Original subtitles

The story you are about to see

was inspired by actual events.

The names have been changed

to protect the innocent.

*

It was Wednesday morning,

it was sunny in Los Angeles.

My partner and I were working the day shift

out of robbery/homicide.

The call came in from Van Nuys division

at 10:15.

Caucasian female beaten to death,

an apartment in Tarzana.

In parts of the San Fernando Valley,

apartment blocks like these stretch on forever.

Moderate rents, short leases,

few questions.

It was essential L.A.

People in mid-stream, anonymous, always on the move.

My name's Friday.

I'm a cop.

Manager noticed the door left ajar.

Entered the apartment and found her.

We'll need to see him.

He's with the paramedics.

What he saw gave him chest pains.

A poster of herself.

She'd come here from somewhere else

to be known.

She'd taken a new name:

Whitney Lynde.

It would be known tomorrow in the obituaries

of the L.A. Times.

Driver's license gives her legal name

as Eliza Mae-Munsen, 35.

Looks like someone needed anger management counseling.

Multiple blows with a large, heavy object.

I'd guess cause of death

is massive injury to the brain.

Didn't stop there.

The suspect worked her face and upper body.

Hopefully by then she was dead.

TOD is around two a.m.

Rape?

No vaginal bruising or obvious semen.

Versace, Loro Piana.

She didn't dress on the cheap.

No sign of forced entry.

And no evidence of struggle

or defensive wounds.

Looks like she was beaten to death

while she slept.

Check the people working perimeter.

Make sure they look for anything that could be

a murder weapon.

Purposeful search.

Didn't want jewels or other obvious valuables.

Well, if he's a maniac wacko,

maybe he wanted a souvenir.

Tore the phone line out.

Cordless phone.

Ripped the answering machine out.

Who's the kid?

Detectives.

The manager can talk now.

Moved in four months ago.

Paid month to month.

I made you a copy of the lease.

Anyone help her move in?

Some guy.

You saw him.

Handsome.

Dark, in his 30s.

This guy come around much?

Couple times.

Anyone else?

Friends, family?

Her sister came once with a young boy.

He swam in the pool.

The sister's name is on the lease here

as a reference.

Maria Mae-Becker.

Address Lompoc.

All right, we'll need the names of your other tenants.

You gonna bother these people?

We're gonna bother a lot of people

till we find who bothered Whitney Lynde.

*

Whitney Lynde had a pink slip

for a vintage Mercedes.

The car was gone.

In its place, the kind of leather

only worn in private.

Maybe the tools of her trade.

But which trade?

My guess?

She was a hooker.

With nasty clientele.

I don't know.

If all this stuff is in current usage,

why down here in a storage locker?

Why not near the bed?

It's a Beta system.

It's hard to find tapes for these nowadays.

Speaking of tapes...

where are they?

Well...

Maybe our killer found what he was looking for.

Hey guys.

Got some blood.

Three small drops.

Puts it near the trunk.

Mercedes Benz, expensive clothes.

I think she landed here from another life.

Her previous address...

Brentwood.

That's definitely another life.

Where is it safe these days?

This place looks pretty secure.

You mean, if she hadn't moved?

Whitney had one of our best studios.

What was she paying?

Eight thousand a month.

Paid right on time until about a year ago.

Then what?

I'm just the manager here.

Mrs. Somper.

What?

You're an attractive obviously smart woman.

I believe Whitney would've confided in you.

She told me she was waiting for a large settlement.

Guess it never came.

If you'll follow me this way.

Her apartment was right there.

I can't show you the inside, there are new tenants.

She must've been popular.

Did she have a lot of visitors?

Maybe friends with other tenants?

Not really.

Stayed to herself.

A loner?

I'd like to be more help,

but people move out.

Life goes on.

Hers didn't.

*

*

*

Well, her last meal,

some two hours before her death,

was a salad.

Butter lettuce, tomato, tofu,

rye crackers.

Not dinner date food.

So she probably spent the night alone

on her own.

What are these?

Inoculations?

I believe they're burn marks.

Burns?

How old?

Not recent.

I'd say four or five years,

possibly from a cigarette or cigar.

Well, that could go with the whips

in the garage locker.

Sanjay, what does she tell you about her life?

Oh, she cared about her appearance.

Probably worked out,

had her fair share of facials.

These teeth that were knocked out.

That's some quality cosmetic dental work.

I mean, those are beautiful laminates

on her incisors.

The abdominal stretch marks

indicate she's been pregnant,

and I'd say she's carried at least one child to term.

Check this out.

Two years ago, Whitney Lynde,

née Eliza Mae-Munsen, was popped for possession.

Half a gram of coke and unscripted Vicodin.

I called the narc who made the bust,

he said she was defended in court

by Myron Tarnower.

The Myron Tarnower?

Defends her on a minor drug possession?

Since we know he doesn't stand next to a client

for less than a thousand bucks an hour,

the question is why?

Grab your coat.

Myron Tarnower.

I knew him and he knew me,

but he would pretend he didn't.

Selective memory.

A necessity of criminal defense.

Detective Friday,

my partner Detective Smith LAPD.

Have we met before?

You cross-examined me

a couple of times, I recovered.

It's never personal, you know,

just part of the job.

We're trying to get background

on a homicide victim.

She was a client of yours.

Whitney Lynde?

No, doesn't ring a bell.

Real name Eliza Mae-Munsen.

You defended her two years ago

on possession of narcotics.

Oh, yes.

Oh, very, very attractive.

She wasn't a client

of mine, per se,

just a friend of a friend.

Can't tell you much about her.

Can't or won't?

Now, that's the wrong

attitude, Detective.

I met the woman at an arraignment,

fixed a plea, and over.

Who paid for your services?

Oh, come on.

You know better than

to ask me that.

I've got a meeting.

Friday.

Great.

Be there in less than an hour.

Whitney Lynde's sister

coming in from Lompoc.

She's a twin.

Mrs. Becker,

I'm Detective Friday.

This is my partner, Detective Smith.

This is Sam, my sister's boy.

Hi, Sam.

We didn't know you were coming along.

Yeah, some of the areas we'd like to discuss

are a little delicate.

Yeah, it might be something, you know...

Certainly.

Well, Sam can wait here.

Actually, um...

Do you skate?

I'm just learning.

Yeah?

Well, I got a deck downstairs.

Okay, Sam.

Put all the weight on your toes

and go that way.

And then all the way on your heels and go that way.

Yeah.

Yeah, you're getting it.

That's great, man.

You know, uh...

when I was at your mom's house,

I saw a lot of pictures of you.

I saw them, too.

You know what that means, Sam?

Your mom loved you a lot.

You guys, uh...

you spend a lot of time together?

I used to see her almost every weekend.

What would you guys do?

She'd pick me up in Lompoc.

Sometimes we went to Magic Mountain.

Just the two of you?

Ramon went with us.

Ramon?

He was your mom's friend?

He drove the limousine.

But yeah...

they were friends.

*

Can't believe I won't see her again.

You know, Sam...

I know things are tough right now...

but you're gonna be okay.

*

I won't even see her in heaven.

Sure you will.

No.

My uncle said she did things

God would never forgive.

Bible says God forgives everyone.

So, trust me, Sam.

You'll see her in heaven.

*

She was homecoming queen.

Very popular.

People told her she should be an actress.

She believed them.

Did you see much of her lately?

No.

We're very different.

Me and my brother.

Day and night.

Teaches high school math.

I teach first and second grade

at a Christian school.

Sam goes there.

Did he ever live with his mother?

There wasn't much place for a child in her life.

Did you know Sam's father?

No.

Maybe she wasn't certain who he was.

Didn't share problems?

We avoided certain topics.

My husband and I have taken Christ

as our personal savior.

When will they release her body?

I wanna make funeral arrangements.

You know, I find something strange.

Usually when someone is murdered,

there's a concern from the family

we catch the killer.

You mean I don't seem surprised?

Bad things happen to evil people.

My mother used to say evil was the absence

of empathy.

Ramon the limo driver.

You think he could be the Ricardo Montalbán

that helped move her into her apartment?

Kid probably could've told me more.

No, you couldn't push him.

I couldn't get anywhere with the sister.

Some kind of born again.

The kid's uncle said his mother's not

gonna go to heaven.

Can you believe that?

Hey Joe, you got a call from the radio room.

Some black-and-whites found your victim's car.

*

The fire was reported by a watchman in that building.

Let's get a canvas on the people that work there.

Try to find out if anybody saw who did this.

And let's get people to lift the tire tracks

and footprints from that area

of dirt over there.

Found this just outside the burn perimeter.

Good job, thank you.

Looks like they doused the inside

then they poured a trail out and lit it.

No bodies.

Videotapes?

I didn't see 'em.

There's no bodies, no videotapes,

why torch it?

They're trying to destroy something.

Can we pop the trunk?

*

Got hot but never ignited.

Let the fumes clear.

Anybody got a glove?

Yes, sir.

*

This was used as batting practice...

on her.

There's blood, tissue fragments,

pieces of shattered bone,

hair,

all the DNA you'll ever need

to make this your murder weapon.

Juanita, I want you to astonish me.

The killer's no fool

and he wasn't disorganized.

He wiped it down before he used it?

Then he put on gloves.

That's why we didn't find prints in the apartment.

These bloody smudges on the handle?

Here you can actually see the pattern

of the leather.

Well, is there any way we can link them

to a specific brand, label?

It's tough, but...

even though he wiped down the bat...

he forgot the heel.

She always saves the best for last.

Three different partials.

I've already put 'em through our

latent print computer.

*

One partial forefinger matched the quality

control inspector in the factory

where the bat was made

who had an old arrest for a DUI.

Another print had no match,

but a partial thumb gave us Paul Gregorios Kankeredes,

37, dishonorably discharged from the Army

seven years ago after violently assaulting

a female officer.

That brought us closer to home.

I said he was handsome.

So, how often was he over here?

Once in a while I see him leave

to go jogging.

What time would that be?

Early like six a.m. when I was putting

out the garbage.

You think he spent the night?

I couldn't say.

I wouldn't wanna speculate on something like that.

We couldn't either.

We had to find Kankeredes,

and he wasn't living at his last known address.

Tax records told us that he'd worked

eight months ago in the mail room

of an ad agency.

His record there wasn't much better

than when he was in the Army.

Zero interest in this job.

Admitted he took it just to get back

on unemployment insurance.

Totally full of bull,

right, Nacio?

Talked instead of doing his work.

What did he talk about?

Bragged he hung out with some big model.

What was her name?

Her picture's on that board right here.

Bingo.

Did Kankeredes clean out his desk?

He just stopped showing up.

His stuff's in a box.

We'd like to see that.

I was a little worried this guy might get me sued.

Sued?

Guy kept bragging about how big he was.

You know?

I was worried he'd show it to a female employee,

I'd have a sexual harassment situation.

Credit card bill.

Maybe he's still using the card.

Yeah.

Here's Whitney with Kankeredes

in formal attire, some sort of dinner.

Looks like a fundraiser.

Whoa.

Here he is in less formal attire.

Said he hung out with a model,

he's doing a little modeling himself.

Come on, let me see that.

This is not for the room.

- Is that real? - I don't know.

Digital imaging.

Well, when we bring him in for booking,

I'm not standing next to him when I pee.

Cover boys are Paul Kankeredes,

Bobby Joe Bulgar.

Let's call the magazine and see where they found 'em.

Let me go!

The magazine had no address

for Paul Kankeredes.

But they knew how to reach his partner,

Bobby Joe Bulgar,

currently featured in a porn video shooting

in a West Valley industrial park.

No!

We mostly do fetish stuff

for the Asian trade.

Has to look rough,

but no one gets hurt.

Can we get a few minutes with Bobby Joe?

Yeah, I know Paul Kankeredes.

We worked together.

We did, uh, magazines, videos.

You know, stuff like that.

He...

had some problems, and uh...

What kind of problems?

Well, he had that big money maker,

but it didn't work too well without a snapper.

A snapper?

Yeah, it's a hypodermic injector.

Painless.

You shoot papaverine and within minutes you're...

good to go.

Shoot where?

Guess.

Anyway, he broke ties and quit the trade.

I haven't really seen much of him.

I see him at Priscilla's for morning coffee,

and I barely get a "hello" out of him.

Well, after barely "hello," what else does he say?

He said he was servicing some rich old size queen,

and a model.

They're not one and the same?

No, Paul lied a lot, but I saw the woman.

She was in a limo, she was getting coffee.

She was yelling at him to hurry up.

She look familiar?

No, no, no this woman was older.

Very well kept.

Hell, I would've done her for the limo rides.

Uh-huh, when was this?

Give me the address.

Well, fax it all to us.

Don't worry, we'll get the subpoena.

Great, thanks.

Kankeredes' credit card,

a week before Whitney Lynde's death

he rented a car, never returned it.

Address on the rental car form is a motel

at Magnolia and Van Nuys.

That's a block from Whitney's apartment.

*

Mr. Kankeredes, this is the manager.

There's been a little accident,

someone's backed into your car.

*

Room's clear.

*

He's breathing.

What's wrong with him?

I don't know but he's alive.

*

He's, uh, stable.

That's about as far as I'll go.

No evidence of drugs?

Tox panel's clean.

So, you have no idea why--

Coma of undetermined origin.

The CT shows no clotting, no, uh, extensive damage

to the brain.

His blood sugar was 40.

That's low.

Meaning?

Well, if he were diabetic,

I would suspect insulin shock,

but he's not.

Check for that.

Of course.

So, if it is insulin,

will he come out of it?

That depends on the amount of

brain cell damage.

He could just wake up.

Or...

Or not.

Lieutenant, I'm not indicting a vegetable.

Are we sure Kankeredes did it?

What we think is, Kankeredes walked

the three blocks from his motel to Whitney Lynde's apartment.

He killed her, took her car,

left the murder weapon in the trunk

and then he set it on fire.

Then he called someone and told them the job was done.

Who did he call?

Someone who wanted what Kankeredes

found at Whitney's.

We think it's videotapes.

Somebody injected him with insulin.

Plausible, even fascinating.

Call it murder for hire...

Leo Kass was the kind of assistant district attorney

who knew only one word:

no.

He'd rather let a killer go free

than jeopardize his win/loss record.

So, indict him along with an unnamed co-conspirator.

People find out he's been charged,

it could shake some trees.

I'm a DA not a tree shaker.

I don't want the DA's office

supporting this Paul Kankeredes

for the rest of his horrible comatose life.

I just lost two felony trials back to back.

I could use a guilty verdict.

Any thoughts?

Kankeredes didn't have a bean.

Whitney was broke.

Here they are at a fundraiser

where a rubber chicken could cost a thousand dollars a plate.

Who bought them dinner?

Ah, politics,

a world of high ideals and loads of money.

The picture of Whitney and Kankeredes

was at a fundraiser for a state senator

named Henley.

Ten grand a table.

These are the Henley files.

Now, if we give you a table number,

you could tell us who paid for it?

Thanks to a maverick senator from Arizona,

we keep detailed records.

You have a date?

Uh, yeah, August 12th two years back.

Ah, yes.

That was at the Biltmore.

Here's the seating chart.

It was at table number seven.

- Right there. - Oh!

What?

The table was bought by Maurice Rosemont.

Who?

The Rosemont family owns a large clothing empire.

They've given very generous support

to candidates of both parties.

Was Maurice Rosemont in this picture?

Yes, that's him.

And Mrs. Rosemont, is she at the table?

No, apparently she wasn't there

on this occasion.

It's so sad.

Mr. Rosemont?

It's been over a year.

Colon cancer.

Why would a guy like Maurice Rosemont

bring a low-life like Paul Kankeredes

to a fundraiser?

He didn't bring Kankeredes,

he brought Whitney,

and Whitney brought Kankeredes as the beard.

To cover up she was Rosemont's mistress.

So he died, the party's over.

I can't see anything tying Rosemont

to Whitney's death.

Let's start back in Brentwood.

Mrs. Somper...

financial records say Maurice Rosemont

paid Whitney Lynde's rent.

Would they be in error?

You've got his financial records?

Would they prove you're lying?

All right.

Maurice paid her rent.

He was keeping Whitney.

But why drag this all up?

Can't we respect the dead?

Paul Kankeredes?

He picked Whitney up for dinners,

different events.

But Rosemont brought her home.

And spent the night?

I'd see his limo out front.

Ever talk to the driver?

Sometimes I brought him coffee.

I felt sorry for him sitting out there all night.

You get his name?

Ramon.

I don't remember his last name.

It was foreign.

You said that Whitney Lynde

was waiting for a settlement.

After Rosemont died,

she tried to sue the estate for palimony.

They threw it out of court.

Why ask me?

Read the case, do some homework.

We can't.

You had the case sealed at the request

of their attorney, Myron Tarnower.

I'm sure there was a good reason

probably stipulated in the settlement.

No, there was no settlement, Judge Osterman.

You called Whitney Lynde's lawsuit

frivolous and had it thrown out.

It was palimony against a dead man.

Now you remember the case.

I recall bizarre allegations

made against the name of a reputable person.

I sealed the case in the public interest.

It will remain sealed.

The public interest?

He sealed the case in someone's interest,

but not the public's.

I'm due in court.

*

Rosemont.

The name was suddenly familiar.

I remembered my first Communion.

I was 11, the suit was white.

It was from a line of menswear called Rosemont.

We drove up to Bel-Air, we wanted to hear

from Maurice Rosemont's wife.

A palimony suit sealed away in the dark.

Helena Rosemont might shed some light.

Bel-Air.

Old homes, a lot of money,

and no welcome mat for cops.

- Yes? - I'm Detective Friday,

this is Detective Smith

with the Los Angles Police Department.

We're investigating a homicide.

A murder in this neighborhood?

We're wondering if we could speak to Ms. Rosemont.

Who is it, Felix?

Two gentlemen from the police department,

Mrs. Rosemont.

Have them come in.

Yes, ma'am.

*

She stood there looking down on us.

She seemed to enjoy it.

I'm Helena Rosemont.

Please come.

I suspect I know what this is about.

I read how Whitney Lynde was brutally murdered.

Yes, that's the case that we've been working on.

I don't know what I can tell you.

I was spared the humiliation

of actually meeting her.

But I do regret this crime has occurred.

Since you seem to harbor no ill will towards her,

would you agree to opening the palimony case

for our review?

You've totally misunderstood me.

I resent only the aggravation

her death causes me.

What happened to her I feel she deserved.

We feel no one deserves to be murdered, ma'am.

I won't pursue our difference

of opinion on that.

Mrs. Rosemont, how long were you aware

that your husband and Ms. Lynde were involved?

Nine years ago a close friend of mine

saw them in a restaurant

and called me.

That was the first time I heard her name.

Whitney Lynde.

Why, I suppose you know her real name.

I'm sure you'd agree she was trash.

We don't make those kind of judgments.

Well, you should.

Thank you, Felix.

This was about power.

She tried to play me,

and I refused to play.

Now she would try my partner.

It could help you with your investigation.

I strongly suspect the murderer

is someone from her past.

We definitely think the murderer is linked

to her past, that's why we're here.

I resent your inference.

You're in my home because I allow it.

We could talk downtown where that isn't a problem.

Are you really suggesting that I would allow myself

to be exposed to such treatment?

There's an easy way and there's a hard way.

And if you're smart--

Oh, I'm smart enough, young man,

to pick up that phone and call Myron Tarnower

and have you thrown out on your ass.

I'm sorry, Mrs. Rosemont.

We get a bit overzealous sometimes

and, uh...

There's simply too much opportunity

for misunderstanding in this conversation.

It's best we end it.

I'll show you out.

A little more time we might be able

to avoid the necessity of interviewing you again.

You see this tray?

Always piled high with invitations.

Mayor's office.

Important people in government,

finance, jurisprudence,

friends I support,

who support me and give me help

any time I need.

Judge Osterman one of those?

Hmm.

You want a street fight?

Down and dirty?

I'll accommodate.

Don't let the big house fool you.

It doesn't.

*

What a nightmare.

No love in her marriage.

Just anger.

Well, guy's dead, time to lighten up.

I think she's got nothing.

Whitney's death didn't do it for her.

No, she'll keep going.

This is her life.

I'm ready to believe that she paid Kankeredes

to kill Whitney.

Except for one thing.

Kankeredes was her husband's guy,

so would she even talk to him let alone--

In a heartbeat to get what she wanted.

She knew Kankeredes had one very special advantage.

Whitney knew him, trusted him.

Yeah, but how do we tie the two of them together?

Helena Rosemont was right.

It was gonna be a street fight.

Helena Rosemont wanted a street fight,

she was gonna get one.

We tried the tabloid columnists,

most refused to speak to us.

That was a good sign.

It meant there was someone who had

a lot to say and wasn't allowed to say it.

I'm dying to talk about it.

It's come to the point where they're more

scared of me--

Alberta Danner worked on the fringes of

tabloid journalism.

She went for the stuff even they wouldn't touch.

Helena owned that idiot judge.

She financed the campaign.

It's nice to find out you're right.

Gentlemen.

Helena Rosemont wanted the palimony suit sealed.

And she had the friends to do it.

You know, Helena used to be a redhead.

Maurice loved redheads.

And Whitney, she could swing the whip,

and he loved the lash.

Hm, S&M type stuff.

There was evidence of a search

in Whitney's apartment.

Oh, the tapes?

Whitney and Maurice taped everything.

They were into some kinky stuff even by my standards,

and they didn't play alone.

Maurice and his cronies?

If you can picture this...

the entire kitchen cabinet with their utensils.

Yeah, but rumors.

Honey, they're always true.

Larry Flynt?

I heard he tried to pay a million bucks

for those tapes.

Dolan Brown.

Private investigator.

He had a client willing to double Flynt's offer.

Two million cash.

In old Hollywood, the fixer was an ex-cop

named Freddy Otash.

He broke down the door with Joe DiMaggio

to catch Marilyn in bed with a surfer.

Today, you'd hire Dolan Brown, PI.

Fix-it man to the stars.

I pulled a file on Whitney.

Who knows if these tapes even exist?

It could be Whitney lied to pressure

the Rosemonts on her lawsuit.

If that's the case, it didn't work.

You don't mess with Helena Rosemont.

I told Whitney, "Honey, give it up.

Move on."

Yeah?

When did you tell her that?

I don't recall.

- Get that? - Uh-huh.

What?

Too many depositions, Dolan.

We got close to the truth,

and suddenly you don't recall.

I'll admit on behalf of a client I offered

Whitney over a million bucks.

Client!

Guys, you've heard of--

Attorney-client privilege?

When did you pass the bar?

We got a woman with her head smashed in.

A little boy who wonders if he'll see his mommy in heaven.

People don't get to hide behind their money

and your lies.

Now, you mess with me on this, you son of a bitch.

You, your files, and everything else

go downtown.

I don't need an enemy in RHD.

My client was Helena Rosemont.

*

Whitney needed money, why didn't she sell the tapes?

Come on.

Whether they existed or not,

they were the only protection

for her and the kid.

Sam.

Helena knew he was Maurice's child.

She knew he'd send a chauffer up

with Whitney to visit him.

That had to make her crazy.

*

Hey, Joe.

Like to take a guess on how many

chauffeur's licenses were issued to people

with the first name Ramon?

Uh, guessing five minutes a call,

700 plus names,

that should take...

Any chance we'll get our hands on the Rosemonts'

employment records?

Just a thought.

You got any plans for tomorrow?

What?

'Cause it's Saturday I might consider it free time?

I thought maybe we'd do something different.

Maybe we take a ride up the coast to Lompoc.

That was great.

Aunt Maria, watch this!

Okay.

So, you knew that Sam was Maurice Rosemont's son.

She told me before Sam was born.

Did she ever express fear or concern for him?

What do you mean?

We do a lot of dancing around the fire, you and I.

I'm going to assume that you know what

I'm talking about.

I thought about it.

What you said.

That evil is the absence of empathy.

I want to help you.

Mr. Rosemont told Whitney that he'd leave his wife.

That it would be a very ugly time.

She said she'd feared for Sam's safety.

But then the cancer came and he died.

What else?

She said there were things

that people thought she had that offered

protection for Sam.

I think she always valued Sam's life

above her own.

Which tells you she was a very good person.

I've been unfair, I know that.

Aunt Maria.

Watch this!

That's great, Sam!

Look out, guys.

Don't hurt yourself!

Here we go.

Yeah!

Nice, man.

When your sister came in the limousine...

ever speak to the driver?

Ramon.

Nice man.

He liked Sam.

Still sends him birthday cards.

So, you know his full name?

Yes.

Ramon Makasap.

He's Filipino.

I have his address and phone number.

When Mr. Rosemont was dying...

she kept him prisoner in that house.

Ramon, recognize this man?

Yeah.

Kankeredes.

No good.

Was he around when Mr. Rosemont was sick?

She moved him right into the house.

Mr. Rosemont knew, but the poor guy

was too sick to care.

He just wanted to see Whitney before he died.

That wasn't possible?

I brought Whitney to see him.

He was so happy, he cried.

But Mrs. Rosemont came home,

bad scene.

Knowing her, I'm not surprised.

Ah, she scream, "Get that bitch

out of my house."

I took Whitney home.

And when I came back, she's there with

some lawyer and she says,

"Mr. Rosemont is dead and you're fired."

What about other servants?

Any way to reach them?

I don't know.

Ilodea went back to Guatemala.

She's the one who told me old lady Rosemont

was having sex with Kankeredes.

And doing weird stuff.

Wait, she saw them?

No, but she'd hear this one loud snap.

Like an empty gun.

And pretty quick the old lady

would start groaning,

you know, liking it.

You saw the boy Sam?

How is he?

He's fine.

He's learning to skateboard.

I hope that old bitch don't kill him.

*

Ramon was right.

Rosemont had left 300 million to his wife,

but there was another heir,

a boy who couldn't fight yet for his share.

Maurice Rosemont's illegitimate son

by Whitney Lynde.

Three hundred million.

Enough motive for a search warrant.

You hope for an element of surprise.

With people of influence,

it's never the case.

I'm representing Mrs. Rosemont.

I'll take that.

You sure do get around.

Okay, the warrant is specific to those rooms

allegedly inhabited by Mr. Kankeredes.

Tire impressions of Mrs. Rosemont's vehicles,

and we'll see to it that it's limited

only to the items listed herein.

Felix, show them the guest room,

and no use of any lavatory at all.

Also, would you please have maids standing by

after they leave,

because I'm sure it's all going to be a terrible mess.

Don't you have things to do, Detective?

Ample time to do them.

This is all absurd farce.

Well, let's see how you feel when we connect you

to the man who killed your husband's mistress.

We've got testimony.

Not from him.

Actually, the doctors think he's improving.

Oh, don't attempt a bluff, Detective.

Come on, all you have are lies from--

from disgruntled former employees.

What happened?

What?

Not piled high anymore.

Word get out, people cut you loose?

Not a good sign.

I give high marks to the maid.

This place has been wiped very clean.

A few smudges, some partials.

Just do the best you can.

Hey guys!

Found this under the mattress.

What is it?

My mother uses those for cortisone,

gives painless injections.

Injections?

Yeah.

You place a hypodermic in it,

set the spring...

draws the needle in so fast

you don't feel it.

A snapper.

Bag it, make sure they check

for insulin residue.

Joe.

Lab matched tread impressions

from the Rosemonts' Suburban.

The tire prints we found where

Whitney's Mercedes was burnt.

We got her.

Not yet, but we're getting a decent set

of circumstantial evidence.

Friday.

Uh-huh.

Will she come here?

Fine.

Straighten your tie, that was the chief's office.

Maurice Rosemont's sister and her attorney would like

a little chat.

Whitney Lynde's murder forces me to reexamine

suspicions I've had of my brother's death.

Are you questioning whether it was

from natural causes?

There were reasons for suspicion.

Helena buried him before his death

was even announced to the family.

She had possession of the body.

Possession is nine-tenths of the law.

So, you've been sitting on this

for a long time?

There was a palimony suit.

Rumors of some distasteful activities

involving my brother.

We didn't want a scandal.

Now you feel you can't avoid it.

Maurice was a Jew.

She deliberately put him in a Catholic cemetery

to prevent us from mourning him.

The woman is vile.

If she murdered my brother

or Whitney Lynde,

I want her punished for it.

No argument there.

There's another issue.

A child.

Although I never approved

of my brother's relationship

with Whitney Lynde,

blood is blood.

That boy is not safe.

Why do you say that?

Towards the end,

communication with Maurice was very hard.

Helena made sure he was never on his own,

but he managed to send me a letter and a videotape

of his visit with the boy.

The letter is filled with his concerns.

It might be useful in getting an indictment.

*

"Sam still doesn't know that I'm his father.

But six months ago, I was able to see him

on his birthday.

Thinking of it now makes me even more aware

of how truly helpless I am.

Helena speaks of having Sam and Whitney killed.

She says it to hurt me,

but I think she means it.

When I'm gone, God knows what she'll do."

*

This nails her.

If it's admissible.

Well, why wouldn't it be?

Tarnower can think of a dozen good reasons.

We have enough.

We just gotta push the DA.

Push him.

You're good at it.

We can literally put her in bed with Paul Kankeredes.

Her and his prints on the snapper.

Kankeredes had to shoot papaverine to have sex.

If she replaced that with insulin,

should've killed him.

All circumstantial.

Doesn't mean it's not a case.

Also, tread and soil match places her car

at the scene where Whitney Lynde's

Mercedes was burned.

Her motive?

Maybe he found the videotapes

and she wanted them.

Maybe she felt that alive he was a liability.

We may never know the true motive.

I'll try a conspiracy indictment based on

your evidence that Helena Rosemont

is connected to the killing of Whitney Lynde,

but that's it.

If she conspired, then it's murder.

I'll call Tarnower.

He can surrender her.

No.

That's the way people like this are handled.

My partner and I feel that everyone should

be handled the same.

We'll pick her up.

*

Mrs. Rosemont.

*

We're placing you under arrest

for the murder of Whitney Lynde.

Why, Felix!

Felix!

You have the right to remain silent.

If you give up this right...

anything you say can and will be used

against you in a court of law.

Felix!

Call Tarnower!

Tell him what they're doing to me!

Tell him how they're treating me!

Tell everyone, Felix.

Tell 'em we're treating her like a common criminal.

Mrs. Rosemont, because that's what you are.

That's all you are.

Son of a bitch!

Get in, get in.

It wasn't over yet.

Myron Tarnower requested bail.

It was denied.

And Helena Rosemont remained in her cell

while her accomplice slept unaware.

*

And the little boy learned how to skateboard,

not knowing that Helena Rosemont's conviction

would invalidate Maurice Rosemont's will.

Meaning a fortune would go to his next of kin.

*

Helena Rosemont was convicted of murder

in the first degree

and sentenced to die by lethal injection

at the state penitentiary

in San Quentin.

In California, capital cases

are granted an automatic appeal.

Helena Rosemont is currently on death row.

*

*