not even
hairline.

Hey, hey, what about sports?

A professional athlete does a vanishing
act. Are you kidding? He's got to get

some press.

Well, amateur sports, then.

Skiing, for example. Now, this is
exactly the kind of break that's typical

a... All right, put together a list of
ski resorts. Upstate New York, Maine,

Vermont, New Hampshire, like that.

Start contacting doctors in their
general vicinities.

What happens if we still come up with
Zilch? Then, fatso, like the ever

Lewis and Clark, you start working your
way gradually westward.

Yeah. Only Lewis and Clark had an Indian
scout.

Sorry, General Custer.

Theo, you've been honest nearly a week.
Yeah, bacon and tomato with bread,

right? Easy on the mail. Is that the way
you like it?

Eighteen years after the fact, it still
can't be done. Take it behind. Didn't

you tell me that? With combined
resources of the FBI, Army intelligence.

Interpol. La Sûreté Française. It still
can't be done.

Here, have a cupcake.

Maybe for some reason the deceased was
never reported missing, and thanks for

listening.

Seperstein, 86th and Missing Men. All
I'm looking for now is a common

denominator, any common denominator. If
a name, just one name, surfaces in more

than one category. Right.

Monica, remind me to lecture you on the
salutary properties of the Shirley

Temple.

Bartender, put Mrs.

Gibney's tap on my bill.

Can you walk?

A lot you care.

By all means, Monica, let's have a
scene, but not here, in the dining room

we have a better class of audience.

All right, what was that name again?

B -R -A -D -E -N.

All right, thank you.

Master days.

Dear chap, Atlas.

Your pal, Hercules, is about to lift the
world from your sagging shoulders. Do

you see this name?

Gary Braden.

Now, I want you to wing it on its way to
all those ski resorts we talked about.

That's what you want, huh?

And that's what I want. Because, you
see, this here name was just laid on me

the indefatigable Thaperstein. You know
him.

Not only was the gentleman a customer of
one of the clothing stores, handling

the suits with the distinctive bone
buttons, he was also a patient of one of

debtors on the list.

So, get cracking, Ace.

Let's see if we can't make it three out
of three.

Moore!

Where's Gomez?

You sent him home, Lieutenant, remember?

That was yesterday.

I told him to get some shut -eye, not
knock off for the winner.

How'd you call his pair, Shorty?

Tell him to get it over here.

I'm sending a vice -quad after his
girlfriend.

With orders to book her as a public
health hazard.

I love that suit.

Brooks, Givenchy, St. Laurent.

Yours did have marvelous taste.

And isn't it super that you have the
wherewithal to indulge it? Keith!

Smile, Monica.

Keith, if you don't talk to me, I think
I'm going to scream.

I believe you would, Gary.

The late...

Unlimited Mr.

Braden.

Bones, Monica.

A bag full of disinterred bones. You
swore to me that they would never find

Ever. Urban renewal, Monica.

There was a time when a building could
last a half a century before anybody

it down.

Now the foundation hardly has a chance
to settle.

That's progress.

And I shouldn't complain. It's made me a
millionaire.

A lot of good it's going to do you.

All right.

They've uncovered the remains.

But the remains of what, Monica?

Use your head, my love.

After all this time, how can they
possibly trace it to us?

They could trace a snowflake and a
blizzard first.

Ah, the artichoke.

You'll have to love it, boss.

Yeah, well, I'll have to love it on the
run, because if I don't get out of here

too sweet, I'll blow it.

What can I tell you? I'll blow another
dental appointment.

No, the name you gave me, Gary Brayden.
It took three days, but Lake Placid

finally clinched it for us. The subject
had a skiing accident in the winter of

55 and broke his left leg.

Stabless. What can I tell you?

You want us with or without the
Novocaine? Oh, I got a feeling I... Oh,

feeling without it, Captain?

I got a feeling I don't want it at all.

I got this bell in my head. It won't
stop ringing.

Brayden, I said.

Now, where have I heard that name
before?

So I call my good friend Charlie
Weinstein on the Metropolitan desk over

Times. Now, he doesn't even have to
check the files.

That's the kind of a memory Charlie has.

Gary Braden, fugitive embezzler, died
May 12th, 1957 in the crash of an

bound for Rio.

May 12th? Well, Lieutenant, that
concrete was poured on May the 8th.

You got a hunch I just blew another
solid gold filling.

I'm sure you're mistaken, Lieutenant.

I mean, do you have positive proof that
the skeletal remains belong to Gary

Braden? Positive, no, but I'm a skeptic
if there are too many coincidences.

You know, Braden's disappearance, I've
read the newspaper account. What's your

version?

Well, as you know, I was the president
of the Empire State Mutual Funds, and

Gary was a controller.

The first inkling we had that something
was amiss was when the airliner went

down at sea and Gary's name appeared
upon the passenger list.

Of course, there being no reason why he
should not notify us when he left the

country, we ordered an immediate audit
and discovered nearly $3 million

Now, of course, the company went
bankrupt and many small investors lost

life savings. It was a very tragic
calamity, Lieutenant.

Would you like a highball? Can I offer
you some refreshment?

No, thank you.

Would you happen to recall our friend
who had the Braden report of work after

me?

Well, I don't remember an exact date,
but he did call one day and he said he

the flu and he'd be missing a day or
two, yes.

You spoke to him personally?

No, he called my secretary.

Oh, well, then I'd like to interview
that lady.

Well, that's a trifle impossible.

She's been dead six or seven years.

Well, anyhow, Lieutenant, I'm sure
you're mistaken about Brayden.

Why would anyone want to kill him and
then hide the corpse?

I can come up with something.

Just suppose Brayden wasn't an
embezzler. Suppose he discovered the

Suppose he confronted the perpetrator or
perpetrators and had been wasted for

his trouble. The books then doctored to
frame him and the, quote, guilty flight

to Brazil set up.

Really, Lieutenant, I like a good
whodunit as much as the next man.

But why would your hypothetical killer
go to such complicated lengths?

To end the search for Braden and for the
missing bread. It's not bad.

Ambassador flees to Rio, a city already
up to its armpits in fugitives.

happily exploring the fact that Brazil
has no extradition treaty with the U .S.

of A.

Well, say that your conjecture had some
basis in reality.

The man who was supposed to impersonate
Braden perished at sea.

Convenient, isn't it?

Lieutenant, I hate to blow a gaping hole
in your scenario, but before boarding

the plane, the man would have had to
present Gary's passport.

Now, four days elapsed between the
burial of the corpse and the departure

Brazilian flight.

Now, tell me this, Lieutenant.

How could someone come up with a
passable double on such short notice?

Hmm.

You know, Charlene, that's a very, very
good question, Mr. McCallum.

And it's, uh, it's questions like that
that keep us awake nights in the cop

business. The collapse of Empire State
Mutual funds, it didn't hurt you too

did it?

Well, Lieutenant, ever since infancy,
I've always had the uncanny ability to

always land on my feet.

What can I tell you?

Ciao, Barry.

Hello? Monica, it's Keith.

Yes. Now, not to worry.

But there's a distinct possibility.

You're liable to get a visit from an
inquisitive detective, Lieutenant Kojak.

They think it's Gary, don't they? They
think it might be.

But there's no hard proof.

Then, uh, you're not sweating it. Aye,
not in the least.

Contact the guy, Burgess, with the
Trojan security.

Tell him I'd like to see him this
afternoon, if possible.

Right away, sir.

Go on, Harry. Can I help you?

A pretzel, yes, sir.

Thank you, sir.

I want a pretzel, not a weapon.

Take another one. Sorry about that.

Gomez. Yeah, Lieutenant.

Yeah, try to stay awake. This is
important.

Where's my change, Harry?

Oh, yeah, Lieutenant.

I almost forgot. Sure.

Yeah, I want you to draw up a list of
those male Caucasians fitting or closely

resembling Gary Braden's general
description.

Who were reported missing on or
immediately subsequent to May 12th,

Yeah, I don't get it, Lieutenant. What
are we looking for?

We're looking for a ringer, Gomez.

A dead ringer.

Burgess, I want you to locate a man for
me. An Anton Maycheck.

Maycheck Carr.

Reported missing June 25th, nearly six
weeks after the airline crash.

Yeah, not too promising, huh?

Says here a Wilmer Dietz found the
report.

What's a Wilmer Dietz?

Maycheck's landlord.

We're trying to locate him now. All
right, do that.

I'd also like a photo of Carl Maycheck.
He was a TV repairman. Maybe there's an

angle there. Angle? What kind of angle?
What kind of angle?

Okay, give me a rest.

How's the tooth, Lieutenant?

Lousy. Oh, um, no.

How's the broad?

Hey, all right.

She's not too crazy about the work
schedule, though. Why don't you ship her

the Catskills?

She'll make a terrific boys' camp
counselor.

Oh, it's funny, Lieutenant. Funny.

How you doing, Captain?

Hey, yo.

Surprise, surprise.

I'm catching a lot of flack from
upstairs over the amount of time, money,

manpower that you're pouring into this
case. The phone bill alone.

Frank, if my scenario's on target,
there's a better than even chance that

crash was no accident.

You know what you're saying?

I'm saying whoever perpetrated the
initial homicide may be responsible for

80 additional deaths as well.

There's logic to it, Frank.

The disappearance of that airliner
disposed of both the alleged embezzler

the missing loot.

Now, even if the odds were 1 ,000 to 1,
would the commissioner really wish me to

drop the investigation?

No.

I think we're going to have to bring in
the federal aviation boys into the

picture. I understand it's still just a
bundle of hunches.

Pushed to the wall, I have to admit we
don't have a positive idea on the

skeleton. Circumstance of evidence,
sure.

But nothing we go to the grand jury
with.

Braden's dentist.

Deceased. Son took over the practice.

Examined the filling.

Claims it looks like Papa's work.

Only it's not something you can swear to
on the witness stand.

What about the orthopedic surgeon up at
Lake Placid? I thought... Retired from

practice six years ago.

Threw away all his x -rays when he moved
from his office. Beautiful.

You'd shown him the photos of the bone
graft, the steel pins.

And he thinks he did the job.

Thanks, Frank. After nearly 20 years,
listening to a man well into his 70s,

would a jury be persuaded?

Will you?

Uh, boss?

We found Braden's widow.

Damn. What's the matter? What do I do
now?

Oh, no, not you, dummy.

This cockamamie pizza?

Let's take my tooth.

Gibney. Uh, that's your maiden name?

Yes. I, uh, reverted back to it because
of the scandal.

I see. You've, uh, never remarried,
then?

No. No, my husband's life insurance let
me well provide it for Lieutenant.

Ah.

Had you any forewarning, any inkling of
what Mr. Braden was involved in?

Gary and I were separated at the time.
Under the circumstances, I hardly think

he would have confided in me.

And when was the last time you saw him?
Uh, about a month before the

disappearance. I think I'm not... Sure
about that. Did you hear from him at all

during that period?

No. Only by mail.

My allowance checks would come once a
week. They always arrived on a Monday.

On Monday.

I see. Did you receive a check on
Monday, May 11th, the day before the

No. I remember distinctly because I was
so annoyed at the time. I contemplated

calling Gary.

But then I decided to wait a day,
allowing for some mix -up at the post

Sure enough, on Tuesday morning, the
check arrived.

I noted the postmark. It was Sunday
afternoon.

You have a phenomenal memory, Mr.
Brayden. Not really, Lieutenant. It's

there are some things one never forgets.
And now, if you have no further

questions, I'm sure you can appreciate
that this subject hardly revives

nostalgic memories.

I don't know. You don't seem to have
suffered too much.

My husband had no relatives, Lieutenant.
I was his sole beneficiary.

You won't find me pretending to grieve.
I believe the Lord helps those who help

themselves. Oh, he do indeed.

But had your husband merely vanished,
which would have been the case if those

bones were his, you'd have to wait seven
years for him to be declared legally

dead. Seven years, yes.

And not only would you not have
collected on the double indemnity

possible the insurance company might
have refused to pay anything at all.

Except for Gary Braden's name on that
passenger list, you could be standing

behind a ribbon counter at the dime
store.

Not a dime store, Lieutenant.

Please, give me a little more credit
than that.

Oh, I do.

Yeah. Saperstein, I want you to
determine if either Monica Gibney Braden

husband ever filed for divorce.

Well, what's that supposed to buy us?
Well, 18 years ago, divorce laws in this

state were a lot tougher than they are
now.

There are only three primary grounds.

Insanity, abandonment, and adultery. And
to prove the latter, you had to name a

correspondent. You get my drift,
Saperstein?

I got it now, boss.

Terrific.

Yes, ma 'am. Can I help you?

Young man, I'm Emily Pembroke. You see,
I wish to see Detective Second Grade

Demosthenes Dapros. Is he expecting you?
Well, we spoke on the phone.

He offered to come to my apartment, but
I told him I'd rather come here.

You see, I've never been inside a police
station before, and at my age, I doubt

I'll get a second chance.

Oh, oh, are you a gumshoe?

Yes, ma 'am. Oh, good.

But it's about poor Mr. Brayden. You
see, I was his secretary.

Would you like to step right in here?
Thank you.

Right this way.

This way.

Yes.

Douglas, old buddy.

This is Miss Emily Pembroke, Mr.
Brayden's private secretary. Oh, Miss

Please, sit down.

That's Miss Pembroke.

I've been liberated.

Now, about Mr. Brayden. Of course.

You see, personally, I liked him, though
he was by nature rather thin -skinned.

Like everyone else, I was terribly
shocked by the embezzlement. But he had

acting somewhat peculiarly, you know.
And he left that last Thursday

after receiving an outside phone call.

What about his marriage?

Oh, Mr. Braden was a very private
person.

They'd been separated over a month
before I learned of it. And then only by

accident. You see, I was working late
one night, catching up on some overdue

reports. And I phoned the Braden home to
get some information.

That's when his wife notified me that he
no longer lived there.

Do you suppose I might have a cup of
coffee?

Rizzo, what about other women?

If my boss was a secret swinger, it was
the neatest treat since Jekyll and Hyde.

Yeah. A cup of joe for our guest, sir.
How do you take it?

Black. Okay.

What about when Brayden phoned in sick
May the 8th? Did you have occasion to

speak to him after that?

I was specifically instructed by Mr.
McCallum not to disturb him. And anyway,

was Friday, and I took it for granted
that the weekend would bring Mr. Brayden

around. He never was one to coddle
himself.

Thank you.

When Monday came and I still didn't hear
from him, I began to worry.

Ignoring Mr. McCallum's orders and was
told the phone was off the hook.

Please, you won't say anything. I
wouldn't want to hurt his feelings.

Feelings? Whose feelings?

You see, I'm sure he tries the sweet
thing.

But truly, I've been drinking coffee for
nearly half a century. And this has got

to be absolutely the vilest concoction
I've ever tasted.

Well, it'll remain our little secret.

Oh, good.

And now I'll let you in on another
secret. When I learned that the phone

the hook, I slipped over to Mr. Braden's
on my lunch break, and I persuaded the

super to let me in with his passkey.

Mr. Stavros, the apartment was empty.

Finding Anton Maycheck is a stickier
number than we figured, Mr. McKellen. I

mean, this dude, wherever he is.

He's got to be a born loser. No roots,
no ambition.

Dressed from one job to the next.

Now look, hash slinger, pearl diver,
grease monkey, warehouse jock, you name

It don't make no never mind to him.
Well, it does to me.

I don't want any excuses, Burgess. I
want him found. No matter how much money

takes, I want Anton Maycheck found.

I'm in touch with both Aero Brasilia and
the Federal Aviation Investigators on a

crash. This is what they come up with.

While it was never admitted publicly,
the possibility of a bomb was strongly

suspected, but no trace of the wreckage
was ever found, so they had no shred of

evidence to back it up. Bomb?

Constructed by anybody?

Well, to coin a phrase, where there's a
will, there's a way.

Three million balloons can generate a
lot of willpower. Today, with all those

sophisticated detection devices, it
couldn't be smuggled on board but 18

ago. How the hell are you going to trace
maybe a few sticks of dynamite, wire,

drugstore alarm clock after 18 years?

Yeah.

Yeah, Gomez, hold it.

Yeah, Gomez.

Didn't think you were that old. No, I'm
not signing myself in.

Now, look, I just located that Wilma
Dietz, the guy who filed that missing

persons report on Carl Maycheck.

Hold tight.

Adios, amigo.

Lieutenant, your hunch paid off. On May
7th, 1957, Mrs. Monica Braden filed for

divorce, naming Rosemary Hawkins as
correspondent.

So? So that's it. Oh, he's standing
there. Go find Rosemary Hawkins. You got

Carl Maytrick. Who could forget him?

Always behind on his rent he was.

But go holler on such a good hearted
Schmagegi.

He disappeared, you know.

Yeah, that's why we're... One day he
came home so happy he was.

There was this big business proposition
he'd fallen into, guaranteed to make him

wealthy for life.

Wouldn't be you smoke cigars, officer?

No, but I could offer you one of these.

No, don't, don't, don't, don't, don't
offer.

It's not allowed.

But, uh, if you want to light one up,
maybe, could be I could sneak a little

drag from time to time. What kind of
business proposition, Mr. Deeson?

eh? He was sworn to secrecy. All I know
is he had to leave town for a couple of

weeks and he asked Bernice and me would
we take care of his little boy.

And since he insisted on paying us $200
for our trouble, how could I refuse?

That was the last we saw of Carl Meche.

Nothing personal, but a Corona Corona,
that's not.

What happened to the boy?

We carried him as long as we could. We
had three of our own, you know, and

were hard then.

But when six weeks went by and we didn't
get so much as a

postal card, we reported him as missing.
The juvenile authorities took charge of

little Anton.

Little. Let's see.

He'd be 24 now.

But where he is, even if he's alive or
dead, is anyone's guess.

Can you recall anything at all, Mr.
Dietz? Anything before Maycheck's

disappearance that would be significant
to us?

No, I'm sorry.

Except Carl was a very happy man.

Such happiness I never saw in all my
life.

You might ask little Anton, though, if
you can find him. He saw the man.

What man?

That man who made that sensational
business proposition to Anton's daddy.

Anton came home just as the man was
leaving.

Commerce. Yeah.

A box of cigars for Mr. Dietz.

No, thank you.

Say you do track down my checks, kid.

You're pinning a lot of hopes on the
recollections of something glimpsed

by a six -year -old boy.

No.

It's not just that, Frank. It's
everything.

Everything we've turned up so far
supports our theory.

Gary Braden, call Matrick.

Hey, without a scorecard, their own mama
couldn't tell him apart.

Granted. Granted, too, that Matrick was
last seen on the very day the Brazilian

flight left LaGuardia. That still
doesn't explain how in a city this size,

perpetrator managed to come up with
Braden's twin just when he needed him.

right, clown this.

Wonder Boy Keith McCallum on his duff
following the collapse of Empire State

Mutual Funds makes a meteoric comeback
in 1958.

Thanks to the generous financing, are
you ready?

A newly organized Delaware corporation
whose board of directors consists of

unidentified John Doe's and guess who's
a major stockholder in McCallum

Enterprises? Braden's widow, Monica
Gibney. It stinks, Frank.

Come on.

Give me that much. Okay, so it's all
circumstantial.

But if the grand jury's waiting for a
smoking gun, somebody better clue them

that they're 18 years too late.

Rosemary Hawkins, the alleged
correspondent of Braden's divorce

Well, her name's not Rosemary Hawkins
anymore.

It's Mrs.

Villapiano and Saperstein founder in
Queens.

Where? He's bussing dishes at a midtown
cafeteria. He sacks out at a roach farm

on the Bowery. It's all here in my
report, Mr. McCallum. What time does he

off work?

Hmm, 8 .30.

That's p .m.

All right, Burgess, thank you. I'll take
it from here.

I was a hot chick girl at a restaurant
where Gary used to lunch. It wasn't

anything serious.

I mean, he was unhappy and lonely.

So was I.

I had just moved here from Nebraska.

I was a divorcee with a small daughter
to support.

There'd been an ugly custody battle.

That's why I moved east, to get away
from my ex -husband.

Gary was gentle, understanding, and good
to Sandy. Did you know he was married,

Mrs. Villapiano?

Yes. But I didn't ask any questions.

And Gary didn't volunteer any answers.

And one day, out of the blue, I was
named as co -respondent in Mrs. Braden's

divorce action.

I called Gary at the office. He was just
served himself.

We met at my apartment to discuss the
situation.

I was half out of my mind. A scandal
like that was all the grounds my ex

to take Sandy from me. Now, Braden was
pretty upset, I suppose.

He was furious.

I'd never seen him in such a state.

He swore that I'd never lose Sandy
because of him. He was going to talk to

Monica and force her to withdraw her
action.

He went storming out after telling me
not to worry.

I never heard from him again.

Well, you must have tried to contact
him.

I had no idea where he lived, except
that he'd moved into a bachelor

somewhere on the east side, and his
phone was unlisted.

I called the office the next day, and
they told me he was out sick.

What did you think when you didn't hear
from Mr. Braden?

Well, what could I think?

Gary knew where to reach me.

He could have made the effort if he
cared enough. So he didn't. He just

the money and ran.

Anyway, I still made out.

Gary's death halted the divorce
proceedings.

I kept Sandy.

And in time, I met Mr. Villapiano.

Mrs. Villapiano, it may be that you've
well misjudged Braden.

That's quite possible. The reason you
never heard from him is because he died

that same night.

Well, how's that possible?

Well, we believe that the man that
boarded that plane the following Tuesday

might have been an imposter.

Yeah, could have been.

You know, Gary had a sort of commonplace
kind of face.

He was often mistaken for somebody else.

Once, it was a few weeks before he
disappeared, Gary was helping me hang

curtains when he mentioned that he'd had
the oddest experience in his apartment

building. A handyman of some sort. It
was an exact double for him.

That could have been a TV repairman.

Yeah, come to think of it, that's
exactly what he was.

Would you know if he told anyone else
about the incident?

He must have.

A story like that?

No, and Gary, he'd have blabbed it all
over the office.

This lady drags a kid in. Says he's got
this gun. It's the first she knows of

it. Claims he found it while playing in
the debris of a construction site.

It's a .22 target pistol, right?

Yeah, the kids apparently had it for
days. Mama found it while she was

up his room.

I tagged the piece and sent it down to
Ballistics for comparison firing to see

if it's the same gun that wasted our
John Doe. I doubt if they can fire it,

though, because things are all rotten
and corroded and all.

Huh. Well, why are you at it, Dibbles?

Did you also tell him to see if it's
possible to determine who the gun was

originally registered to?

Lieutenant, who was the one that put
this investigation on the right track in

the first place?

This is my vintage ear.

Oh, good, Chico.

All right, so what do we got here now?
We know now how the killer managed to

come up with a double for Brayden,
right?

I love these movies. It's just like the
movies, you know? You play Watson. I'll

be Sherlock Holmes.

And we've recovered what we'll presume
to be the murder weapon.

Oh, well.

You know something? I really feel like
Sherlock Holmes.

You're close, Theo, but still no cigar.

Now, obviously, Watson, Brayden's widow
will have to be quizzed again.

He split Rosemary's plant to have a
showdown with his mistress, and that was

night of May 7th.

Next day, he dipped in cement.

It's the hours between the time he set a
deal to Miss Nebraska and the pouring

of the concrete that haven't been
accounted for, eh?

And I don't look for much in the way of
constructive help, Watson, from Monica

Gibney on that subject.

Oh, my dear Watson.

We'd only find that mate check kid.

Lieutenant, Stavros is on the phone. He
just located Anton Maycheck.

I can't understand it.

He came in about 15 minutes ago,
collected his tea, and he went upstairs.

Didn't go out again.

Not through the lobby.

At least that I'll swear to you on a
stack of Gideons.

You don't suppose it was some of them
foreign agents kidnapped him, huh? Going

to torture Anton for information about
his old man, huh? You want to run that

me again? Oh, he's pappy.

That's all Anton ever talked about. You
couldn't shut him up.

Everybody figured he was just blowing
smoke.

Now it kind of looks like maybe he was
leveling, huh?

Just what did Maycheck say concerning
his father?

Claimed he was a real spook with the
CIA.

A real heavyweight super brain.

Said he'd been sent behind the Iron
Curtain when Anton was just a kid. And

reason he couldn't stay in touch with
Anton was an account that would blow his

cover. But he was going to come back one
day soon, Anton said. And the two of

them would be together again just like
it used to be. I thought he was pulling

my chain.

Well, don't get too torn up about it.
You know, we'll check the Russian Secret

Service. We'll check the CIA. We'll
throw in the FBI.

Whatever makes you happy.

left open? No, no, only in the
summertime.

I see.

All right, get a forensic team over here
right away.

I want to check the window ledge, that
fence down there. That's one of the

personal effects inventory.

And on my desk the first day of the
morning.

Yes, sir.

No stopping ever. Why wasn't Mayshay
whacked at his hotel room? Why go to the

trouble and put the snatch at him? And
having done so, is our killer going to

pack him all the way to Jersey Pines?
Barron's no way.

Not with a friendly neighborhood dumping
ground just down the block, eh, Frank?

Think we'd better get some men down
here, huh?

Lieutenant? Captain?

Over here.

This time we got here ahead of the
cement mixers.

Same MO, but for a different reason.

Anton Maycheck murdered.

It could raise a lot of questions.

But Anton Maycheck vanished, just
another deadbeat Bowery skip.

Now let's face it, gang.

Leave it out, Mike.

Okay, bye.

What?

That .22 target pistol we recovered, it
was purchased by Gary Braden in November

of 1956.

Burned by his own piece?

Doesn't fit, Captain. I mean, not into
the scenario we've been running with. So

we'll rewrite it. Begin with the
proposition that Braden's not the

Add to it the fact that he had left
Rosemary Hawkins on the night of May 7th

see his wife. Now, it's highly unlikely
that he was packing the gun, since he'd

gone to Rosemary's directly from his
office.

Maybe he stopped by his apartment on the
way to Monica's. That's possible, but

highly improbable. He was trying to
prevent a scandal at the Star Wars. So,

unless he was walking into a
preconceived ambush, also highly

How did the killer come up with the
victim's gun? The killer already had the

gun.

Brayden moved out on the missus, right?

Probably just packed some clothes, toyed
on articles, toothbrush, whatever, and

he took off.

All right?

The pistol was left behind.

And on the night of May 7th, in the
midst of a knockdown argument, Monica

grabbed a gun and shot him. Then
panicked, she phoned Keith McCallum,

her guts to him. He hurried over, took
charge of the situation, disposing of

Gary's corpse, and instructing the
widow, hey, keep cool.

As of this moment, though, in time,
there's no embezzlement, right? That

after. And McCallum knew just how to
pull it off.

Thanks to Braden's casual mention of his
encounter with Carl Matrick. First,

though, McCallum needed to buy some time
so he could set things up, right? Which

he did by explaining Gary's absence from
the office with a story that he'd

called in sick.

It was easy enough to lay his hands on
Braden's passport.

Probably left behind at Monica's like
the pistol. And Carl Matrick, once

McCallum had tracked him down, couldn't
have been more accommodating.

You know, we'll probably never know what
kind of number he did on Maychek's

head. But it's a safe guess that this
poor slob, he climbed aboard that plane

carrying a bomb in his luggage.

I'll buy that, the whole package.

But the D .A. won't. Neither will the
grand jury.

What a break.

Anton Maychek.

The only known witness who could link up
McCallum with his father.

Might have tied a ribbon on this, but
he's dead. And this is his estate.

24 fun -filled years, I describe his
status.

And you can pack his entire life in a
shoebox.

Some snapshots of his daddy.

Couple of Christmas cards, birth
certificate.

What do you got here? High school
diploma?

Credit for your St. Andrew's opening?

Well, Phi Beta Kappa key.

Okay, here.

6 -12 -51.

You know those stories the kid laid on
Lafferty? We know that jazz about his

daddy being a secret agent is just
hogwash.

So I think it's all from the same weed.

But Phi Beta Kappa? I mean, those things
don't come in cereal boxes.

Devoted to his kid?

T -totaler, no known vices, all those
credentials, and he still couldn't land

decent job.

What are you looking for, Lieutenant?

That rundown on Karl Maycheck.

Here it is.

Dropped out of high school in the 10th
grade.

But how'd he get the... KM.

There's another man with the same
initials.

Keith McCallum. And around a thing like
this, not even his daddy's, Anton

Maycheck had built a dream.

We're still into our conversation Friday
last and haven't consulted the current

price index and allowing for the 6 %
override.

Yes, Beth.

One day, for no reason at all, I
discovered it was missing.

For the life of me, I couldn't remember
where I dropped it.

I haven't thought about it in years.
It's been so long.

I say I'll go sometime.

McCalla.

Phi beta kappa.

Scholastic merit.

Or phi vita kappa. Phi for fat, vita for
beautiful, and kappa for cops.

And between us two...

We've compiled maybe 30 years'
experience on the force. You being a

if I was you, I wouldn't let those 83
kimmings go to my head. This is the big

time, baby.

82, Lieutenant.

82. One belongs to Monica.

Credit where credit is due. And I
thought the age of chivalry was dead.

Deborah.

You ready for the biggest laugh of all?

Don't forget to read that punk his
rights.

Classic rising dance on the way at 12
.20 with a Rigsby who's keen to learn a

new method of wooing the ladies.

That's after carry -on laughing in just
over half an hour and on the bus is next

in which Stan gets carried away at darts
and soon gets daggers from Olive.