Original subtitles

I never met a comic strip character before. Well, I've never been one.

Stan stole the idea for that strip from me. The, uh, main suspects are a

chicken, a horse, and a couple of cows.

He's crazier than a longhorn on loco weed. Tell me why you are saying these

things about me. Oh, my God. What's going on here?

Thanks to you, we are being sued.

I kind of like the roundness of the 40 million you mentioned in your cartoon.

I am not that cartoon character.

Before you know it, Jessica Fox will be history.

So, how was your trip, Mrs. Fletcher?

Gorgeous, Sid.

If you don't mind me saying... That character they got you playing in the

Hatterville comic strip, it's giving a Mrs. and me some real good yaks. What

did you say about a comic strip?

That's right, you've been away.

Here, see for yourself.

You're the fox, ain't you?

Jessica Fox?

This fella Hatter who draws this strip, he's pretty clever, huh?

Oh, come now, Lieutenant DeRodent. It was you that stole a hundred pounds of

fish powder from...

She's accusing this police officer of stealing evidence that would have

convicted the... The Three Moose Ears Gang?

I never met a comic strip character before, Mrs. Fletcher.

Well, I've never been one.

Hi, this is Stan Hatter's machine.

Say something after the beep and I'll get back to you.

I'll say something, all right.

Stanley, you miserable coward.

and the plumbing aren't fixed by tomorrow morning. You're dead meat.

Ciao, darling.

They don't call them ex-wives for nothing.

Number one.

Ah, four.

Not a lot of people back home in Montana can say that.

Hey, that guy's still out here.

Teddy, you've seen too many old movies. Get back in here.

He's been out there for three weeks, and it's not the neighbor's window he's been

looking at.

Hey, didn't you say number two's been trying to nail you?

Five. Two already owns more of me than I do.

Yes.

Look, there must be something on him I can use.

Well, something I can give to one of his wives, or... Mr. Whiting, I already told

you. All the snuck does is work, like all of you guys.

Now, listen, Jerry.

I'm paying for... Hey, uh, Mr. Whiting, uh, since your retainer, I have not

received dollar one, so I'm quitting.

Now, wait a minute.

Uh-uh. I'll see you around.

Monday. All right?

Plus one more week in advance.

All of it. I want results.

Even if you have to create them yourself.

Understand? Hey, hey, I'm not that kind of a... Mr. Boesel, why else would I

have hired you?

Police! Mrs. Fletcher!

I'm Lieutenant Peter Demartini. As if you didn't know.

Lieutenant, if that's what you are, unless you have a warrant, I want you

out of my apartment right now. Uh, not yet.

Not until you tell me why you are saying these things about me.

In a few days, I'll make you an offer you won't refuse, and Pilfer, don't

arrange a fox hunt. And where are you getting your information?

Wait, wait.

This, this, this rodent character that I, that she, seems to be threatening to

blackmail is supposed to be you.

Oh, come on. Enough already.

And the three moose ears that she refers to.

Wasn't there a big drug sting several years ago? The three musketeers, wasn't

it? Mrs.

Fletcher. And you were one of the arresting officers.

Right.

And the drugs that we seized were stolen from the evidence lockup.

Like the fish powder and the comic strip, of course.

And you were suspected of the theft.

Not were. Are.

Three years of phone taps, audits, tails, the whole shot.

There's a lot of people that would kill to see me take the fall.

All the way from the DEA to Internal Affairs to the wise guys.

And meanwhile, I'm pushing papers down at headquarters.

Lady,

are you telling me you don't know anything about this comic strip?

That is exactly what I'm telling you.

Then this has got to be this guy Hatter.

I've never met Mr. Hatter.

This drug case of yours, the people that you arrested, they were all released,

weren't they?

Yeah. A lack of evidence.

$20 million worth.

Listen, are you sure you can't tell me anything about this offer that you are

going to... I mean, that she is going to make me? I suggest you talk to Mr.

Hatter about that.

Oh, yeah, right. All I get is his answer.

Lieutenant, tell me.

Yeah.

Did you steal those drugs?

Hello, Gloria.

Yes, I got in just about an hour ago.

Gloria, I have to see Mr. York. I mean, does he have a few minutes in the

next... He's coming here?

Three more papers.

Canceled Biff Banyan last week.

Dayton, honey.

You have got to start living within your means.

Okay, then. $2,500 against next month's royalties.

It's not as though we're talking serious money.

Darling, it is all serious now.

You are down 64 papers.

Hey, your storylines have been getting kind of tired. You can't go in there.

All right, Paige.

How the hell did this happen?

And you call yourself a feature syndicate.

What I want to know is how did a strip that I didn't draw and didn't even ever

see before slip past everyone and get printed in 2,000 newspapers?

Stan. Day.

This cop, DeMartini, has been screaming into my telephone answering machine all

morning, and I can't say I blame him.

Are you trying to tell me that is not your work?

Damn straight it's not.

Stanley, honey, don't hustle a hustler.

Okay, okay.

Let me put it this way.

Until you can tell me how this happened and guarantee that it will never happen

again, we're no more ahead of health.

So long, Paige.

I'm finally gonna take that vacation.

Try it, Stanley.

And I will nail you for everything from breach of contract to... to cruelty to

those stupid little critters you draw.

And while we're at it, we'll just see how many alimony payments you can afford

to miss.

Stan Hatter thinks he is indispensable. He is crazier than a longhorn on local

weed.

Dave.

That kid he's got working for him.

Right.

Teddy, uh, Teddy something, uh, Teddy Gray.

Is that it? No.

Teddy Graves, that's it.

I hear he's got a whole lot of talent.

Yeah, I think I heard that, too.

You figure he could take over the Hatterville?

Maybe.

With a little help from the right person.

Just to refresh your memory.

Stan stole the idea for that strip from me.

That's right, Mr. Melton. In order to pay the takeover costs, we'll have to

fire 63% of the employees, raid the pension fund, and issue junk bonds.

And the upside?

The upside, after taxes, depreciation, green mail, and legals, is an instant

outfall of...

78 million and change.

And then, of course, we take the company to Chapter 11.

Do it.

Picked up 40 million bushels of chicken feed in that deal.

Had nothing to do with that preferred livestock swindle.

Yes, Mr. Bell. Get me Paige Kindle, the Empire Features Syndicate.

Yes, sir.

Oh, Jessica. Russell.

I knew you were due in today, so I took a chance that you'd be here. Well, I

can't tell you how glad I am to see you.

Oh, lawyers don't hear that very often. Please sit down. Thank you.

How was your trip? Oh, it was wonderful.

Not a thing went wrong. I wish I could say the same about my homecoming. Do you

happen to know a comic strip called... Hatterville?

Yes. And a police officer named Lieutenant Peter DeMartini.

And the Wall Street buyout artist, Roger Melton.

I've heard of him, yes.

Jessica, I think you ought to take a look at this.

Where did you get this? Melton's attorney faxed it to me. He's a killer,

Jess, just like his client.

You and Mr.

Stan Hatter, in the outfit that syndicates his comic strip, are going to

be sued for libel, invasion of privacy, and quite possibly extortion, to the

tune of several million dollars each.

But Russell, this is ridiculous.

I know absolutely nothing about all this.

And I certainly didn't give permission to... Jessica, whether or not you did,

I'm afraid you're going to be faced with some difficult choices to defend

yourself or settle.

Settle? Of course you can, Sue, Mr. Hatter.

But even if you win, even if you can prove that Mr. Melton has no case

whatsoever, your legal fees can amount to upwards of a quarter of a million

dollars.

Plus the emotional expense and with an out-of-court settlement who knows I

Think I better go lie down

Totson Brothers got a package here.

Hey, kid, how much time we got left?

22 minutes.

That's all right. We'll make it.

Oh, man, how'd they get in here?

Would you get rid of them?

Sure.

I'm sorry, Mr. Hatter... That's right, Jessica Fox.

Where is he? Well, ma'am, he's on... It's Mr.

Hatter. Hi.

Pardon my bad manners, but if I miss my deadline, I'm out a couple of thousand

bucks in late fees.

Well, I'm afraid that is your problem, Mr. Hatter. Uh, Mrs. Fletcher, I didn't

draw it. I checked with the syndicate. A messenger showed up with the artwork.

They threw it into the hopper. Who looks? Even they can't figure out how it

got into print.

It. The Demartini strip. He's telling the truth.

What about the strip where you accuse Roger Melton of a stock swindle?

Oh, my God.

What's going on here?

What is going on is that thanks to you, we are being sued for millions of

dollars. Why, Mr. Hatcher? Mrs.

Fletcher, I'm as angry about this as you are, but I swear I had nothing to do

with this. But how can you say that? I mean, there is Jessica Fox. That is my

real strip. That I had nothing to do with, honestly.

But this makes absolutely no sense.

I mean, why would somebody want to counterfeit your comic strip? Oh, no,

maybe it's a nutcase, or maybe somebody just wants to get me in trouble.

Coffee? Oh, no.

Mr. Hatter, I realize that because I am considered a public figure, I

can't prevent you from creating a cartoon character that looks like me.

But when the words coming out of her mouth are libeling people... Look, Mrs.

Fletcher, I'm your biggest fan.

When I came up with the idea for this barnyard murder mystery thing, I

thought, who better to solve it than Jessica Fox?

I mean, Fletcher.

Look, see, the main suspects are a chicken, a horse, and a couple of cows.

This is Lorraine. She suffers from MPS, multiple personality syndrome.

A cow?

Oh, yes, she has seven distinct personalities.

But she's not the killer.

Look, obviously someone's messing with my people, damn it.

Now... I never meant to complicate your life, and I promise I'm gonna take care

of this. I'm gonna get to the bottom of it. I'll call my lawyer and get you off

the hook just as soon as I get out from under my deadline problems.

Stan, 14 minutes. It's okay, kid. We're gonna make it. Look, um, I'll write you

out of this trip.

Hey, I'm only a week ahead. Before you know it, Jessica Fox will be history.

I'll have you bitten by Rex Rattlesnake or maybe devoured by Leroy Lyon.

Maybe one of the other characters. I'll kick it around with him. I'll get back

to you.

These characters, these animals, they're kind of like his friends. He takes it

very seriously.

I won't print the Hatteville strip that will prove your guilt if I get $250,000

by the weekend. Time and place will follow.

I can't say that I'm surprised, Lieutenant.

And I certainly don't blame you for being upset over this. But what I don't

understand is why you are showing it to me.

I mean, this is a matter for the police.

You want to know why?

I will tell you why.

Because, A, I'm innocent.

But I can't prove it because my alibi, my former partner, is dead.

B, I don't have $250, let alone $250,000.

And C...

You must think I'm some kind of a major idiot.

Cabot Cove Gazette?

That's right, Mrs. Fletcher, I checked. That's from last Tuesday's newspaper.

The only thing I can't figure out is why you would try to blackmail me.

Look, Lieutenant, I can almost understand your paranoia, but last

Tuesday I was in Italy, and I haven't been in Cabot Cove for three weeks.

I mean, it's bad enough that I was accused of libel and now blackmail. What

I want to know is how much more of this is going to happen. Now, Mr. God, Mrs.

Fletcher, I don't have any more fix on this than you do. Look, Mr. Hatter, I

mean, at this point, I'm sure you understand that it is very difficult for

me to believe anything that you say. But I'm telling you that... Look, it's a

wonderfully clever scheme.

You know, dragging me into it and diverting suspicion away from yourself.

And the Cabot Cove newspaper, I mean, that was a really very clever... But

I... And it turns out that there's a newsstand at Grand Central Station that

carries it one week late. Mrs. Fletcher, I can prove the cartoon that appeared in

this morning's paper is a forgery. Can you?

Now look at the characters' eyes.

You notice there are little highlights in their eyes? Yes.

Now these are on the upper right-hand side.

Well, mine are always on the left. I can show you thousands of my drawings always

on the left.

You could have done it intentionally.

But I didn't. It's the truth.

Look at the way the hand is drawn.

Stan's thumbs always have a little inward curve right about there.

And that's not my lettering, Mrs. Fletcher.

Besides, why would I jeopardize my career?

Another couple of years, Hatterville will be as big as Peanuts or Calvin and

Hobbes, and then I'm home free.

Well, Stan.

I can't say I am exactly surprised that somebody who draws cutesy little animals

that spout political philosophy would be twisted enough to pull a stunt like

this. But someone like you, Mrs. Fletcher, tell me, have you ever looked

a man-eating shark in the eyes?

I presume your comic strip refers to my investment in the CompuChamp

Corporation.

I told you I didn't draw that.

Which you are implying, Mrs. Fletcher, to be a major swindle on my part.

The kind of crime that, were I proven guilty, could send me to prison for a

very long time. Mr.

Melton. Miss Kendall, I've had my people looking into your publishing operation.

I find them faced with a truly difficult choice, whether to take over your

company and pillage it or to simply buy up your many, many debts and demand

payment. I can assure you my decision will be based solely upon which option

will cause you the most pain.

Now, as to the amount of money I intend to sue you for, I kind of like the

roundness of the 40 million you mentioned in your cartoon.

In dollars, of course. I'm just telling the both of you that whatever I suffer

because of you two, I will make you pay for.

May I suggest you discuss your differences on your own time? Look,

stop, both of you.

I am not that cartoon character.

If it weren't for Mr. Hatter's ill-advised decision to feature a fox

that looks like me, I wouldn't be here at all.

Mrs. Fletcher. Mr. Melton, would you please sit down?

Ever since I got back to New York today, I have been threatened and shouted at.

I think it is time to try to find out who's really responsible for whatever it

is that is going on.

Now, suppose we assume for a moment that... Mr. Hatter is telling the truth.

Thank you.

The word was assume.

Well, then the question is, can you think of anyone that you know who might

want to cause you this kind of trouble?

Well, actually, any of my ex-wives, the politicians I've skewered, the

celebrities, then there's always that fading star day-whiting genius behind

Biff Banyan.

That is, Mrs. Fletcher, that Stan Hatter stole the idea for Hatterville from me.

He knows it and I know it. That was back when he was your assistant.

Yes.

Add 25% to yourself, young man.

Thank you, Mr. Whitey.

Unfortunately, all my notes and sketches were lost some years ago in a fire.

Of mysterious origin, I might add.

So it's his word against mine.

I can't wait until next week. I need it this morning. Mr.

Bozell, I'd like you to meet... No, Whiting.

No more snarling. I understand your situation. Believe me, this afternoon, I

promise. All right.

You promise.

Forgive the interruption, Mrs. Fletcher, but failed journalist.

The man couldn't even make it in a supermarket tabloid. Yes, Mr. Whiting,

you said that you'd been meaning to get in touch with me. Why?

Because I have a great deal of respect for you.

And for your work.

And once I heard about what's been happening, I wanted to offer you a piece

of advice. Protect yourself.

Sue Stan Hatter for everything he's worth.

Well, I'm afraid that lawsuits aren't my style.

I rather thought you'd say something like that.

Look, you're here because you obviously think that I might be responsible for

Hatter's troubles.

Well, you seem to have a real motive.

Are you?

You have to understand.

Stan Hatter is a sick, desperate man.

He's a pathological liar.

This whole scenario, it's a grandstand play to gain sympathy.

He's the victim.

At the same time, on a truly Machiavellian level, the hype will boost

his readership, the sales of all those stuffed animals, the viewership of the

TV cartoon series.

I never said he wasn't brilliant.

You know, up until a moment ago, you had me half believing that Stan Hatter might

be responsible for all this.

You're losing me.

Whatever Stan Hatter's problems are, he regards his characters as his friends. I

can't believe that he would be capable of letting his little cartoon creature

say or do anything that was unethical.

That's a very shaky premise.

Is it?

I mean...

My characters in my novels are very real to me.

I mean, would you allow your, what's his name, Biff Banyan, to say or do anything

like that?

Well, no.

We're talking apples and oranges here. You and I live in the real world.

Mr. Whiting, your credit card wasn't accepted.

Ah, thank you.

Excuse me, Daddy.

Mrs. Fletcher, this is Mel Lazarus. What a pleasure, Mr Lazarus. How do you do,

Mrs. Fletcher?

Have you heard the news about Ben Watanabe?

No.

All right, Mr. Hatter, you still haven't answered my question. Don't you find it

a little strange that Mr. Watanabe was in your studio at 3.49 in the morning?

Sergeant, I have told you before, he always worked at night.

For me.

And for a lot of other cartoonists.

Buckman, do you mind?

I'm sorry.

Check the bottoms of your shoes. I want every fragment out of that wristwatch

crystal. Right, Sergeant.

Come on, Mr. Hatter.

Let's give a look to your studio.

Excuse me, Sergeant Redstone, are you assuming that this was a suicide?

Pending any evidence to the contrary, yes. We are assuming cause of death to

be massive head trauma caused by impacting the pavement.

This is unbelievable.

He had everything to live for. He had a wife and two daughters in Scarsdale, a

terrific career going.

Miss Fletcher, what is your interest in or your connection to Mr. Watanabe?

And don't try to complicate things, please. I'm quite familiar with your, to

put it politely, your obsession with murder.

Accusing me of being obsessive is hardly polite, Sergeant.

Okay, all right. I'm sorry.

At any rate, that is not the reason that I'm... All right.

Where's this Mr. Hatter?

Janet, what are you doing here?

Oh, still warm and cuddly as ever, huh, Sergeant?

I asked you a question. It's a personal matter. Oh, really?

Oh, well, I bet it's fascinating.

A discredited former narcotics cop... Excuse me, Sergeant.

Mr. Hatter, do you happen to recall seeing that this statuette was cracked?

I don't remember seeing it that way yesterday.

I don't know. I don't really look at it all that often. Now, Teddy, did you

notice anything?

No. Maybe it fell.

This is exactly what I was talking about.

I'm not suggesting anything, Sergeant, except that forensics might just want to

take a look at it. Oh, please, Mrs. Fletcher. You think I don't know your

game? You were suggesting that it wasn't suicide, that the guy was murdered,

struck by that thing there, and then what? The killer threw his body out the

window so he could make it look like he took his own life, right? You know, that

is a very interesting possibility, Sergeant.

I mean, a fall from the fourth floor could certainly obscure the real cause

of death.

What is this, anyway?

Oh, it's the Rubin Award.

It's like the Oscar from the National Cartoonist Society.

Okay, let's pretend this is a murder investigation.

And in a minute, I'm going to ask you exactly why you are here.

But you first, Lieutenant.

And unless you want more trouble from I.A. than you've already got, I suggest

you keep the answers very straight.

I heard about Mr. Watanabe on the police radio, and, uh... No, Sergeant!

No way Ben could have done those counterfeit drawings.

He was strictly into lettering. And the style. Whoever did them wasn't very

good. I mean, Sergeant, when a killer intends to kill someone, doesn't he or

she usually bring their own weapon?

What are we suggesting now, Mrs. Fletcher?

Only that the statuette, if that is indeed what Mr. Watanabe was struck

with, was more a weapon of opportunity.

Which would mean, probably, that it was unpremeditated.

That's good, Mrs. Fletcher. But it also means that it could have been anyone, a

burglar or maybe a crazed fan.

Except there was no sign of forced entry.

On the other hand, none of this precludes a nice, simple solution.

Mr. Watanabe masterminded the whole blackmail scheme. He became disconsolate

about the fact that he dug himself into such a big hole, and he took his own

life.

You still hate those loose ends, don't you, Sergeant?

Or even better, maybe he was murdered by one of his blackmail victims.

Someone knowledgeable enough to make it look like it was unpremeditated.

Lieutenant. Oh, that's cute.

From ten to six, last night I was at headquarters.

At least a dozen cops will back me up.

If it is murder, you better believe I'm going to check with every single one of

them. In the meantime, none of you take any trips.

And that includes you too, Mrs. Fletcher.

Let's go.

Oh, Jessica, I can't tell you how rotten I feel getting you involved in all this.

Well, thank you. But the fact remains that whether Mr. Watanabe was murdered

or not, there's still a very malevolent blackmailer loose.

What we have to do is find a common denominator, some sort of thread that

will connect the victims.

So far, you've used up three of your five minutes, Mr. Whiting. So I suggest

you drop the tap dance and get on with it.

Absolutely, Mr. Melton.

The point is that I'm terribly sympathetic to the wrongs that you've

suffered at the hands of Stan Hatter. The man is arrogant.

He's patently dishonest. He's a disgrace to our profession.

And it's time... Mr. Whiting? Yes.

The fact is, Mr. Melton, that I have been financing a lengthy investigation

into Hatter and his activities.

This investigation is about to bear serious fruit, and...

May well benefit your case again. How much?

Ah.

$10,000.

But we should get results.

Cut a check for $10,000.

Two? Dayton Whiting.

With an H.

Dayton Whiting. Yes, Mr. Melton. Mr. Melton.

You won't be... Something to take to the bank along with my check, Mr. Whiting.

I'm accustomed to receiving results for my money.

Twenty-five.

Twenty-six.

Twenty-seven. Twenty-eight.

Twenty-nine.

Three thousand.

I honor my grievance.

Uh, wait.

Uh, you said something about an extra week in advance?

Jerry, I don't need it.

Or you.

Anymore.

Don't you have some parking tickets to write up? I want to talk.

Call the 900 number.

What is your problem, lady?

You know, there's only one thing worse than a crooked cop. Wait a minute.

That's a crooked cop who muscles in on my case. Who do you think you are,

Mother Teresa?

I seem to remember you getting in over your head on an officer-involved

shooting about a year ago. That was righteous.

Internal Affairs cleared me on that. Sure, sure. After you pushed papers for

about a month and the I.A. looked into everything, including the color of your

skivvy. So what?

Well, that's been happening to me for three years.

You're supposed to be innocent until proven guilty, but that does not apply

to cops.

Everyone in this building, including you, thinks I did it.

So what do you want?

Whoever drew that rat comic strip, they must be trying to make me take the fall.

I mean, the blackmail's got to be some kind of cover-up. I had no money.

Yeah, well, that's spoken like a true cop.

I figure if I can find out who drew the comic strip...

then I might be able to figure out who engineered the Three Musketeers drug

heist.

So you clear your name, you get your job back, and you live happily ever after.

Something like that, yeah.

Yeah, well, that's a fairy tale, Demartini.

Still, you could look after that Fletcher woman.

I mean, at least she talks to you.

Maybe she's allergic to your charm.

Okay, ground rules.

You tell me everything she does and everyone she sees.

You got it. And when the killer is busted, it's my collar.

Killer? I thought you said it was suicide.

This came down from the lab.

But I think that a semi-educated guest describes it more aptly, Lieutenant.

Well, at any rate, thank you for letting me know.

It was murder.

Your Rubin Award.

It was wiped almost clean, but they did find traces of Mr.

Watanabe's blood. But there were no fingerprints.

I still can't believe anybody would want to kill Ben.

Well, as I said, I'm not sure that the killer really wanted to. Find anything?

I'm afraid not so far.

They've been through every word the Globes got on Demartini and Melton and

not even a comma that cross-references.

Except they apparently have the same blackmailer.

With the same kind of sleazy secrets. I told you all.

That's it.

The same... the same kind of information, the same quality of it.

Operator 221.

Yes. Could you give me the number of the American Enquirer, please?

Hello, Scuzz.

Don't tell me you got a folder in there marked dead file, right?

No, don't mess with me, Bozell. I don't have a lot to lose.

I checked with a couple of your former editors at the supermarket tabloids, Mr.

Bozell. The material that you submitted was so libelous that even the worst of

them couldn't use it, or you.

Oh, yeah?

Well, they are all a bunch of spineless wimps. Every damn word of that was true.

Not quite every word, pal.

You simply filed it all away until you had an opportunity to use it for

blackmail. Wrong, lady.

Somebody stole them out of my files.

Oh, sure they did.

The thing that's heartwarming to me is that you finally made the big mistake.

No. I swear.

I never killed that lettering man.

You got the wrong guy, Demartini.

Look, why do you think that I'm about to split?

Because if you figured it out, then sooner or later, all those people who

are being blackmailed are going to come after me, too.

He's got a point there, Lieutenant.

He's lying, Mrs. Fletcher.

I was paying him to handle my publicity, that's all.

Well, not according to this, Mr. Whiting.

It's one of several that Jerry Bozell made during the last few weeks.

Duplicates of the tape that he sent you reporting on his surveillance of Stan

Hatter's activities.

I hired him three weeks ago.

To find something that you could use against Mr. Hatter. Some impropriety,

some sort of misbehavior.

Yes. Yes, to get back at him for the money he's making from my idea, my

intellectual property, and all the millions he stands to make. And I didn't

kill Ben Watanabe.

Oh, come on, Mr.

Whitey. You drew that fake comic strip.

Are you kidding?

I couldn't do that.

Cornball, Bigfoot stuff, if my life depended on it.

My style is... is realistic.

Yes, Mr. Whiting is what Mr. Hatter refers to as a wrinkle artist.

Some critic.

Look, as it happens, I spent all of last night with a lady.

And for the sake of my health and her marriage, I would be very grateful if

you would not bring her into this unless it's absolutely essential.

Well, then who drew the comic strips and who killed what it up?

I think I know, Lieutenant.

But I'm afraid that proving it isn't going to be that easy.

Except that it may have gotten just that much easier.

I didn't imagine it.

When we were at the cartoonist club, I brushed a plant away from my head and...

And it reminded me.

Now, this morning, it looked as if it was leaning away from the window.

Now, plants usually reach for the light.

Yeah, I know. It's called heliotropism.

I raise orchids.

So, somebody rotated it, so?

Rotating plants can be good for them, although I have a feeling this was done

for another reason. Give me a hand and we'll lift this up.

It's one of those artist's gloves.

What are Nabi's blood?

Probably.

And with a little bit of luck, laboratory analysis should give us the

identity of the killer.

Now, wait a minute, Mrs. Fletcher.

I questioned Watanabe's widow, and she said the same thing, that her husband

stuck to a very precise work routine.

Every night he would show up at a half-dozen cartoonist studios, but she

insisted that he kept the schedule in his head and that there was no written

copy of it that she knew of. Yes, that's right, Sasha. Yeah, but now you're

telling me that he didn't show up at Stan Hatter's studio at his regular

time. I mean, how the hell do you know that?

Well, it's something that was very easy to overlook, Sergeant. I almost didn't

think of it.

What, Mrs. Fletcher?

I telephoned all the cartoonists that he worked for.

It turned out that yesterday one of them had called Ben to report that he hadn't

finished writing the dialogue and his trips wouldn't be ready for Ben to let

her till today.

So what does this tell us?

Well, I think it tells us that the killer was familiar with Mr.

Watanabe's schedule and didn't expect him to show up at Stan's studio when he

did. So, when Watanabe got there and discovered that he wasn't alone, the

killer figured that there was no option but murder.

The blood stains on the glove are from the victim.

That's it.

What? No hair, no skin particles?

Nothing. Damn!

Yeah, my sentiments exactly, Lieutenant.

I had to break a date with my fiancé.

and waste two very expensive theater tickets with very little gain.

Perhaps it's not so little, Sergeant.

Um, may I use your phone?

I need to leave a message for Mr. Hatter.

Mr. Graves, you're under arrest for the murder of Ben Watanabe and for extortion

and blackmail.

Okay.

Yes, what Mr. Whiting told you, that part's the truth.

He did hire me.

And gave you scripts based on the material that he'd stolen from Jerry

Bozell's dead files.

I don't know where he got it from. I just drew the pictures.

You know, the subtle differences between your drawings and Stan's.

That was very clever, Teddy.

When Stan was sick.

I ghosted all the strips.

Nobody ever knew.

Until you told Dave Whiting, which gave him the idea. It was also very clever of

you to use the Cabot Cove Gazette with the blackmail notes.

How was I supposed to know you were out of the country?

Anyway, Mr. Whiting told me I could keep whatever blackmail money came in.

What a guy.

He's okay.

He paid me more than standard and treated me like I was somebody.

and expose you to a great deal of risk.

Risk?

Black male victims frequently kill their tormentors, particularly if the victims

are really guilty as charged.

I guess I never thought about that.

Don't look at me, kid.

One of these days, I'll get off the hook.

I never meant to kill Ben.

Honest.

I was working on the last batch of phony strips.

And wearing those white gloves to prevent leaving fingerprints on the

drawings? Yeah.

I'd been working about an hour and a half.

My eyes were tired, my back was starting to complain.

I needed to stretch.

I figured I had plenty of time before he was due to appear, so I took a break and

went to the kitchen for some coffee.

Then suddenly, I heard the front door being unlocked.

It was Ben.

He wasn't supposed to get there for another hour.

He saw the false strips and knew something was fishy.

Then I accidentally bumped something, and he turned.

Ben had a black belt in karate, and he looked like he was ready to kill.

So I grabbed the Rubin Award and swung at him.

Then I realized how much trouble I'd be in if they found Ben on the floor of

Stan's studio.

So I decided to fake his suicide.

There was a commotion in the street.

If the police stopped me and asked me questions, I didn't want the glove bound

on me.

So I hid it then and there.

Why, Teddy?

Stan had it told me that you're brilliantly talented.

that you were on your way to a superstar career in the comic strip business.

Maybe in 10, 15 years.

Eight months working as Stan's gopher and I had it up to my skull.

And that music you'd play day after day.

Mrs. Fletcher, that phone message you left for Stan about how the police knew

it was murder and they were coming in to really go over the studio tomorrow

morning. It was really a message for you, Teddy.

I was counting on you calling in to Stan's machine.

Because the only way that we could prove that you were the killer was if you

incriminated yourself.

That's pretty good, Mrs. Fletcher.

That's pretty good.

Mrs. Fletcher, I gotta tell you, I don't take it all back.

Just most of it.

Jessica, are you sure that I can't see you home?

Thanks, Dan, but I'd really feel guilty if I contributed to you missing your

deadline. Thanks a lot, Jessica.

Well, Jessica, I guess what it comes down to is see you in the funny papers.