All language subtitles for Murder, She Wrote S03E07 Deadline for Murder.DVDRip.NonHI.en

- Now look here, you burned out
has-been— - Burned out has-been?

Tonight on Murder, She Wrote.

- What was it, an accident or what?
- I always thought somebody
would murder him.

It, uh, could have been murder.

French fries are not a part
of your diet. Don't you dare.

No, but you'd rather poison me with
chipped beef and tapioca pudding.

I read that article the
Sentinel printed about you.

The cops better get ahold of this
guy before I get my hands on him.

The search for the real Lamar
Bennett and who killed him.

That's our hook. Our hook?

I don't care that she's
a dipso with 33 cats...

and hasn't bathed
in four months.

What I wanna read about is she's
a sweet old widowed grandmother...

whose greedy
landlord kicked her out.

Billy, I can't believe that
you would pull this on me.

Now if I knew that you
were gonna trash my copy...

Now you can't tell me that
you-you-you wrote this tripe?

No, I rewrote your piece.

This is a morning
paper, Mr. Drake.

And I feel a certain
responsibility...

to avoid sending our
readers back to sleep.

That happened to be a
superbly handled interview, pally,

until your people turned it into
supermarket-checkout garbage.

- I'm sorry about this, Mr. Bennett.
- Bennett? Bennett?

You're the guy who gobbled
up a dozen honest newspapers...

- and turned 'em into wastebasket filler.
- Good-bye, Mr. Drake.

Well, I'm not leavin', Bennett.

Not until you guarantee me an
apology to the lady and in print.

Now look here, you
burned out has-been.

The only reason you
got paid for that drivel...

was because Billy here talked
me into throwing you a bone.

Burned out has-been— Been...

Sally, get me an
ambulance. Quick.

- Is he still breathing?
- Yeah, barely.

Get a photographer in
here. I want some pictures.

A coronary as massive as
this at his age is bad enough,

but he seems to have
lost the will to live.

It's unbelievable. Three weeks ago, he
was as feisty and cantankerous as ever.

Keep it brief, Mrs.
Fletcher, and calm.

Any excitement could bring
on another attack. Yeah.

Hello, Haskell.

Hey. Huh.

What do you say there, kiddo?

What are you doing here? You
shouldn't be seein' me like this.

You always look good to me. Oh.

The doctor tells me
you're doing very nicely.

Oh, oh, oh. Dr. Doom?

He already has me ticketed
on a one-way to Slumberland.

No way. Another week and
you'll be out chasing another story.

Not me, kiddo.

I couldn't afford to
recover even if I wanted to.

Now look. We've known
each other too long...

and over too many years to
beat around the bush. Mmm.

Now I'm gonna take care of this bill,
and as soon as you're feeling better,

we're gonna move you
into a private room. Oh.

No, no, Jessica.
I'm—I'm no charity case.

Of course not. You can pay me
back out of your next assignment.

Now, what can I bring you?

Bring me Lamar
Bennett's head on a platter.

You know, he-he butchered
that interview that I had with you.

He called me a bum.
Haskell, hold on now.

You know, the last thing I
remember before I passed out,

he was askin' the photographer
to take some better shots.

Oh, good Lord. Yeah.

And that's not
all, that's not all.

Look, look what
he did to you. Look.

Look what he did. Hmm.

That is ridiculous! This-This
was the Fourth of July party,

and I tripped over Howard
Bigelow's basket and spilled my cider.

Haskell, Haskell, I want
you to just rest, all right?

I've got an errand to
run. And I'll be back.

A story about a 14-year-old...

whose grandparents
couldn't take care of her?

Who cares about
that? Miss Garrett...

Do you mean to tell me that that

institution doesn't
have any small children,

kids who've been beaten or
abused? Of course they do.

But that's another story,
not the one I want to write.

L.B., I want Kay's story to run
as is. I'm sure you do, Walter,

but happily for the Sentinel,
your position as editor emeritus...

no longer entitles you
to make those decisions.

Now, on the other hand,
if you feel strongly about it,

I would be delighted to
finally accept your resignation.

- Now, wait a minute.
- And your son's.

Well, there's no way
we'll give you that

satisfaction, Mr. Bennett,
not in a hundred years.

Uh, do I hear 150? Say, 200?

Please. You can't go in there.

- I'm sorry, Mr. Bennett.
- That's quite all right, Edith.

Mrs. Fletcher, I believe. Now
this is a very rare privilege.

Forgive the intrusion, Mr. Bennett.
This won't take much of your time.

- You're here about the story.
- On the contrary, I'm...

My dear lady, we have developed
a certain style here at the Sentinel.

One that depends less on
facts than a certain point of view.

Mr. Bennett, I'm here
about Haskell Drake.

I would prefer to
talk with you privately.

Oh, I'm sorry. I
have to leave now.

I'll be out of town tomorrow.

Edith, would you try to book
us a few minutes next week?

Clyde, it's time
for my medication.

Mr. Bennett, Haskell may
not be alive next week.

Stan, that basketball story
of yours just lays there.

The, uh, water, please.

The drug angle is
just tired. It's tired.

Now you find me
something with real heat.

L.B., we've gotta talk about
this dental malpractice case.

- Later.
- Mr. Bennett,

this will only take
a few minutes.

Uh, Clyde.

Mrs. Fletcher, we're having a
little celebration this evening.

Please, uh, come and join us. We
can talk then. Very nice meeting you.

Mrs. Fletcher, I'm Kay
Garrett. How is Mr. Drake?

- Not at all well, I'm afraid.
- I'm sorry.

What you just saw in
there? Typical Lamar Bennett.

Ah, give it up, Kay, will you?

Mrs. Fletcher,
Perry Revere. Hello.

Look, babe, this situation
can't go on forever.

Just into our sunset years.

Perry, let's face it. I don't have
your infinite capacity for pain.

I'll see you at the banquet.

I've gotta try and talk
my dad out of going, so he

doesn't end up in the
bed next to Haskell Drake.

It was nice meeting
you, Mrs. Fletcher.

He's right. Nobody
wins with Bennett.

But I keep hoping.

The truth is, if I hadn't
stepped in when I did...

half the people in this room
here would be on unemployment.

His game plan isn't pretty, but the guy
knows how to put points on the scoreboard.

Yes, and like so many others...

you continue to play for him, right?
Sports writing's all I know, Mrs. Fletcher.

Besides, integrity doesn't
buy a whole lotta pastrami.

Good evening. Good evening.

Hello, Kay. Excuse me.

Come on now. What is
with these long faces?

This is the first decent
financial statement...

this old rag has had
since Granddad ran it.

Oh, yeah, Sis, and the old guy's
probably whirling in his grave.

You wanna give
me a break, Perry.

You know, last year the dealer
was ready to take your Ferrari away.

Now you’ve got more money
than you know how to spend.

- The same goes for you, Daddy.
- Take it easy, Ellie.

Dad's had a hell of a year
trying to keep Bennett in check.

An effort which has, I'm
afraid, been largely wasted.

- Daddy, don’t you think you oughta
lay off that stuff just a little.
- Well, I'm sorry, darling.

We're supposed to be showing
our bright happy faces here.

Sober, I'm not
sure I can manage.

Well, Kay, how delightful.
You've brought Mrs. Fletcher.

Walter Revere, former owner
and publisher of the Sentinel.

Eleanor Revere, his daughter.

How do you do?
Very well, thank you.

Mrs. Fletcher,

I want you to know how appalled I
was at what happened to Haskell Drake.

As I am, Mr. Revere.

Unfortunately, my views no longer
hold much weight at the newspaper.

These days I hardly rate
a visit from the coffee cart.

If you’re searching
for the great man,

- I believe I saw him
holding court that way.
- Thank you. Excuse me.

You're not suggesting
that I be held

responsible for Haskell
Drake's medical bills.

No, of course not. I'm concerned
about his mental well-being.

Haskell is an outstanding
newspaperman,

who'd be an asset
in any organization.

Mrs. Fletcher, I am a publisher.

I am not a good Samaritan
for losers or has-beens.

A has-been?

No, Lamar, he's a legend.

And frankly you're not fit to
sharpen the man's pencils.

My, my, my. Aren't we letting
it all hang out this evening?

May I remind you, Walter, that
long before I appeared on the scene,

your pathetic opinions mercifully
ceased to matter to your readers,

your staff or anyone else.

Oh, Mr. Bennett, I'm so sorry.

Daddy, I— Here, let me.

I'm so sorry. I'm sure
that Daddy— Everyone!

Everyone,

may I have your attention
for a moment, please?

I want to make a
little announcement.

As a matter of fact, a toast.

A toast to the departure...

of our dear, distinguished
editor emeritus...

Walter Revere.

And with him, go
the last vestiges,

happily, of the old,
moribund Boston Sentinel...

and his brand of
archaic journalism,

where so-called
"tradition" is a synonym for—

Don't listen—

Mr. Bennett.

Yeah, get me Billy
Simms and hurry.

I wanna know how many fire
companies, how much damage and injuries,

names, gory details,
the whole shot.

Billy, phone. Joe, get a couple more
photographers down there. Quick.

It's Miss Garrett
on five. She says it's

important. Harry, who's
covering the hospitals?

We got Berman at Memorial, Gettis at
General and Starbuck on his way to Central.

You, get on your horse and
get down there and help 'em.

Kay, you'll have
to give it to me fast.

We've got a big one
burning down at the dock.

Billy, I hate to give
it to you like this.

I really do. I'm sorry.

But Mr. Bennett just died.

- He what?
- I'm very sorry, Billy.

Uh, yeah. It's okay, kid.

I, uh— How'd it happen? What
was it, an accident or what?

He just suddenly turned red. Then
he seemed to have trouble breathing.

Then he keeled over.
There'll be an autopsy.

I'll cover the medical
examiner's office.

Yeah. Well, hold
on a second, Kay.

Lou, hold page one for a remake.
Artie, get me a rewrite man and quick.

Okay, kid. Give me your lead.

I feel so sorry for Billy.

He and Bennett go back a
long way. Oh, yeah. Way back.

Clear back to when Billy was just
a hatchet boy. It's just unbelievable.

Yeah, kinda makes you wonder where
you turn next for your aggravation quota.

Listen, Mrs. Fletcher,

since death seems to have cheated
us out of that rubber chicken dinner...

they were gettin' ready to serve us,
why don't you let me buy you dinner?

I'm afraid I've lost my appetite,
but I'll take a rain check.

Tomorrow night if I'm
still in town? You're on.

Good. Oh, anybody get
a fix on what did him in?

Well, it's just a guess,

but the symptoms looked to
me like a brain hemorrhage.

Hmm. Well, he was lucky.

I always thought
somebody would murder him.

Actually, it, uh, could
have been murder.

- What?
- Oh, I'm sorry.

It's just my mystery
writer's mind at work.

You see, it is possible to
induce a brain hemorrhage...

using a combination of
alcohol and certain drugs.

Well, that lets out all of
us. We're not that smart,

or else we wouldn't have been
working for him in the first place.

Shut up, Mr. Lassiter.

The man is dead. Just
keep quiet about him.

Okay, okay. No offense, Clyde.

You always went around sayin' bad
things about him. You, too, Miss Garrett.

You just couldn't let
yourself see the good side.

Maybe she just misplaced
her magnifying glass.

Clyde, leave him alone. Stop it.

Yes, this is Mrs.
Fletcher, in 3 15.

Would you make
up my bill, please?

Yes, I'll be leaving in a
few minutes. Thank you.

Lieutenant Caruso, Boston P.D.

That's Sergeant Tierney. May we
come in? Oh, yes. Yes, of course.

Mrs. Fletcher, I'll
get right to the point.

The medical examiner thinks Lamar
Bennett may have been murdered.

Really? The newspaper
says nothing...

That makes two of you. What?

Last night you raised the possibility
of murder while talking to a...

Oh, yes, to Kay Garrett
and Stan Lassiter.

That was just
conjecture, Lieutenant.

You conject accurately.

The autopsy showed
methylthionate in his system.

Oh, dear. And that
mixed with alcohol, it, uh...

It caused a massive
cerebral hemorrhage.

The coroner picked
it up from a blood test.

You work from a crystal
ball, Mrs. Fletcher?

Well, uh, with all the
research that I do for my books,

my head has become something of a
storehouse for extraneous information.

But of course, that's
nothing like the kind of

knowledge that you need
in your job, Lieutenant.

I don't like being
shined on, Mrs. Fletcher.

I read that article the
Sentinel printed about you.

Not real flattering.

Well, surely you
don't think that that

silly story is sufficient
motive for murder?

I deal in evidence,
ma'am. Facts.

And the chief fact I have
uncovered about you...

is you seem to know more about
this man's death than you should.

Facts.

All right, all right.
Let's-Let's talk about facts.

The glass that
Mr. Bennett drank out of.

Surely that must've yielded
something useful, like a fingerprint.

The glasses were washed before
anyone thought it could be murder.

Anyone but you, Mrs. Fletcher.

Another fact I
seem to remember...

Methylthionate and alcohol needn't
be administered at the same moment.

Funny. That's the same thing
the medical examiner told me.

Bennett could've either have the
alcohol first or the other way around.

Mrs. Fletcher, I suggest
you remain in Boston.

- We may need you
for further questioning.
- I'm sorry, Lieutenant,

but I know nothing
about that man's death.

And after I have visited a dear friend in
the hospital, I am returning to Cabot Cove.

Unless, of course, you feel compelled
to press charges against me right now.

Tierney, get her
home phone number.

Do you believe it?

The police were on my
doorstep at 8:00 a.m.

Oh, don't worry, Sis.
They didn't single you out.

They came by for a statement
from me and from Dad.

It's totally humiliating. How
can they possibly think...

that I would have had anything to do
with his death? Oh, come on, Eleanor.

We were there. We detested him.

Speak for yourself,
brother dear.

All right, that's
enough. Both of you.

Listen to me.

I've decided to speak
with Bennett's executor...

about buying back at least enough
of the Sentinel stock to regain control.

Eleanor, I need your promise
you won't sell your shares.

Sell? Daddy, what do you
think I've been living on?

Lamar Bennett dead.

Well, it figures.

Excuse me, but I mean a man with his
rotten disposition, God would get him.

Well, God may have
gotten a little help.

- Murder?
- The police seem to think so.

Lamar Bennett murdered.
Now there's a story.

Uh, uh, uh, Haskell,
calm down. Your heart.

What are you talkin'
about? My heart feels great.

Now wait a minute.
Lo-Look at this obit.

"Rags-to-riches, self-taught,
one-time salesman." That's all surface.

I mean who knew him
better than Billy Simms.

But that's Billy, loyal as hell.

Now what he doesn't say here, that's
the real house number on Lamar Bennett.

Like, uh, who he stepped on to get
where he got. You know, stuff like that.

Jess, I'm telling
ya. This is a story...

For goodness sakes,
Haskell, stay still.

Well, can't you see
it? This is a great story.

The big one. I can feel it.

Jess, do me a favor.

Can't you stay a few days,
do some legwork for me?

Legwork? Oh,
don't be ridiculous.

Oh, come on, Jess, please?

I mean, this story can
put me back in business.

The search for the real Lamar
Bennett, and who killed him.

That's our hook. Our hook?

You remember that summer
you worked for the wire service,

and you did some
research for me?

That empty oil tank
storage swindle?

- You had me running
all over New England.
- Yeah.

And your head was all
cluttered with hearts and flowers...

and Frank Fletcher, huh?

You wanted to be a teacher?

Ah, what the hell.
Forget it, forget it.

- You weren't much help then anyway.
- Are you kidding? I was terrific.

You said so yourself.

I would've made
a first-rate reporter.

Yeah, well, maybe. Maybe?

On my worst day, I was the
best legman you ever had.

Huh, huh, huh, huh, huh.
That's the way you remember it.

Haskell Drake,
you are impossible.

You're ornery and
deceitful... and devious.

Not to mention manipulative.

Okay, come on. Here's
your first assignment.

I don't believe it. All right.

I want a typewriter
and lots of paper,

and, uh, a couple phones.

Oh, yeah, and-and
bring me a box of cigars.

Who were you with just
after he was murdered,

and what was their reaction?

Well, come on, girl.
Start takin' notes!

Come on, Karen. Come on, Vernon.

Let's go. Let's get on the bus.

All right, Kay.

Now maybe I could've been
stronger with Bennett, but damn it...

I'm sorry, Perry. I don't
mean to take it out on you.

Look, things are going
to be different now.

My dad's going to be back
running the paper soon.

Mrs. Fletcher. Hi,
how's Mr. Drake?

- Oh, he's improving. Miraculously in fact.
- Oh, that's great.

Actually, he's starting a story,

and I'm—Well, I'm sort of
helping with the research.

- Ah, no kidding. What's it about?
- Lamar Bennett.

I'll catch you
later, Mrs. Fletcher.

Oh, I was hoping that you
could give me a few minutes.

Sorry, I've gotta
pick up my laundry.

Later, honey.

He's not always that rude.
I guess you just hit a nerve.

Yes. Kay— Maybe
Perry's right for once.

The less said about
Lamar Bennett the better.

Kay, a very dear friend
of mine is in the hospital.

He was ready to give
up and die two days ago.

Now he has a reason
to live. This story.

Sure. How can I help you?

Well, for starters,

how would you rate Lamar
Bennett as a newspaperman?

A very narrow sense of story.

A flair for the dramatic...

but no real feel for human
interest. Well, give me a for instance.

I was working on this
piece about unwanted kids,

about the state's tendency to leave them
with parents who abuse and neglect them.

Come on. Let's get on the bus.

Anyway, Bennett said the
story wasn't sensational enough.

As I recall, you've written several stories
about unwanted children, orphanages...

foster homes and so on.
You've done your homework.

It's hard to change the system.

I guess I was luckier than most.

You see, I was adopted
after only four years.

HI, Julie.

I suppose I haven't been
much help, Mrs. Fletcher.

I guess I'm just
too close to it.

I've gotta go. Oh,
I understand. Bye.

Hi.

Mr. Drake, you have got
to take your medication.

You are already
two hours overdue.

And you can't smoke that cigar.

Listen, Phillips, I'm on
long distance. Do you mind?

Uh, yes, Sackett I
think her name was.

Uh, right, right. Okay, bye.

Look, miss, try me in
a month, why don't ya?

Better still make it two.
Hello, you still there?

Yeah, I'm still
here. That's right.

A little bit of a
thing. Bee-stung lips.

He's all yours. Sioux
Falls? Oh, good.

Wait a minute.
Hold it. Good, good.

Mr. Drake. Uh, excuse
me, Doc. Thanks.

Yeah, what is it? Oh,
Jess, what've you got?

I've got everything that the Boston
Public Library has on Bennett, plus...

Oh great. I'm
trackin' down a lady...

who worked as a society editor
in Tulsa, back in the dark ages.

Mr. Drake, you
are a very sick man.

You can't be abusing— Doc, here, take
my pulse if it'll make you feel better.

Anyway, Jess, if we find her,
we're gonna uncover a lotta bodies.

Now, listen to this.
The way I figure,

Bennett's last will and testament
might just give us the answer.

You know, find out who feels they didn't
get their due, and you’ve got your killer.

Well, it may not be
as simple as that.

I mean Bennett's finances were very
shaky, and he owed a lot of people.

Jessica, Jessica. That's what I
got from the Wall Street Journal.

I don't want dollars and cents.
I want a personal point of view.

Oh, she— Oh, Doc,
please, please.

So what'd you learn
about Kay Garrett?

Well, apparently she
and Perry Revere...

Uh, well, they're an item. Only he
seems more committed than she is.

Yeah? How much of an
item and for how long?

We need details, Jessica. Facts.

Did Perry ever catch
Bennett making a pass at her?

Was she insulted he didn't make
a pass? Is Perry the jealous type?

Well, I suppose
I— Wait, wait, wait.

Wait a minute, wait a minute. We do
not suppose anything here, Jessica.

We are not writing a
novel here, Jessica.

Who, what, why, when, where?

I'll make a reporter
outta you yet.

Where was I? Where, where was I?

Where—

Wait a minute.

You are asking me to quit?
For the good of the paper, Billy.

I mean if my dad
takes over again,

like it or not, around here, you'll
always be Bennett's hired gun.

Perry, I'm gonna do you a favor.

I'm not gonna take
anything you said personally.

But your dad has got as much
chance of gettin' back on top...

as the Braves do of
comin' back to Boston.

Now, how about
getting back to work?

Mrs. Fletcher. Mr. Revere,
I know you're very busy,

but if you have a few
moments— Not now.

Guy's a nice enough fella. But
he'll never make a newspaperman.

You know, he doesn't have that
edge, that nose to really dig into a story.

Really. I'm Billy Simms.

And Lamar Bennett?
Did he have the nose?

I hear you're giving
Haskell a hand.

But don't expect me to
help you do an ax job...

on a man that was pretty
good to me most of my life.

Oh, now, that is unfair.
Now, you know Haskell's work.

Now, he'll be a lot more impartial
than Mr. Bennett ever was.

Use the close-up, Sam,
and lose the background.

When I started with L.B. 25 years
ago, all I knew was writing ads.

He wasn't perfect, but he
taught me everything I know.

But as you said, he
was not perfect. Hey,

I didn't say I agreed
with all his decisions,

or the way he treated people.

Mr. Simms, do you
think he was murdered?

I'm sure there are a lot of people
who've had the urge at one time or another.

If you'll excuse me, Mrs. Fletcher,
our editorial conferences is now.

Uh, just-just one other
thing. One, Mrs. Fletcher.

You reported in
the late edition...

that most of his estate had been
left to the Lamar Bennett Foundation.

Do you know of any personal
bequests that he might have made?

Yes, he left me a few bucks.

But as far as I know, the only
other heir was Clyde Thorson.

Good-bye.

Well, hi, Mrs. Fletcher. I understand
you've become Haskell Drake's shoe leather.

Well, we're sort of
working together.

Hey, don't expect any credit. Drake
wouldn't share a byline with his mother.

When you have a chance, I'd love to
hear your thoughts about Lamar Bennett.

I never speak ill of the dead.

Only running backs
with bad knees.

Well, the Bennett stock is
not for sale, not at any price.

Circulation's up, so
Billy Simms gets the job.

I can't believe it.
Believe it, Daddy.

You're really pleased
at this, aren't you?

Now, Daddy— Just
marvelous, Eleanor.

I guess I haven't
been terribly realistic,

thinking I could count
on you for support.

Daddy, realistic is the fact that the
Sentinel is now making a fat profit.

And if I take it over, it won't.

Well, I'm sorry, Daddy,

but I have a whole
new lifestyle that is

riding on the price of
the Sentinel's stock.

Oh, Mr. Thorson? Mrs. Fletcher.

I don't wanna talk to you because
I heard what you and Mr. Drake...

are tryin' to do to Mr. Bennett,
makin' him a bad person.

Mr. Thorson, if that were true, I'd
only question people who disliked him.

Whew.

I know if that someone left
me $25,000, I'd feel just terrible,

people saying negative
about them. Yes, ma'am.

So, I don't suppose
anything could pay for...

How long was it? 16
years of total loyalty?

My goodness.

Out of all the millions
that he owned,

that doesn't seem
like so very much.

Mr. Bennett must
have had his reasons.

You know, some people are saying
that his death could have been suicide.

No way, ma'am.
Not for Mr. Bennett.

And I wanna tell
you somethin' else.

If it was murder, the cops better get ahold
of this guy before I get my hands on him.

You see, Mr. Bennett was like
a father to me if I'd ever had one.

I understand that you
were raised by an aunt...

on an Oklahoma farm.
Is that true? Yes, ma'am.

I was down in the Oklahoma oil
fields when Mr. Bennett found me.

I was a washed-up football
player, just lookin' for work.

Excuse me, ma'am. I just don't
wanna let the ticker slow down too much.

Oh, no, no, no. Of course
not. Uh, just one last thing.

Uh, you seemed to be in
charge of his sinus medication.

You don't suppose someone
could've tampered with those pills?

No way, ma'am.

The cops asked me the same
thing. And they took what was left.

Good day, ma'am.

So, in spite of the increase
in circulation and advertising,

the costs went up too, which in a way
explains Bennett's financial problems.

Whoa, whoa, hold it, hold it.

- Where's your lead paragraph?
- Well, I'm coming to that.

Well, before you do, they'll be reading
the vitamin content off their cereal boxes.

Haskell, will you stop
treating me like a two-year-old?

You know, it's all beginning to come back
to me now. Why I chose to marry Frank...

instead of pursuing a
newspaper career with you.

Uh, shh-shh. Yeah, hello,
Mrs. Marcus. Yeah, that's right.

The society editor from
Tulsa. Finally tracked her down.

Guess where—
Minneapolis for God's sake.

Yeah, yes, hello.
Well, say that again?

Uh, when was that?

Uh-huh. Hmm-mm.

Are you sure?

You're not sure. She's not sure.

Uh, well, thank
you, Mrs. Marcus.

There's more? Hmm.

Well, thank you, Mrs.— No, I
am interested, but not just now.

Uh, bye, Mrs. Marcus.

Well...

A couple of more minutes
and I'd have enough

to blackmail half
the people in Tulsa.

Okay, now.

You ready? Here's the skinny.

About 23, 24 years ago,

Bennett has an affair with a
local lady, an Olivia Kimmell.

Rumor has it that
the lady got with child.

Maybe yes, maybe no.

Either way, a short time later,
Miss Kimmell ups and dies.

Which means that
if there was a child...

Bennett sure wasn't
accepting responsibility,

even if he knew about
it, which maybe he didn't.

Haskell, there are an awful
lot of maybes in your scenario.

Yeah, but Jessica, I can smell
it. We've got something here.

All right. Try this on for size.

The kid gets adopted,
grows up, discovers

that Bennett is his
father, his real father.

Bennett refuses to
acknowledge him; the kid kills him.

- I know maybe it sounds crazy,
but— - Maybe not as crazy as you think.

Jessica? What is it?

Haskell, I really don't want
to think what I'm thinking,

but Kay Garrett spent the
first four years of her life...

in an orphanage on the
outskirts of Tulsa, Oklahoma.

Mrs. Fletcher, forget
it. You're wrong.

The lab workup
indicates that Bennett's

sinus medicine was
just that, sinus medicine.

Now if you will excuse me. If-If I could
just have a look at the coroner's report.

What for?

Mrs. Fletcher, why don't you
just go back to Cabot Falls...

and leave this— Cabot Cove.

And look, whether
you believe me or not,

I am not trying to
step on your toes.

No? Everybody else is.

You like these?

Some ex-jock can hang
a dead fish on the wall...

or maybe what's left of a moose
who didn't move fast enough.

That's okay. But when I
bring in a few geraniums,

- you can hear the snickers
all the way to Brockton.
- I know the feeling.

Which is why I, especially, have to
toe the line when it comes to the regs.

Regulations. We've got it,
Lieutenant. Oh, hello, Mrs. Fletcher.

It was murder, all right.

Forensics found traces
of the drug and the alcohol,

- along with Bennett's blood,
on her handkerchief.
- Whose handkerchief?

Eleanor Revere's.

The one she used to dab
the cut on Bennett's cheek.

We found it in
her laundry basket.

Are you saying that Eleanor
Revere murdered Lamar Bennett?

In cahoots with her father.

Walter Revere strikes
the victim, draws blood,

then Eleanor dips her
hanky into a glass...

containing the methylthionate alcohol
solution, dabs it on the open wound...

It mixes with the alcohol
already in his system,

and ten seconds
later, it's all over.

You know, it is
possible that the

methylthionate was
already in his bloodstream.

But not terribly likely when you
consider the Revere family motives.

Nicely choreographed right out
in the open. Who'd have thought?

Come on, Sergeant.
Let's bring 'em in.

Glad I caught you, Lieutenant.

Gotta get your autograph on
these little beauties. Mm-hmm.

Bottom of the blue one there,

uh, yellow one there— Mm-hmm.

And initials there. You
type a nice report, Officer.

Anybody ever read this stuff?
Not that I know of, ma'am.

I think it goes
straight to the files.

Well, I'm heading over
to the Revere place.

Mrs. Fletcher, if you come
up with any reason you think...

I'm trudging down the wrong
road, I'd like to hear about it.

But don't send me
smoke rings, okay?

I want evidence. Hard evidence.

Otherwise, you're
just wasting my time.

Thank you, Mrs. Falucci.

Al, that's it for today,
dear. Thank you. Okay.

You know, I've got no
business doin' this, Mrs. Fletcher.

But here you are. The
donors from the Sentinel.

AB-negative bein' as rare as it
is, we're so delighted to get some...

even if it was just the pint we got
from Miss Garrett. Thanks very much.

It fits. Kay Garrett's gotta
be Lamar Bennett's daughter.

But I don't believe that
she would have killed him.

Oh, come on, Jessica. It's
the classic Greek tragedy, kid.

I mean, she confronts him
and says, "Hi, Daddy, it's me."

He says, "I don't know
what you're talkin' about."

You know, people tend to take
that sort of rejection kinda hard.

Yes, but I was with her...

from the moment that
editorial meeting broke up...

until the moment that
he died. Mr. Drake.

French fries are not a part
of your diet. Don't you dare.

No, but you'd rather poison me with
chipped beef and tapioca pudding, right?

At least take your medication.

Okay.

You know, Jessica,
you yourself told me...

that alcohol and
methyl-whaddyacall-it...

doesn't have to be
taken at the same time.

Oh, it's terrible.

Just so long as they
mix in the bloodstream...

and trigger off the
brain hemorrhage.

Now, I mean, uh, Kay could've slipped
it to him before you got to the Sentinel.

Besides, she had a hell of a better
motive than Walter and Eleanor.

Wh-What're you after?

This—The bulldog edition.

Haskell, what time
does this go to press?

Well, it depends. Uh, if you
want it on the street by 10:15,

you gotta put the paper to
bed by 8:30, 8:45 the latest.

Now, you know, there was a
time I saved the day, of course...

Jessica!

Thank you.

It's a clipboard...

about, uh, about so big.

It contains all of our
donor information.

I mean, everything for
the past two months.

Dr. Rashnishi is going
to have a fit if he finds out.

Well, it could mean my job.

Oh, incidentally, I don't
recall you giving blood.

Well, I would've,

but I got this thing
about needles.

Ah, thank you.

Mrs. Fletcher. Oh.

Mr. Simms. I thought you'd finished
up the early edition and, uh, gone home.

What're you doing
here? Well, uh, I...

I-I was just looking
for a little background

on Mr. Bennett.
What's this about?

I told you. I know
what you told me.

Don't try to con a
newshound, Mrs. Fletcher,

especially one with
a lot of miles on him.

Kay Garrett. You've known
her for a long time, haven't you?

No, I met her two years
ago, when I hired her.

I don't think so,
Mr. Simms. I think you've

known Kay since the
day that she was born.

I think you also know
Lamar Bennett was her father.

- Who told you that?
- You brought Kay on to the Sentinel...

in the hopes of bringing them together,
somehow making an honest man of Bennett.

You make a pretty
good reporter, you know.

Yeah, I knew it.

I was disappointed the
way that he brushed her off.

I think you were more
than disappointed.

I think you were angry.

For 25 years,
you've been angry...

until finally you couldn't handle it
anymore, and you had to kill him.

Oh, Mrs. Fletcher, that
is just plain horse manure.

I mean, he died at the
banquet. I was where, here?

14 blocks away, getting
out the bulldog edition.

Yes, but Mr. Bennett was actually
murdered in two different places.

The most lethal half of the
dose was administered right here,

during the editorial meeting.

That's when you gave him the
pill containing the methylthionate.

Now you're really blowin' smoke.

The only pill that Bennett took was
from Clyde's bottle of sinus medicine.

Yes, that's what I'd assumed,
Billy, until a short time ago.

When I saw how easily Haskell
Drake fooled his nurse into believing...

he'd taken his pills by
simply palming them.

Oh, man. In the
editorial conference,

you knew it was nearly time
for Mr. Bennett's medication,

so you sent Clyde Thorson
out of the room on an errand.

Naturally, Clyde
left the pill bottle.

And when Mr. Bennett
requested his medication,

you obliged by appearing to dump
the tablet into his hand. But instead,

you slipped him the methylthionate
pill you had already palmed.

Then, it was simply a matter of
Mr. Bennett going out to the banquet...

and when he consumed
something alcoholic,

the poisonous solution
was formed, inside his body.

Well, there's no evidence
of that. Oh, but there is.

If you'd actually been
giving him a sinus pill,

that medication would've
shown up in his bloodstream.

It didn't.

You can't prove anything.
There's more, I'm afraid.

In your story about
Mr. Bennett's sudden death,

- you stated the cause of death
was a cerebral hemorrhage.
- That's what it was.

Yes, but that fact wasn't known
till the autopsy was completed...

about an hour after the
bulldog edition was on the street,

unless you knew in advance the effects
of the methylthionate and alcohol together.

Kay told me how he died when she phoned
in the story just before we went to press.

That's not true.

I was there.

He just suddenly turned red. Then
he seemed to have trouble breathing.

Then he keeled over.
There'll be an autopsy.

Okay, okay, okay.

Oh, God. I did it.

About-About three weeks ago,

I tried to work up the courage
to tell him who Kay really was.

I kept putting it off
because I was afraid.

When I finally screwed
up my guts to tell him,

and he told me, warned me never
ever to mention it again to anyone.

I watched her grow
up, Mrs. Fletcher.

I saw her turn into
a fine young woman.

She's bright and
talented and independent.

I figured she deserved
his recognition.

Then Kay doesn't know?

Her mother, Olivia,

she was the only one who
could ever stand up to Bennett.

He offered to marry her.
She turned him down.

Must have transferred
his hatred for her on to Kay.

He told me to fire
her, discredit her.

Oh, Mrs. Fletcher.

I-I sold out my
whole life to that man.

But well, you-you
get to a point...

where you just can't
take that final step.

I knew if I stuck with you long enough,
you'd show me who did it, Mrs. Fletcher.

No, Clyde. Don't.

I don't wanna hurt you.
You just stay outta this.

Killing Mr. Simms won't
make you feel better.

Billy.

Billy, he treated you good, treated
me good. Did he really, Clyde?

If you heard Billy confess to
the murder, you also heard why.

You know how many
people he's hurt,

not just the victims of his stories,
but the people who were close to him.

Like-Like Kay and Billy.

He never hurt me.

Please believe me.

I understand how you feel,

how much you loved
the good thing about him,

but admitting the truth doesn't
mean you can't keep those memories.

Mr. Bennett's gone, Clyde.

It's time to get
on with your life.

Let the courts punish Mr. Simms.

Perry and his father are back
in command at the Sentinel.

Walter has promised to stay
out of Perry's editorial domain...

and do what he does
best, which is reporting.

Oh, and Eleanor is coming
on board to learn the business.

Wonderful. Are you finished? No.

Kay has finally come to terms with the
fact that Lamar Bennett was her father.

I think she and Perry
are going to be married.

You know one of these days I have
the feeling she's going to run for office.

All right, now I'm finished.

Now, hold on to your hairdo.

Our story on Lamar Bennett
has been picked up by Worldwide.

That's fantastic.

Quiet. I'm not finished yet.

I have been offered a
big overseas assignment...

in Hong Kong,
Singapore and Bangkok...

Oh. by Newsmonth, no less.

Haskell, that's marvelous. When?

Oh, well, um, as soon as
you hand me my trousers.

And by the way, you can
tag along if you want to.

I figure that, uh, a couple
of years of hard work,

who knows, you may turn into
a half-decent newspaperman.