Original subtitles

She left my apartment in a state close to hysteria. I'm here to be part of her

life again.

She loathes you.

Am I supposed to know you? No.

But I'd like to buy you a drink.

Is that ever gonna do a number on her head?

The window was open.

Now, if it were closed, the bullet would have shattered it. That's reverse logic.

Or intuition.

I needed you so much.

I don't expect you to forgive me, honey.

I want to make you a woman.

In the murderer's view of things, it didn't have to make musical sense.

You should be asleep by now. You record tomorrow at 9.

It's him, isn't it?

Your imagination, Leslie.

Go to bed.

All right, here's what it'll be.

Artichokes, vinaigrette to start, osso bucco, with zucchini stuffed with

mushrooms. Mrs. Fletcher, cease and desist!

You're making me hungry.

Have you found out what's wrong, Richie?

I think so, yeah.

You know, this man out here, whoever he is, he plays beautifully.

The trap was plugged. That's all it was.

Oh, that's great.

Thank you, Richie. I've got six people coming for dinner this weekend.

It's my pleasure, Mrs. Fletcher.

You know about that guy down there?

Would you believe that Maestro Tchaikovsky in the penthouse put in a

complaint to the police?

Oh, I wonder why.

I understood that Mr.

Tchaikovsky was moving out at the end of the week. Don't ask.

You know, between you and me, he is one tenant I will not miss.

He's a constant complainer. This ain't right. That ain't right. Oh, so I've

heard.

You know, Leslie promised us a benefit recital for the museum, but it's going

to come down to whether or not he's in the mood to give it his blessing.

You know that, Leslie, that's someone I will miss.

But it's weird, isn't it? How any father would let somebody like Mr.

Tarkovsky be a guardian.

Yes. I've wondered about that, too.

Well, listen, in a week, she'll be 18 and out on her own. And then, boom,

watch out.

See you, Mrs. Fletcher.

Thanks, Richie.

It'll probably be a little while. Can I get you some more coffee?

Oh, no.

Thank you, Vanessa.

I'll wait here.

Let go, girl. What were you doing with the pedal?

The fortissimo?

It was just as you wrote it, Byron. An elephant could have played it better.

Byron, ease up. She played it just like she did on the other tracks, only it was

better, if you ask me. Well, I did not ask you.

The whole suite will have to be re-recorded when Miss Walden is

sufficiently practiced.

You call yourself a manager, Owen? I can't understand how you allow these

people to go ahead with rubbish like this. You okayed the sketches, Byron.

Damn the sketches.

We're selling the top artists of a generation.

None of this says anything about that.

There is no excitement.

God knows how many thousands for Aldous Reynolds.

The top portrait photographer in New York.

Two million guaranteed for the cosmetics endorsement. Big advance against the

tour. To say nothing of the bucks I put on the table to make Leslie exclusive to

Paradigm Records. And he still won't let the pros do their things.

Quite a perfectionist. No, just one of your ultimate control freaks.

You seem to be something of a one-man band yourself.

I mean, isn't it rare for the head of a label to be the producer and the

engineer of his company's recordings?

Four years at MIT studying sound wave theory, but I dug music more.

If it means overtime to get everything just right for Leslie, so be it.

Life is too short.

A week ago, I was up at the penthouse fixing that mega sound system of his.

Some kid wanted to buy Leslie a cup of coffee. You should have seen the way

Tchaikovsky came down on this poor guy.

Just give me some time, Hiram.

We'll make it better.

Time is what I don't have, and neither do you!

Mr. Tchaikovsky?

Sorry to keep you waiting, Mrs. Fletcher. I understand Leslie made a

commitment to you without consulting me.

Unfortunately, our tour preparations allow for a very tight schedule.

Oh, I understand, and I'm certainly prepared to work around your schedule.

All I really need now is to know what Leslie's going to be playing at the

museum benefit.

I don't think you understand.

It would only be an afternoon, Byron.

I'm really sorry to be so persistent, but I have a deadline with the printer

who's doing the programs, and I would appreciate hearing something by Friday.

Leslie?

Hello, Angel.

If that's all, Byron, then Jessica and I can share a cab back to the apartment.

All right.

I tried to follow what career you had, Walden.

It seemed to vanish somewhere between the drugs and the booze.

I noticed that lately it's come down to one-nighters on sidewalks.

Well, there's no cover charge on the street.

People appreciate that.

And bar gigs are not exactly the best incentive to stop drinking.

You tell me you've reformed? Yeah.

You're not the same musical fraud you were 10 years ago. Oh, come on, Byron.

Ease off.

I came to make peace.

And your timing is purely accidental.

Face it, you're looking for a free ride on Leslie's career.

No, I'm not.

In case you misread her just now, let me assure you of something. She loathes

you.

Whatever demons were driving you, whatever excuses you had, the loss of

your wife, the booze, all Leslie remembers is that you walked out of her

life.

I still can't understand how you could have done that, but remember something.

Both you and her begged me to help her realize her talent, and I fulfilled my

side of the bargain. Right, and I'm here to be part of her life again, one way or

another. Anything that I can do to help her, maybe that way that I can make up

for the missing years. Now, if you can't handle me... Just get out.

Stay away from her. You'll destroy her.

Hello, Jessica. Well, hello, Solly. Do you two know each other? This is Solly

Prince, Leslie Walden.

Solly's my new neighbor.

Well, Leslie and I aren't exactly strangers. We shared the same elevator

several times.

Solly's helping me with the piano for a book I'm prepping.

Well, it's good to meet you.

Well, seeing as we're neighbors, maybe you'd like to come to dinner sometime.

Maybe. Good. I'll take that maybe as a yes.

Bye, Jessica.

Bye.

She's kind of shy.

I think she likes you.

So our lesson's still on? Oh, definitely.

Nine o'clock tomorrow.

Thanks.

The caterers called to say they'd be here at seven o'clock sharp.

Which usually means 7.30. I'm relying on you to supervise them, Bart. Yes, Mr.

Tchaikovsky.

Oh, Leslie.

Share a toast with me.

With all the hard work, you haven't the faintest idea of the incredible rewards

that await in Europe.

To Leslie Walden, the brightest light since Van Cliburn.

There's something that I've been trying to find the right moment to express to

you, Leslie.

Up to now, I've been your teacher. I tried to take your father's place.

And you have. You've been everything to me. A marvelous teacher, a wonderful

father. Yeah, but I can no longer just play these roles, Leslie.

You're not a child anymore.

You're... I think I should get dressed now. I think it's time. Please, hear me

out. It's just that... Just what? Or whom?

Those mindless boys I keep protecting you from? Your father? My father can go

to blazes, all right.

I think it's high time you allow the girl to breathe.

Kindly mind your own business, Vanessa.

I have.

For five years.

I've been waiting for the princess to take some young man, turn him into a

toad or whatever the fairy tale is.

And now I find, to my utter humiliation, you're the

toad.

I'll take that as a compliment.

You're not really serious about her, are you?

Let me talk to Albertson.

You have your apartment, a generous allowance.

If that's not enough...

Hi.

Yeah, it's Leslie.

I'm glad I caught you.

I just needed to talk to somebody.

Of course you did.

Of course.

Yes, believe me, I understand.

Now listen, you gift of the gods.

You just hang in there another week and you'll be out of there.

You'll be your own person.

Yeah, my own person, but who's that?

I don't even know, Owen.

Please find out what's keeping Leslie.

I have to speak to the caterers.

I read one of your books, Mrs. Fletcher, and if you'll suffer a poor music critic

of bold opinion, one finds the woman behind the pen so much more intriguing

than her written word.

Have you seen Leslie around, Mr. Trophy?

No, I haven't, Mrs. Fletcher.

I know this morning was disappointing, but there'll be a bunch of new layouts

for you tomorrow.

Since you're bringing it up, I fired them all.

What?

You could have given me the courtesy of... Courtesy is not exactly my forte.

You forced me to reevaluate our relationship to Owen.

Then it's over.

Mrs. Lasker, while you're here, let me try to find that concert program for

you.

One wonders if the primal female in you is not waiting some desperate struggle

to break the bonds of paper and ink.

I detected a counterpoint of passion, an echo of the romantic, spronzed

Rachmaninoff, consciously prohibiting their physical communion.

And... Would you excuse me, please?

So, he let you out of your cage.

The usual, Izzy, please.

And what would you like?

Orange juice, thank you.

So, I found out if you want the scoop on anybody in the building, ask Richie, the

doorman.

Hey, he said you're gonna turn 18 next week.

Man, that's a biggie.

Me, I fired everybody.

My mother.

Father, this flaky manager who wanted to put me on the stairway to stardom.

You know, I always had this place inside me that had to be mine alone.

I had to clear everybody else out of there to let it grow on its own.

Careful, it's hot.

Thanks.

Live a little.

Okay.

Mmm.

These are pretty good.

I'm a big fan of your dad's, by the way.

Hank Walden, right?

If you know anything about jazz, he's like this underground icon.

The top guys collect his stuff when they can find it.

So, um, let's talk about you.

People were saying, Solly, you gotta hear this girl.

So I went to your Carnegie debut two years ago.

You played the emperor. After that, I kind of kept track of you.

An anonymous admirer.

You're not anonymous, Holly.

Studio musicians are anonymous, believe me. We don't need to have faces.

That's not true.

I have your CD, you know.

Wallflowers.

How'd you get it past him?

I snuck it in.

There's hope yet?

The party was yours and yours alone.

You insulted my guests, your friends and supporters.

They were here only for you.

But you chose to act like a child.

Listen to me.

We're a little girl again, huh?

You remember what we did the first time you came to me as a little girl?

Begging me to take over your training?

We'll do it now, again, just as we did then. No, please, I don't want to do

that. Renew your commitment, Leslie.

Look into my eyes.

Do it.

Ten years ago, your father abandoned you, and there was no one left in your

world but Byron Tarkovsky and a dream of yours.

To be a great concert pianist. True?

You asked me to take your hands and make them mine.

I have done that, and today you have your dream.

I have given you my life and ask nothing in return.

Until now.

Now I want to make you a woman

Munich

is on our schedule It's a beautiful romantic city.

I have made arrangements for us to be married there during the Oktoberfest

Henry Walden?

Yeah. I'm Vanessa Cross.

Congratulations.

Am I supposed to know you, Vanessa?

No.

But I'd like to buy you a drink.

Oh, yeah?

Well, the last woman who bought me a drink, I married.

She died. It damn near cost me my sanity, so... No, thanks.

You lost a lot more than your wife, Mr. Walden.

Well, I'm talking about someone we both have a great deal of affection for.

Who's that?

Your daughter, Leslie.

What about her?

Byron Tchaikovsky thinks that he's in love with her.

He intends to marry her.

And he's got her so mixed up that it might happen.

Why do I get the feeling that you have some kind of agenda here?

Byron and I have been together for about five years, and Leslie was just a child

then.

Quite obviously, she's a woman now.

But if Byron's ring goes on anybody's finger, I want it to be mine.

Thanks for coming.

I want you to understand something.

What I was into before, that's over.

When your mother died the way she did, I loved her so much, Leslie, more

than you could have known or understood at the time. I was angry, afraid. I was

full of self-pity.

You were full of drugs.

You were full of alcohol.

They weren't a whole lot better than shooting myself in the head.

And I thought of that, too.

I want to tell you, I'm sorry.

I don't want anything from you.

And to deal with the resentments and the pain I know I've caused.

God, I wish I could believe that.

Then I could almost forgive you.

But the truth is, I don't even know why we're sitting here talking.

Ten years is such a long time. Byron's right.

You're ten years too late.

Just give me a chance, Leslie.

You're not on my schedule anymore, Dad.

I have my music, and I have Byron.

We couldn't help but grow very fond of each other in that time.

I thought you might have heard.

We're gonna marry in the fall.

Leslie.

Leslie, no. Listen to me. I know what Byron has done for you, but you don't

owe him a thing.

Your only obligation is to yourself, honey, and to your talent. There's

nothing he can do for you anymore.

From now on, he'll just be taking and taking. Believe me, I know him. M.U.!

Just go away, okay? Just go away. As far as I'm concerned, my father does not

exist anymore.

No, he does not exist.

Hey, you've been practicing.

Don't con me, Solly. That's what piano teachers say to restore hope in students

they know are hopeless.

The better news is you've helped me to find a musical oddity that I can use in

my book.

It's got to do with the difference between C sharp and D flat.

They're the same note. Exactly.

There's something very suspicious about that.

I'm sorry.

That's all right, Leslie.

We just finished.

Please, come in.

I didn't want to go upstairs, so I thought that maybe I could... Remember

what I said, 4-H, just down the hall. I still owe you that dinner.

Please, come and have a seat.

He's nice, but he just doesn't understand.

I'm not sure that I understand either, Leslie.

I'm so sorry about the museum program.

I know Byron's been...

really difficult about it look dear if it doesn't happen it's not the end of

the world but that's not what's on your mind surely i don't know

now all of a sudden my father wants his daughter back

can you imagine that

This mysterious piece of information you got from the owner better be worth the

hour it took to get across town.

Key question, Steve.

What would it do to your record company if Tchaikovsky reneged on your exclusive

deal with Leslie?

In a word, disaster.

What the hell is this about? You hocked your socks to put up the million in

guarantees, right?

If you recall, the deal was never signed.

Go on.

Bodie Records came in last month with a contract for twice what you put up.

He can't do that. We got a letter of agreement. Yeah, but trust me, short of

Tchaikovsky getting hit by a truck, it's a done deal.

He tried to keep a lid on it, but Bodie's attorney is a friend of mine.

I can't believe it. The creep's doing me just like he did you. Yeah, but there's

a window, buddy.

Bodie stipulated that Leslie signed in her own right.

Meaning it's her decision.

We have a good relationship, she and I. She likes, trust me.

I can get to her. It's a cinch I'll be back as her manager.

But you, Steve, you know, working alone.

You got no position.

What's it going to cost me, Owen?

Nothing you can't afford with Leslie on the label.

Think about it.

You still got time?

Yeah, all the two weeks.

Wrong.

You got till noon tomorrow.

I'll be in touch.

The airline tickets still haven't arrived from Air Florida. Oh, come in,

Mrs. Fletcher.

Byron will be off the phone in a minute.

Uh... This was left in the lobby for Mr.

Tarkovsky.

Oh, could you see that he gets it?

I'd stop and chat, but I'm running late for the Klosky concert.

Of course.

Is Leslie around?

No, we don't know where Leslie is. She hasn't been in since this morning.

Oh, that's very strange.

Oh, I'm sorry. I've got to run.

Please let me know as soon as possible.

Fine. I'll speak to you tomorrow about this, okay? Thank you.

Join me over here, Mrs. Fletcher.

Richie asked me to bring this up for you.

Another impoverished composer, I wager, begging to have a work performed.

And too shy even to put his or her name on it.

Mr. Tchaikovsky, I really would like to talk about the... Oh, yes, this museum

thing. Mrs. Fletcher?

Byron, I'm off. And don't forget, it's box night out, so there's a sandwich in

the pantry.

Mrs. Fletcher?

The museum thing you were saying? Well, I won't waste my time or yours. The

benefit is out of the question, Mrs. Fletcher.

Yes, well, I can't say that I wasn't prepared.

But since I'm here, can we talk about Leslie?

I'm very concerned about her.

She's very confused and she's upset.

I think part of it is the pressure that she feels from... Mrs. Fletcher, Leslie

is my business, my responsibility.

She and I hardly need faint-hearted busybodies creating imaginary psychosis.

Mr. Tarkovsky, two hours ago, she left my apartment in a state close to

hysteria. Now, one doesn't have to be a psychiatrist to see that she's a

severely conflicted young woman.

I mean, the return of her father... The reality, Mr. Fletcher, is that you don't

have the faintest clue at all about Leslie's state of mind.

Now, if you'll be good enough to let yourself out.

Mr. McCarthy.

Please, Mrs. Fletcher.

The line of fire indicates a single round fired from a rooftop across the

street, entering through an open window, and hitting the decedent in the back,

causing massive trauma in the exit passage in the area of the sternum, and

stopping in the piano.

All right, it's a soft point bullet.

308. It's mushroom.

There'll be no help to us at all.

OK, forgive the interruption, Jessica. Was that it, then?

Well, those were my last minutes with him.

Uh, the doorman, uh, Richard, uh, Kempinski, uh, he says an envelope

arrived late yesterday from an unknown party. It had no label or return

address. It's odd, don't you think? Yeah, well, it contained these music

sheets here. Mr.

Tokofsky seemed accustomed, even flattered, to receive unsolicited

compositions. Mm-hmm.

Come on, come on. Let's get the boys to moving, all right?

We have to clear this crime scene by note.

Yes, Lieutenant.

Jessica.

Vanessa Cross told me that Walden told her that when he bugged out about ten

years ago, he left a bunch of his own compositions with his door, and he

claimed Tchaikovsky appropriated them.

I'm afraid I can't help you.

There is one other thing, though.

You know, Walden's daughter Leslie disappeared yesterday.

She was a very disturbed young woman, and I'm really worried for her.

Vanessa.

I am so sorry.

I wasn't here for him.

He died alone.

Who could have done such a thing?

If there's any consolation, Lieutenant DeMartini is one of the city's best

homicide investigators.

I'm afraid to think how this is going to affect Leslie.

Byron was her whole life.

Tour promoters are saying that Leslie has a pick of Blyberg, Shantz, or

Korolowski. Three of the hottest conductors going.

I talked to the agency people this morning. The endorsement package is

still in place. Leslie's face is going to be in every woman's magazine in the

country. Have you talked to Leslie yet?

Not yet.

No one can find her, right?

So this is all blue sky until you can sit down and remake your deal with her.

Listen, trust me. It'll happen.

There's time we made our arrangement.

You got a problem?

Yeah, I got a problem. 15% is a problem. For you to advise her to go with

Paradigm instead of Bodhi? No more than standard management commission, Steve.

Oh, come on, man. Call it like it is. It's a kickback.

I'm beginning to think I should just talk to her myself.

Be my guest, Steve.

She'll ask my advice, of course, and we'll have to be honest with her and

tell her that I think the Bodhi deal is a hell of a lot better.

Yesterday, you were out of a job. Today, you're running things.

The only difference is that Tukoski's conveniently dead.

That's supposed to mean something.

You tell me.

I'll have the papers drawn up and faxed to you tomorrow.

Sign them or don't sign them.

It's up to you.

penthouse murder of conductor-composer Byron Tukovsky and his stranger-than

-fiction-svingali relationship with the piano prodigy Leslie Walden. The latest

break came earlier today, here, outside this midtown precinct, where homicide

detective Peter DiMartini faced our cameras.

All right, I have a statement here.

A suspect in the murder of Byron Tukovsky has been detained.

His name is Hank Walden, Leslie Walden's father.

And we believe the perpetrator shot the deceased from a rooftop across from the

penthouse. And we have reason to believe that Mr. Walden was on the rooftop.

That there's a history of animosity between him and the victim.

Jessica, Leslie's gone. Yes, I know, Solly. And everybody is very concerned.

Please come in.

She was with me most of the afternoon.

Wait a minute. She was with you?

See, I found her at my door around 2 o'clock.

She just curled up on my couch, into herself.

You know, I'm not saying anything.

Later, I figured she needed something to eat, so I don't keep that much in my

fridge. I went out for some take-home. I came back just now, and she was gone.

Well, you have reason to worry.

Look, does she know that her father has been arrested for the murder of Mr.

Tarkovsky? Because it was on the news just now.

She never said, and I don't want to bring it up.

But the TV was on.

When I came back from the store.

Well, I think you should get back to your apartment right away, just in case

she returns. And I'll let you know if I hear anything.

If you see her, she needs to hear from somebody she trusts.

I know.

I think she trusts you, Solly.

Byron said I could never play without him.

But you can.

And beautifully.

After I left you yesterday, I... I just couldn't face Byron. I couldn't deal

with him.

He'd begun to want something else from me.

And I was so naive not to see what was happening.

Not to see how our relationship was changing.

Will you tell me where you went?

I don't remember much.

I was so out of it.

I took the subway to the end of the line, and by the time I got back, it was

dark.

I didn't want to go home, so I just walked.

And I walked.

Anybody else would have gotten mugged, or worse, but I guess it was because I

didn't care, right?

Solly was very worried about you, along with everyone else.

Well, everyone else can go to hell.

Vanessa used me.

Owen can butt out.

And I'm not playing Byron Sweet either.

He didn't write it.

I understand it was your father's.

You heard.

Yes, I heard.

I just can't believe that he killed Byron.

He was never that upset about anything.

Not enough to kill someone.

What if I could arrange for you to talk to your father tomorrow?

They did find my fingerprints, and that's because I was up there on the

roof.

But I wasn't up there to kill anybody, believe me.

But why?

It's gonna sound stupid, but I... It just, at the time, seemed like the only

way that I could be part of what was going on in your life.

To be able to see you.

Before Mom died, when we were all together, I wasn't afraid of anything.

Then one day I remember seeing you sitting there crying and

it frightened me and I didn't know why.

That night I had a nightmare and I called for mom to come to me

and you didn't.

God, I needed you so much.

I don't expect you to forgive me, honey.

Just, uh... These last couple of days, I...

I've just been trying to understand.

You know?

Just trying to put myself in your place, that's all.

A Barnes takedown rifle was found hidden in a duct on the roof.

A matching cartridge casing was nearby, but no prints.

A takedown rifle?

So whoever brought it up to the roof could have broken it down into smaller

pieces and then concealed it in something else? Like a clarinet case.

Uh, somebody got past that late desk, man. The super says that he sleeps a

lot, so, you know, who's to know?

Somebody, meaning that you're not convinced that it was Hank Walden.

Neither is Leslie.

Well, Jessica, intuition is fine, but this fellow doesn't exactly get A's for

stability. He loses his wife and he goes bonkers. He gives up his eight-year-old

daughter to the cops, and he resigns from the human race.

Yes, but, Peter, that was ten years ago.

Okay, okay.

But does it make sense that he left fingerprints on the roof and not on the

gun? I mean, there's something so pat about that. Is it planted to make you

think it was fired from the roof?

Well, you talk to forensics. The line of fire says that the bullet was from

there. The window was open. Now, if it were closed, the bullet would have

shattered it, and I'd have to agree with you.

That's reverse logic.

Or intuition.

Then there's the music manuscript delivered before the murder.

Walden denies it, but I bet he said that.

There's no fingerprints on the envelope. There's no fingerprints on the sheet

music. And it stuck on Tchaikovsky over to the piano, so it gave Walden a clear

shot right through the window. I know authorship. Just a blatant appeal to

Tchaikovsky's vanity.

Everything okay, Leslie?

Yes, thank you.

We'll be with you in a moment.

Lieutenant, would it be possible for me to get a photocopy of that music?

Yeah, sure, okay.

At the time, they were.

I mean, no name, no return address, and no fingerprints.

Sounds fishy to me.

Let's play it then.

That chord is definitely wrong, Solly. That's the way it's written.

But why would a presumably aspiring musician send a flawed manuscript to

Byron Tchaikovsky?

Unless... Play it again, Solly.

In the murderer's view of things, it didn't have to make musical sense.

Solly, what happened to that dinner that Leslie missed earlier tonight?

Frozen fettuccine Alfredo a la Solly Prince?

How about it?

It was the same caliber, Jessica. We both know that.

With the bullet mushroomed. So, no, we couldn't match it up with the rifle.

Well, then I believe that the shot could have been fired from within the

penthouse. Jessica, with all due respect to your reputation, I'm about to take

the bus home on this one.

You yourself said that there was nobody with Tchaikovsky when you left the

penthouse. Granted, but I think I know how it may have been done and who the

killers are.

Wait a minute.

Wait. Killers?

C-sharp and D-flat.

Two killers with the same purpose.

Peter, I think I have a way to prove it, but I'm going to need your help.

Mr. Fletcher?

Oh, I'm sorry if I surprised you, Vanessa.

May I ask what you're doing here?

I just laid my glasses.

What about you?

I left my belongings.

Oh.

A wild guess.

They're in the credenza.

Oh.

Somewhere in there, as it happens.

Oh, not just somewhere.

In the secretary.

And I suspect they'll provide proof that Mr. Tarkovsky's murder was planned

within the last month and that Hank Walden was merely a handy scapegoat.

You're speaking in riddles, Mrs. Fletcher.

It was that window that was the riddle, Vanessa.

When I came here last night, it was closed.

And yet, as I was leaving the penthouse, it was open.

It was only later that I remembered.

And I wondered when and how that happened.

And then I realized that when Mr. Tchaikovsky was seated at the desk, the

window was obscured from view.

Leslie and Bach were gone. You were the only other person in the house, the only

person who could have opened it.

Are you saying that I climbed up on that roof out there?

Oh, no.

But you contrived to make the police think that's where the shot was fired

from. And to do that, the window had to be open.

Are you accusing me of shooting Byron here?

My hunch is that nobody actually pulled the trigger.

Tchaikovsky was driven to play a piece of music designed to make him a victim

of his own vanity and curiosity.

You must know this piece, Vanessa.

Now, there's a chord here that is wrong.

Now, I'm not much of a pianist, but...

You see, this afternoon a TV commercial reminded me that a specific sound can

activate microelectric responses, as with a voice-activated VCR or computer,

which in turn could cause the secretary to open and the gun inside to fire,

killing Byron Tarkovsky.

Do you actually think that I have the expertise to do something like that?

No, I don't.

But I think you had a very able accomplice.

whose fingerprints on the inner workings of that secretary will almost certainly

indict him.

All the money, Mrs. Fletcher.

You caught Mr. Hoyt coming in the lobby. He was carrying a very interesting

little bag of tricks.

Oh, those tools were an urgent necessity, Lieutenant.

Steve and Miss Cross were undoubtedly here tonight to dismantle the murder

device.

I'd appreciate your accompanying this officer to the precinct, Miss Cross.

Steve. Surely you realized it could just as easily have been Leslie sitting here.

Not just as easily, Jessica.

It was Tchaikovsky's ego that killed him.

Well, you were right, Jessica.

Both had motive enough.

Tchaikovsky's will was drawn up three years ago.

That must have been during happier days because he left Miss Cross a substantial

annuity in the event that he pre-deceased her.

But I gotta ask you something.

How'd you know about Steve Hoyt? Well, with the Bodie Records deal virtually

done a month ago, his company was out on a limb.

He told me he spent some time here last week updating the sound equipment.

Time enough to rig up that gizmo.

Well, thanks for the call.

Tell me, do you have any extra tickets to Miss Walden's museum recital? Oh, I

might arrange that. One or two.

Well, that depends on you, Jessica.

Well, make it two then.

Richie tells me that you're off tomorrow on your world tour.

Now, where is your first stop?

Well, a week in London, then Paris, and then in September I'll be in Hamburg.

Oh, I envy you.

So you know, I wangled a gig on a cruise ship that docks there right about that

time. Well, maybe I'll see you there.

You're short of clarinet, Hank.

Okay, but I don't do sidewalks anymore.