Original subtitles

I predict that Kathleen will win.

Tonight on Murder, She Wrote.

The police found Bud's body in my robe.

We're absolutely clean on this.

Now trust me.

We're also negotiating with Bud's grieving widow.

If she and her attorney agree to the bucks,

well, she gets first crack.

Hey, I'm talking dinner here. Maybe a chance to talk.

He must've gone from his room to mine naked.

Surprised? Nothing about politics surprises me.

I assume he had his own key.

Jack, please!

Mr. Speaker, the 23rd District joins

with the 18th and the 33rd Districts

in unanimous support for the candidate.

Mr. Speaker, the Union of Federated Office Workers

submit the name of the only candidate

that has the full support of the upstate minorities.

A proven leader, and can deliver the votes...

to gain victory...

If my opponent can't find a way to pay back

the $600,000 he owes from his last campaign,

then how can the voters expect him

to do anything about the federal budget?

Well, I certainly wish I had a millionaire spouse

like Mrs. Lane here.

Uh, perhaps the fairness doctrine

would allow your husband to help repay my debts.

After all, we're from the same party.

Mr. Drelinger...

Why does she have to take all these cheap shots,

just because I've got a few bucks?

Jackson, you ought to come out on the road with us more often.

You get used to it.

Drelinger has read that same bad joke

on the past four TV appearances.

"After all, we're from the same party."

Complete with the "ha, ha, ha's."

The man's on the threshold of senility.

Well, the "ha, ha, ha's" must be working.

My man still leads Kathleen by 10 points in the polls.

Kathleen is closing the gap and you know it.

You ought to get your old boy

some new ad-libs, Butterfield.

Yeah, and some fresh three-by-five cards.

Well, in the few moments that we have left,

Mrs. Lane, this morning's Daily Post alleges

that you and Bud Johnson, your campaign manager, were becoming...

Well, how should I put it? Involved.

I don't believe this. Bud Johnson's only involvement with me

is managing my campaign.

Anything beyond that is merely malicious gossip.

So you're denying that the relationship is romantic?

And, yes, my campaign director and I

were dancing together last night

in front of a thousand voters

at the Italian-American block party.

The Post calls it a romance.

I call it the tarantella.

All right. She's on a roll now.

I'm gonna try and answer some of these calls.

The few hours my campaign allows me to sleep,

I sleep with my husband

when he can get out on the stump with me.

There have been persistent rumors.

Mr. Hall, I don't want to talk about rumors.

It demeans both our professions.

But five years ago, when you were mayor of your hometown,

stories persisted that you had an affair with a married man.

[Kathleen] Forgive me, Mr. Hall.

What should be put to bed in this campaign

is gossip, not me.

Well, I'm sorry.

I see that's all the time we have for Face the Issues.

I want to thank both candidates. Thank you, Edmund.

And I for one am certainly willing to overlook and forget

any of Mrs. Lane's past indiscretions.

This is Edmund Hall. Have a pleasant Sunday.

- Cass? Bud. - [Cass] Bud. Thank God.

Sounds like trouble. You bet.

Harold just quit. What?

We spent eight weeks wining and dining

the best speech writer in the country...

Man, that really leaves me hanging out to dry.

Well, I'm working on some alternatives.

Good. Good. Keep on it.

Listen, Cass, uh, I just spoke with Gracie,

and she's gonna stay up at the farm with the kids for a couple of weeks.

Bud, don't start. Okay?

Hey, I'm talking dinner, you know. Maybe a chance to talk.

Bud, you're a nice guy, but I'm talked out.

Now, what was was. Now let it alone.

Kathleen! You were wonderful.

Oh. Bud was right.

I should have known better.

I try to deal with issues,

and that muck-raking gossip hound...

All he cares about is...

Somebody call me?

Oh, yes. Uh, you're supposed to be impartial.

You cut Kathleen off

just when she was about to nail Drelinger.

It's a half-hour show.

I can't spill over into Pro Bowling Highlights.

Oh, Edmund,

other than the blow-dry and some makeup,

just what are your qualifications to be a newsman?

She danced with the mayor last night,

with half the city council.

Is she fooling around with them too?

Just be glad I'm focusing on your wife and not you.

The Post is sifting through your back taxes,

but did I bring it up?

If you're looking for old news, dig up Watergate.

I paid every penny back. It's on the record.

That's wonderful, Edmund.

You've just handed me the winning issue.

I'm going to appeal to every voter

who's ever been audited by the IRS.

Ah! It'll be a landslide.

I'll say one thing, Kathleen.

You kiss a lot better than Arthur Drelinger.

Kate, if you don't mind,

I want to get back to the house.

I want to look at those condominium estimates tonight.

Well, I wouldn't be very good company anyway.

We will see you this weekend in, uh, in, uh...

Bud! Help.

Uh, where will this wandering caravan be on Saturday?

Uh, let's see. Lacentra and, uh...

Holiday Township and Forest Heights.

'Course, that's just Saturday morning.

Listen, uh, there's a glitch with Harold.

I've gotta run and try and iron it out.

I'll see you back at the hotel, all right?

Well, I showed you the great capitals of Europe.

You can show me the motel capitals of Middle America.

You people have Hall on your payroll,

or does he just have a garbage fetish?

Guy is just doing his job.

Anyway, Kathleen can't overcome Drelinger's lead.

Bright girl like you,

top 10% of her class at Pendleton,

you of all people should be able to do the arithmetic.

Ooh. What adds up in this voter profile

is that you're falling way behind among working women and Blacks.

When our guy clobbers Kathleen,

and he will,

we're gonna be taking on some extra staffers

for the main event.

Does that mean that you'll be looking

for a highly visible and bright working Black female?

What do you think Kathleen took you on for, sweetheart?

I can't imagine.

Well, Butterfield.

How do you score the debate?

On balance, I'd say you came off best.

[Butterfield] Did you ever think of going into politics?

Uh, look. This is strictly on background,

but somebody fed that story to the Post

about Kathleen and Bud Johnson.

The Drelinger camp would never smear an opponent.

Look, Kathleen Lane is news.

Right now, the only story I've got,

besides those rumors about her love life,

is how she's closing the gap on Drelinger.

Now, if you guys have got something,

and you give it to me instead of the Post...

Well, all I can say is,

my sources are always confidential.

Well, like I said, we don't deal in dirty tricks,

it smacks of bad sportsmanship,

but we are doing some research.

If something newsworthy does turn up, you might get a call.

Just make sure I get it first.

If any headline material does turn up,

and I'm not saying it will,

it would come from some anonymous source.

Understood? Perfectly.

[Jessica] Uh, Fletcher, J.B., Mrs.

I'm sorry. The computer does not recognize you.

Uh, when do you say you made this alleged reservation?

Well, I made it last night in Chicago, but...

You should have a confirmation number.

Every reservation has a confirmation number.

Yes, well, I told you,

I didn't make it personally.

It was arranged... [Kathleen] Jessica?

Oh, Kathleen. Thank heavens.

Oh! You look absolutely wonderful. Well, so do you.

I'll look a lot better after I've checked in

and got into a hot tub,

if they can find a tub for me to climb into.

Is there a problem?

Well, they seem to have lost the reservation

that you made for me. Oh, good Lord.

I told Bud to make that personally.

Excuse me, uh, Preston?

There seems to be some sort of mix-up.

I would very much appreciate it

if you could arrange to put Mrs. Fletcher

in a room as close to mine as possible.

Of course...

if there's anything available.

And you are?

It's been almost four months,

and I'm still "Mrs. Anonymous."

Well, I thought you were coming up in the polls.

Oh, I am, but this is only the primary.

The fact is, if it isn't a presidential election,

the public interest is on a par

with Saturday night wrestling.

Mmm.

[Kathleen] Frankly, if it wasn't for all of the money

the Jacksons poured into my candidacy,

I'd still be a total nobody

instead of a relative unknown.

That sounds awfully cynical.

I hadn't realized...

What a big fishbowl I'd be living in.

The press has been having a field day

digging into my personal life.

And not just mine,

but Jackson's too.

Anything for a story.

And the less it has to do with the issues, the better.

Speaking of the issues,

I was delighted when you asked me

to come here and speak for you.

You know, your program on environmental cleanup

is something that I can really get behind.

I have another little problem.

My, um, my head writer quit on me this morning,

and this Friday,

I am making my most important address

to the state party leaders, right here in the capital.

And it isn't enough that I find a writer who understands

my position on the issues.

I need somebody who knows me,

who... who won't just be putting words into my mouth.

Oh, no. Oh, please, Jess.

Look, Kathleen,

if you give me a good juicy murder and a few suspects,

my imagination will swing into high gear.

But, uh, speechifying?

I'm not sure that I could write on a soapbox.

But that's exactly why I need you.

You can write so movingly.

You won't make me sound like an oracle on Mount Olympus.

This morning, I tried to ad-lib a speech,

and almost guaranteed

a group of foreign war veterans maternity leave.

Sure, you're laughing, but I'm desperate.

Unless you pick up an oar and start to paddle,

I'm afraid I'm going to have to jump this ship.

Well, we can't have that.

All right.

I'll climb on board for a week's worth

of "my fellow citizens."

Yes, Ruth?

[Ruth] A man for you on line 1.

This is Edmund Hall.

Are you interested

in a story that will bury one of the candidates?

Who... Who is this?

Call me a highly placed source.

Is that you, Butterfield?

If you're not interested, I can take it to the Post.

Okay, let's say I'm interested.

The 11:00 bus to Cleveland

is now boarding at Gate 10.

Hall.

What? The phone book!

Find your station's number.

What is this, some kind of joke?

I don't think Kathleen Lane will be laughing.

Now, who is this?

Bud, see what you think of this piece so far.

Good. It's good.

Though you might want to soft-pedal this reference

to day care for working mothers.

Oh, but in a speech Kathleen gave last week,

she came out for day care.

Yeah, well, that was at a day care center.

The speech you're working on

is for a couple hundred ladies at a country club,

and they already have day care.

They call her the maid.

How does Kathleen feel about day care? I mean, really feel?

Beats me. I never asked her.

Hi, guys.

Just left Kathleen at the senior citizens' center.

And did she come out for long life?

[Bud] Yeah, that's our position.

Nan, when's Kathleen getting back?

Late. While she was at the center,

the state party chairman called.

He wanted to see her.

She said she was gonna drive

one of the staff cars out to his house.

Maybe he's gonna drop the other shoe

and come out for her.

Yeah, or maybe he's gonna drop the other shoe on her

and come out for Drelinger.

Bologna? No comment.

Here now with the 11:00 news,

Edmund Hall.

Good evening.

In the headlines, this campaign exclusive.

A highly placed source close to the senate primary

has made available to this reporter

photographs of married candidate Kathleen Lane,

seen here with her also-married,

30-year-old campaign director Bud Johnson

at her vacation retreat at Lake St. Catherine.

According to campaign insiders,

her husband was out of the country on business at the time.

This morning's Daily Post alleges...

Mrs. Fletcher.

Did you see Channel 8?

Yellow journalism in living color.

Have you seen Bud? He's not in his room.

No, and Kathleen's not in her room either.

Great. Where are those two?

Okay, okay, get back. Get back.

All right, everybody, all right.

Back of the barricades. Stand back of the barricades.

[Kathleen] Cass, what's going on?

Oh, Kathleen, he must have fallen from the balcony.

Oh!

Mrs. Lane, do you have any idea

why Mr. Johnson killed himself?

No.

Did you see the 11 :00 news tonight?

No, but my associate, Cass Malone, told me

about those ridiculous photographs.

The way I see it,

if he saw those photographs on the news,

he knew he had finished your chances.

- Lieutenant, we weren't lovers. - No?

Then how come he jumped from your balcony?

Well, that's impossible.

Recognize this, Mrs. Lane?

Yes, that's mine. Where did you get it?

Where did you see it last?

[Kathleen] I guess I took it off when I showered.

Lieutenant, where did you find that bracelet?

In the pocket of the robe the victim was wearing.

Now, every guest gets a robe.

They're all the same. But yours is missing.

Now, I don't know what the victim was wearing

when he left the balcony,

but when he landed,

he was wearing your robe.

Now, Mrs. Lane, you care to tell us what was going on?

Lieutenant, Mrs. Lane wasn't here.

She's just returned.

Uh-huh.

Penthouse.

Excuse me, Mrs. Lane. It's your husband.

Take it in the bedroom.

Lieutenant? We found something across the hall

in the victim's room.

Right.

No. I didn't see the news either.

Some supposedly flirtatious photographs

of Bud and me alone out at the lake.

[Jackson] Yes, I understand.

Some reporter called me to give me a description.

Look, honey, I don't want to sound cold,

but you can't let Bud's death stop your campaign.

Jack.

The police found Bud's body in my robe.

What the hell does that mean? I don't know.

Uh, traffic's light.

I'll be there in an hour. What's your room number?

1811. No, wait.

The management gave me another room.

Check with the desk.

Oh, and Jackson, please, drive safely.

The victim's pants. The victim's room key.

Something I can do for you, Mrs. Fletcher?

Oh, one of your men said I'd find you here.

Lieutenant, I think you should have a word

with your fingerprint man.

What's he turned up? Nothing.

Well, what I mean is,

he didn't find any prints

on the door handle leading to the balcony.

So?

Well, a man doesn't go out on a balcony to end it all

and wipe his prints off the handle first.

No! I won't give a statement to the paper

until the facts are sorted out.

Mrs. Lane?

We just got these on loan from Channel 8.

It doesn't take a detective to figure out

who stands to gain from this, Lieutenant.

So you and Johnson weren't at the lake together?

We were there. What are you saying?

Are you saying these are doctored? Faked?

Those pictures are really perfectly innocent.

Look, ma'am, now we figure he fell

between 10:45 and that news broadcast.

Maybe even just after these pictures were aired.

Where were you tonight?

Me? Well, I...

Kathleen, weren't you out meeting

the state party chairman at his house?

Mrs. Fletcher,

you said that you were her speech writer.

Are you also her spokesperson?

Lieutenant, I did go out there.

But, actually, I didn't meet with him.

The message I got must have been fouled up.

I arrived there about 10:30.

I rang the doorbell. Nobody answered.

So I climbed back into my car,

waited about a half an hour,

and then I drove back into town.

Did anybody see you?

Yes. I told you, the parking valet.

When I pulled up outside,

Bud's body had just been discovered.

Ah.

Well, who is to say

that you didn't return to the hotel earlier?

I'm to say.

The hotel has my new room number.

Kathleen, shall I go with you?

Oh, no, Jess. I'll be all right.

Jackson's driving in.

These letters and numbers mean anything to anybody?

[Jessica] "A. D. 53/K. L. 46."

Would seem to be a poll of some sort.

Nan? That's right.

They're preliminary figures

from a survey conducted this afternoon.

Did you give this to Mrs. Lane or the victim?

No. Oh. What I mean is...

they were phoned in to me at 10:00,

and I brought them right over,

but Kathleen wasn't back yet.

At least, nobody answered when I knocked.

So I slipped them under the door.

Oh. How odd.

And nobody answered?

Maybe somebody didn't want to be disturbed.

I was wondering how they got onto this table.

Sure.

Bud and I went for a swim.

It was totally innocent.

Kathleen.

We've always leveled with each other.

I'm only gonna ask you once.

Jack, I swear. I...

Please, let me finish.

It's no secret.

Bud gave his hotel room keys to every woman...

but his wife.

Jack.

We weren't having an affair.

I promise you.

That's all I wanted to hear.

Those photographs of Bud and I hugging...

I'd just beat him at ping-pong.

He actually started to pout.

I just felt sorry for him.

What was the score?

Twenty-one to three.

You always have to win, don't you?

I'm not so sure I'm gonna win this one.

You've done nothing wrong.

Tomorrow, you'll call a press conference, deny everything.

Let's, uh, go to bed, get some sleep, huh?

Please.

[Jackson] Quiet, please. Quiet.

- [Kathleen] Please. - [Jackson] You'll all have a chance.

She has a statement to make.

[Kathleen] Ladies and gentlemen,

I am prepared to make a statement.

Please.

[Kathleen] Thank you.

Bud and I were coworkers,

and, yes, friends.

But it never went any further than that.

I just wish that he were alive now

to personally refute those charges

and those misleading photographs.

Mrs. Lane, are you going to stay in the race?

My supporters and my husband

want me to stay and fight.

I'm sure that's what Bud would have wanted, too.

But most important,

I want to carry on,

and no amount of press pillory can make me back out.

Mr. Lane?

Is it true that you were out of the country

on the weekend

that Bud Johnson and your wife

spent the day at your summer cottage?

I was away on business in the Bahamas.

Uh, but Kathleen told me

that they intended to work there.

Uh, Miss Brown.

I have total confidence in my wife's fidelity.

Score one for the home team.

Thank you.

I would just like to add...

My wife started out a dark horse,

some 20 points behind Drelinger.

Now she's closed to only seven points behind.

I predict that Kathleen will win, come primary day.

Mrs. Lane.

Who do you think took those pictures?

Who do you think has the most to gain?

Are you implying Drelinger's people are behind it?

You said that, Harry. I didn't.

[Jackson] Mr. Hall,

suppose you tell us and your colleagues

just how you got those pictures.

There are shield laws in this state,

and I'm prepared to go to jail to protect my sources.

Mrs. Lane, first the police said it was suicide.

Now the word from headquarters

is a loud and clear "No comment."

Would you care to comment?

You know as much as I do, Mr. Hall.

You told the police that you were away from the hotel

when Bud Johnson died. That's true.

Then if you weren't there

to let him into your room,

I assume he had his own key.

[Kathleen] Jack, please!

Hold it, hold it, hold it.

Yeah, it's murder,

and, yeah, I think she did it,

but proving it...

I'm not so sure about that.

Meanwhile, she's being convicted

on the front page of every newspaper in this state.

Hey, she's news.

Nobody asked her to run.

You sure you don't want some coffee, Mrs. Fletcher?

I know it looks lousy, but...

Oh, no. No, no, no, thank you.

Lieutenant... The thing is,

this case has a lot of loose ends,

and the DA's the kind of a guy

who likes his packages wrapped up nice and neat.

You know what I mean? What you mean is

that this case may never come to trial.

You could say that.

While Kathleen Lane tries to run for office

with this cloud of suspicion hanging over her head.

Well, it's better than being tried and convicted.

Have you considered

that somebody else may have killed Mr. Johnson

and framed Mrs. Lane for the express purpose

of destroying her candidacy?

It's crossed my mind.

Well, next time it starts crossing, Lieutenant,

please stop it halfway

and give it some attention.

I have known this woman for 17 years, and believe me,

she is incapable of deceit or subterfuge,

and she is also incapable of committing murder.

Sure, she's a friend. I understand.

Oh, it's much more than that.

She's innocent,

and she's not gonna spend the rest of her life,

political or not,

with people whispering behind her back

that she's a killer.

Not if I have anything to say about it.

Excuse me.

Thank you.

Oh, Mrs. Fletcher.

Edmund Hall, Channel 8.

Yes. News at 6:00 and 11:00.

I'm sure your broadcast tonight will be quite lively,

since you managed to provoke Jackson Lane

into a near brawl.

How are you planning to lead off?

With a hook or a jab?

If you're in town Sunday, tune in Face the Issues.

That's my foray into public service.

And news at 6:00 and 11:00 isn't?

Well, my Sunday show's not hard news.

We have on scholars, intellectuals.

That's nice.

Excuse me, Mr. Hall.

Look. If you happen to have a new book out,

I'd love to have you on the show...

Unless you're opposed to tooting your own horn.

Oh, I don't mind selling books, Mr. Hall.

You could even say a few words about Kathleen Lane.

The longtime-friend angle always intrigues the electorate.

Something personal that she might have mentioned to me?

Like the identity of that doctor

that she was supposed to be seeing

while she was the mayor?

Well, the public loves a peek

into a candidate's personal file.

You know, at times,

it seems that's all they are interested in.

Look, Mr. Hall, I might...

just might consider chatting with you

about my latest novel and other matters

if you will tell me who gave you those photographs.

You're quite a horse trader, Mrs. Fletcher.

But the truth is, I don't know.

Oh!

That's why you claimed

confidential source and shield laws, et cetera.

Well, I could hardly tell the truth.

I'm supposed to gather news,

not have it left for me in bus station lockers

by persons unknown. "Unknown"?

Doesn't the name Arthur Drelinger spring to mind?

All right, I'll level with you.

C.W. Butterfield, Drelinger's campaign manager,

has been beating around the bush.

He said he might have something newsworthy about Kathleen Lane.

But I can't swear it was the photos.

So do I count you in for Face the Issues?

I will think about it.

Well, don't think too long.

We're also negotiating with Bud's grieving widow.

If she and her attorney agree to the bucks,

well, she gets first crack, naturally.

I'll wait to hear from you.

I just can't believe that somebody would murder Bud

just to win an election.

Even more disturbing is the fact

that they seem to have gone to considerable trouble

to smear you.

You know what I don't understand

is if Bud's clothes were in his room,

and he was found dead in my bathrobe,

he must have gone from his room to mine naked.

No, I think it's more likely

that he was lured into your room,

killed, and then put into your robe.

Then the murderer took Bud's clothes back to his room

using the key

that I saw Lieutenant gowans

take out of Bud's trousers pocket.

Kathleen, I can't say that this has any connection

with Bud's death,

but Edmund Hall has been trying to pump me

about you and that mysterious doctor.

Hall is nothing more than a Peeping Tom with a hand mic.

Kathleen.

Is there something that you haven't told me about?

Anything at all?

No, of course not.

Did you talk to the party chairman about the meeting

that you were supposed to have at his house?

Yes. He said he never called me.

Nan Wynn was the one who told me he called.

So someone called Nan Wynn

claiming to be the party chairman,

luring you away from the hotel.

Kathleen, where is Nan?

I don't know.

I've been trying to reach her all day.

Where are you going? What about my speech?

Well, the speech can wait.

Kathleen, I think it's high time

that somebody had a chat

with the source of your troubles.

The issue in this campaign, friends and neighbors,

is a simple one.

Moral integrity,

honesty,

a respect for justice,

and a love for the American way of life.

C.W., there's something wrong here.

What is it now, Arthur?

Shouldn't that be "issues," not "issue"?

I mean, here I am reading off

this laundry list of cliches.

No. "Simple, honesty, respect for justice"...

They're slogans, Arthur. Ideas.

You want to say issues? Fine. Say issues.

Just try to make it sound sincere.

And while you're at it, don't blink your eyes so much.

It makes you look shifty-eyed.

Well, if these lights weren't so bright...

Leo, how's my makeup?

I feel like I'm sweating. Excuse me, sir.

Yeah?

Lieutenant gowans. He's outside.

Well, I already told him

we didn't slip those photos to Channel 8.

You want me to have him wait?

Outside in the chief's anteroom?

Oh, that's a terrific idea.

No! Bring him inside.

Okay, outside, everybody. Five minutes.

You're doing fine. You're doing fine.

C.W.? Yeah?

If we did have anything to do with

those photographs Hall got a hold of,

I don't want to know about it. Is that clear?

Chief, we're absolutely clean on this.

Now trust me.

Gentlemen.

Lieutenant.

So good to see you.

Dreadful business, this thing with Johnson.

My heart goes out to that poor woman.

Hey, I just heard on the radio

that a new poll from the Daily Post

says Mrs. Lane just fell 12 points behind you.

Well, you can't say you're surprised.

Surprised? Nothing about politics surprises me.

If the lady self-destructs,

well, that's her lookout.

I only get involved if she got a little help.

I... I'm not quite sure

I understand that remark, Lieutenant.

Well, let me just make it very clear to you, sir.

Were you and Mr. Butterfield here

between 10:00 and 11:00 Monday night, when Johnson died?

I think I resent that question.

Chief, the lieutenant's just doing his job,

and, obviously, neither one of us

has anything to hide.

The fact is,

Mr. Drelinger was at the Onyx Lodge

from 8:00 to 11:00.

He was receiving the Man of the Year Award,

and, of course, I was there.

11:00, huh?

I heard it was 10:30 when you two left.

I thought it was later than that.

We were in my car at 11:00,

driving Mr. Drelinger to his hotel.

We stayed in your hotel room till after 12:00.

Wasn't that correct, Arthur?

Uh, yes. Uh, absolutely correct.

Well, thank you.

If I need anything else, Mr. Butterfield, I'll let you know.

Of course.

Trust me.

Mrs. Fletcher. Lieutenant.

Ah, that speech you made kind of got to me,

so I decided to work on those loose ends.

And? Nothing. Zip. Zero.

Look, if you feel you can do any better, please, be my guest.

Mrs. Fletcher. What a surprise.

I know you must be very busy,

but I wonder if you could spare me just a few moments.

Arthur! Jessica Fletcher,

Kathleen Lane's new writer.

The mystery novelist. Yes, yes, of course.

Mrs. Fletcher, this is indeed a pleasure.

Are you here with a message from Kathleen?

Now if she's ready to bow out...

"Bow out"?

Oh, no. Nothing like that.

I just wanted to satisfy my curiosity

about one or two small things.

Such as?

Well, for starters, those photographs

that someone gave to Edmund Hall

of Kathleen and Bud Johnson.

We had nothing to do with that. Really?

I can't imagine why anyone would want to sneak around

with a telephoto-lens camera,

trying to shoot something...

Well, shall we say compromising?

And then slip it to Edmund Hall

unless they were deliberately trying to smear Kathleen Lane.

Mrs. Fletcher, I couldn't agree with you more.

That kind of backstairs journalism is an insult

to the people we serve.

C.W., make a note.

We want a strong public statement

condemning that sort of sleazy journalism.

My goodness,

no wonder you have so many strong supporters, Mr. Drelinger.

I may be confused,

but someone told me

that you had a file on Kathleen Lane,

and that you were working up something

to release to the press.

Who told you that?

That is a damn lie.

Mrs. Fletcher, the only file we have on Kathleen Lane

is her position on the issues.

And between you, me and the door post,

we're not that far apart on a lot of things.

No, Mrs. Fletcher,

if there's one thing Arthur Drelinger can't abide,

it's dirty tricks.

Arthur, here's the documented printout of our new phone survey.

Kathleen Lane is officially...

dead.

[Nan] I swear, Mrs. Fletcher,

I was not a spy for Drelinger.

[Jessica] Yes, but according to Cass Malone,

you delivered the message to Kathleen

to visit the party chairman,

which left her without an alibi.

I only took the message.

The man said he was an aide to the party chairman.

I... I thought you believed in

Kathleen's stand on the issues.

What I believe in are numbers,

the substantial salary numbers

that Drelinger's campaign offered me,

and the ugly numbers

that Kathleen is suddenly trailing by in the polls.

Well, it just seems to me that if you beat the body politic

over the head long enough with these polls,

they... they tend to become a self-fulfilling prophecy.

Self-fulfilling or not, Kathleen is dead in the water.

Take a look at the month-to-month curve on these numbers.

Kathleen starts out 20 points back,

then she closes it to 15, then 12,

then 10, then five.

In this past week, the photos, Bud's death,

it's back to 12 in two days.

You mean Kathleen was within five points of Drelinger?

The day Bud was murdered, yes.

But the figures that you passed under the door were 53 to 46.

That's seven points.

That was a mistake.

I told you and Lieutenant gowans, and no one else.

What's the big deal?

Anybody can make a mistake.

Oh, dear.

Mrs. Fletcher?

What's going on?

Is she throwing in the towel?

I honestly don't know.

Well, she's called a press conference.

She's trailing Drelinger by 12 points now.

What else could it be?

Well, maybe she's decided

to hang in and fight it out.

But if she has decided to withdraw,

I think that you can take some of the responsibility.

Oh, give me a break, Mrs. Fletcher.

I don't make the news. I just report it.

Really?

It doesn't seem as simple as that to me.

Whatever you report becomes the news.

You seem to decide what is news

and what is important and what isn't.

I mean, somehow you seem to mix up

importance with sensationalism.

Let me explain something to you.

The political beat puts people to sleep.

It's dry, it's boring.

They want to see Dallas. Knots Landing.

So you give them soap operas.

Well, what about the issues?

What have we got? Two, three minutes of airtime per story?

We've gotta grab 'em.

Now, what are we gonna give 'em?

Dry statistics? Charts? Graphs?

You seem to have a very low opinion of your viewers.

One thing I know about the public, Mrs. Fletcher,

they have a very short attention span.

If Kathleen Lane folds, she's yesterday's newspaper.

In a month, they won't even remember her name.

Yes, well, thank you for the lesson

in political science, Mr. Hall.

Thank you.

Oh, Kathleen. Jessica.

Thank you so much

for trying to lend a hand.

Then it's true?

I can't convince her to carry on.

Oh, Jessica, how can I?

I've learned the hard way

that a candidate is worth two angles to the media.

When I was 20 points behind in the polls,

they tried to build me up

with those heartrending stories

about the gutsy underdog.

But after molding you into David versus Goliath,

they wanted a new angle for the morning edition.

That's the idea.

And when I closed the gap,

they started to tear me down.

Now my attempt at public service

has cost me my dignity,

my privacy and my sanity.

And it could've cost me my marriage.

I'm sorry, Jessica. It just isn't worth it.

Kathleen? The lynch party's trampling the lawn.

We're still suing Hall and Channel 8.

No, we're not, darling.

We're just gonna get on with the rest of our lives.

Well, I'd better go out there

and give 'em the hanging they came for.

[Jessica] Jackson?

Could I have a moment with you?

[Jackson] Uh, Kathleen?

I'll be right along.

Uh, yes. What is it, Jessica?

Something wrong? Well, I'm afraid so.

I think I know who took those photos

of Kathleen and Bud

and leaked them to Channel 8. You do?

It was the same person that lured Kathleen

away from the hotel the night that Bud died.

Well...

if it's someone on Drelinger's staff,

then, uh, we've gotta stop her from withdrawing.

Oh, I'm afraid it's a little late for that.

Please! Please, I have a statement.

If a candidate's character

becomes the issue of the campaign,

and the bedroom becomes the ballot box,

then the candidate can no longer speak

on the vital ideas and programs

which should be addressed.

Although my husband...

and some tireless volunteers and staff workers

pleaded with me to remain in the race,

I am announcing my withdrawal.

I hope to, um...

speak out on some of the issues from time to time,

and that the party will still look for the best man, or woman,

and not give the nomination

to Arthur Drelinger by default.

[Jackson] What a gutsy lady she is, huh?

You know what I'm gonna do?

I'm gonna take her away for a while,

for a few months.

Uh, we always talked a lot about spending time in France.

It really tears me up, though,

that she'll never get a chance to show what she could do.

On the contrary.

You must be...

enormously relieved.

Relieved?

That somebody like Drelinger smeared my wife

and forced her to withdraw?

[Jessica] Oh, Jackson, I'm sorry.

But Kathleen's most dangerous opponent

in this campaign wasn't Drelinger.

It was you.

Me?

After spending a million dollars

to launch her campaign?

Yes, I imagine there probably was a time

when you thought the election might help your business deals,

but then the sharks started to circle.

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

I'm talking about the media spotlight

that suddenly began to pry

into your personal and business life.

Everybody knew about your tax problems,

but you thought that was all behind you.

But because of Kathleen, you became news again.

The press began to dig,

to see what dirt they could come up with.

Aw, that's ridiculous.

I don't think so.

You knew that...

that you couldn't take that kind of scrutiny,

so you decided that

Kathleen had to drop out of the race.

I think it was you

who took those photographs

of Kathleen and Bud Johnson.

I was out of the country.

Well, that shouldn't be hard to check.

They keep very good records these days.

Lieutenant, you can't take

this woman's wild charges seriously.

Perhaps you'd like to show us your passport, Mr. Lane.

Oh. All right.

Uh, maybe I wasn't in the Bahamas.

That doesn't prove I took the pictures.

I think that you called Edmund Hall,

disguising your voice.

I think you also left that phone message,

luring Kathleen on that wild goose chase

to the chairman's house in the suburbs.

The next thing I know,

you'll be accusing me of killing Bud Johnson.

For God's sakes, I was here,

40 miles away from the city.

Oh, you may have given that impression

when you called on your car phone,

but you were there, all right, Jackson,

in Kathleen's suite.

Oh, that's a lie.

Nan slipped the poll results

under the door at around 10:00.

"53 to 46."

Seven points apart.

Those are the numbers you shouted at the reporters

at the news conference the very next morning.

My wife started out a dark horse,

some 20 points behind Drelinger.

Now she's closed to only seven points behind.

Care for an instant replay,

courtesy of Channel 8?

Well, that's what it was.

Seven points.

[Jessica] No, that was a mistake.

It was actually five points.

Nan was already making the correction

and typing up the release

about the time you threw Bud Johnson off the balcony.

The only way you'd have gotten seven points

would've been if you'd been in that room

and seen the figure she'd slipped under the door.

Bud found out that I...

I wasn't in the Bahamas that weekend.

Uh, you know, once the photographs made the news,

he'd started to put it together.

And then...

the solution came to me.

Bud's suicide.

It would finally put an end to Kathleen's campaign.

I got...

I got Kathleen out,

and I slipped into her suite.

I phoned Bud's room...

and I told him Kathleen was back

and wanted to see him.

I was... I was cornered.

I... I had to do something.

I brought the hammer from home.

So you removed his clothes,

dressed him in Kathleen's robe...

And then you threw him off the balcony.

Jessica,

the people that I dealt with in those days...

Well, the people I deal with now...

I didn't get where I am

by being a choirboy,

and they were getting awfully nervous

about those rumors.

It wasn't jail... I was looking...

I was looking at...

Much worse,

and I couldn't think of what else to do.

And now,

I'm gonna step out of the goldfish bowl,

and once again become Mrs. Jackson Lane,

the devoted wife of a wonderful loving husband.