All language subtitles for Murder, She Wrote S05E12 Smooth Operators.DVDRip.NonHI.en.UNIV

Tonight on Murder, She Wrote.

I don't care about any autopsy.

Elliot did not drink.

File your papers now.
Take an early retirement.

Each time you get an answer, you
come up with two new questions.

How many gallbladders
can there be left in this city?

I still think we should
expand into cosmetology.

My doctor made an appointment for me
to have a complete physical examination.

- Surgery is indicated.
- Surgery?

They wouldn't have
killed him, not for that.

Top o' the mornin' to you, Tim.

And the rest of the
day to you, Charlie.

A little bit too much
celebratin' last night?

Celebrating? Oh, that
would be a welcome change.

No, no. The, uh— The
plumbing's acting up.

Lieutenant. Hi.

Please. How's it
going with, uh...

Thank you. No better.

Luckily, I'm a man of infinite
patience and great forbearance.

Right. Timothy!

Jessica! Saints in heaven!
What are you doing here? Hello!

Well, I just came
by to see if you'd be

interested in a late
breakfast or an early lunch.

I just finished with my
publisher. You mean

you didn't make a
special trip just to see me?

Uh-uh. None of that.

Now, airlines travel in both
directions, you know. Come with me.

Well, we've been busy,
girl, and you know how it is.

This place cannot
operate without me.

Lieutenant, I'll see you in my
office, immediately, if you don't mind.

Yes, sir. The captain himself.

Always poppin' in
at the wrong time.

Well, look, if you're too
busy— Busy? Not likely.

You go wait in my office.
I won't be but a minute.

The captain and I are not given
to long conversations. All right.

I've half a mind
to sell the house.

I mean, it's just me now,
rattlin' around in all those rooms.

I know the feeling. How are
those two nephews of yours?

Oh, fine, fine.

Well, Daniel's doing very
well in the phone company,

and Sean's got himself into
real estate out on Long Island.

A fine couple of boys.
I'd love to meet them.

Would you now?
Oh. What a fine idea.

Well, of course, I'd have to
check to see what their plans are.

You know, they’re young people.
They've got their own friends.

The thing is, Jessica, I, uh—
I talk to them on the phone,

but I don't actually
see that much of them.

Hey. Well, I
wonder what this is.

Oh, there must have
been an accident.

Morning, Ray.

How you doing, Lieutenant? Ray, uh, meet
Jessica Fletcher. Jessica, Ray Donatelli.

How do you do? It's a pleasure.

What's goin' on?
The same old thing.

Another stiff who didn't
make it to sunrise. Oh, dear.

Yeah, it's too bad,
ma'am, but the truth is,

we scrape up two or
three of these guys a week.

Winos, boozers. No
place to sleep but an alley.

Any I.D.? You mean a wallet or
somethin'? You gotta be kiddin'.

Hey, but you want to
know something weird?

This guy— He's only
wearin' one shoe.

So go figure.

Yeah, yeah! Beautiful! What
do you got, Frankie, a new toy?

One shoe? Hmm.

Strange. He's awfully
well dressed for a derelict.

And the shoe business. Do you
suppose he lost it somewhere?

I doubt it. I mean, look at
the sock, Timothy. It's clean.

If he'd been walking around, it
would have been covered with dirt.

No. Somebody took it.

One shoe.

I wonder why.

A drunk?

You want to waste your
time and mine, not to

mention some of this
precinct's limited budget,

investigating the
death of a drunk?

It wouldn't take long, sir.

Lieutenant,

these people are... disposables.

They're homeless derelicts, hell-bent on
drowning in alcohol until they go belly-up.

But in this particular case,
sir, I have this feeling...

Oh, I-I'm—I'm not getting
through to you, am I?

I don't like unsolved cases.
They don't look good on my record.

And I'm very proud of my record.

And I don't intend
to see it screwed up...

by some old-time, seat-of-the-pants
homicide lieutenant...

who suddenly gets a "feeling" that
some wino may have been murdered!

May I remind the captain...

that this precinct's fine record
can be credited, at least in part,

to those feelings
you just alluded to?

All right.

All right. Look into it.

Thank you, sir.

Unofficially, you understand.

There'll be no paperwork on this
until you get an I.D., an autopsy...

But— Ah! And you
get it done tonight.

Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.

Hanratty.

The only reason I'm letting you
pursue this is to prove you wrong.

The days of guesswork and
shoot-from-the-hip— They're gone.

Think about it.

Morning, Jessica.

Well, good morning. Coffee,
young lady, and lots of it.

I'm sorry about dinner
last night, Jessica.

I just got off about
30 minutes ago.

It was a grand night, and I
can tell you that. I'm sure.

Timothy, why do
you put up with it?

I mean, a man of your
experience and seniority...

Two fine words, my girl.

But in the eyes of some, they stand for
"old" and "over the hill" and "outdated."

That's ridiculous. Is it?

What did I hear,
a note of self-pity?

Not a bit of it.
It's just that...

Well, I don't know.
Maybe it's the system.

I've got good years
left in me, Jessica,

but of late I've been
doubting my instincts.

Really now? And last night,
did you identify the corpse?

- Oh, yes.
- And did you get your autopsy?

- Yes, but— - Well, then it seems
to me you're right on top of things.

- Who was he?
- His name was Elliot Winston.

We had his prints on file for a couple of
drunk-and-disorderlies several years back.

His current address:
861 West 78th Street.

And you are planning
to go over there?

- I am, if you'll go with me.
- Ah, no.

Jessica, you once told me that a
good writer needed a good editor.

Well, that's what I
need now— An editor.

That's him— Elliot Winston,

the fella in the alley.

Uh, excuse me. May I help you?

Lieutenant Timothy Hanratty,
ma'am. And this is Mrs. Fletcher.

Lieutenant? Are
you from the police?

I am, ma'am. Homicide.

Is there a problem about Elliot?

Oh, I'm sorry, ma'am. Mr. Winston
was found dead yesterday morning.

Why don't we— Why
don't we sit down?

Thank you.

I knew there was
something wrong...

when he didn't come
home for two days, but...

Oh, I'm sorry.
I—I'm Grace Fenton.

I live just across the hall, 8D.

Please tell me what happened.

Well, he was found on the
street yesterday morning.

He had been drinking
heavily. Oh—Oh, no.

- I'm afraid the autopsy shows—
- I don't care about any autopsy.

Elliot did not
drink, not anymore.

I mean, I know, because we're both
members of the same organization.

We go to a meeting
every evening.

I'm terribly sorry.
Oh, no! I'm sorry.

It's just not true!

I mean,

God knows, people
like Elliot and me,

we always live on the edge,

and some do slip
back, but not Elliot.

Excuse me. I'll
just look around.

Just a minute.

If Elliot died of drinking, then
what is Homicide doing here?

Well, the lieutenant's
not entirely satisfied...

that your friend's
death was accidental.

Oh, good. That's a start.

Lieutenant. Well, how—
How did you get that open?

It wasn't locked. But
it's always locked.

That's where he kept his work.

Well, where are they?

They're missing! What's missing?

His papers. They were
very important to him.

He worked on them constantly.

What kind of papers?

Well, I don't know. He never said.
He was very secretive about them.

Timothy?

No.

You are sorely trying
my patience, Lieutenant.

First it was this lush in the alley
with one shoe off, one shoe on.

How that spells
murder I'll never know.

- Since then, sir,
other facts have come to light.
- I'll tell you what one of them is.

Your Elliot Winston
has a history of checking

in and out of the
alcoholic ward at Bellevue.

That was 10 years ago, sir.
Once a drunk, always a drunk.

You told me yourself you found a half-empty
bottle of booze in his apartment.

Along with one very
suspicious set of fingerprints,

as though someone had
wiped the bottle clean and

then placed Winston's
prints upon the bottle.

What is that? Another
one of your feelings?

What about the
missing papers, Captain?

Somebody broke into
that man's apartment.

It never occurred to you
that Winston may have

moved the papers himself,
taken them somewhere?

Look, Hanratty, very frankly, you old
guys give me a real pain in the keister...

Puttin' in your time,
waitin' for your pension.

Why don't you do
us both a favor?

File your papers now.
Take an early retirement.

And another thing— confine
your social life to after hours.

Now just a moment, Captain.
That—That remark was unwarranted.

Ma'am, we have a
precinct to run here.

We don't have the time to entertain
out-of-town visitors. Excuse me.

Oh.

Where to? Well, I'm gonna check out the
bars and liquor stores around the alley.

If he was drinking
in the area, they'll be

able to identify his
picture. I'll go with you.

Oh, no, you don't, my girl. I'll manage to
get more done if you're not taggin' along.

Besides, we've got to find out
a lot more about Elliot Winston,

and I know just exactly where
you're going to start. Grace Fenton.

I'll drop you off. Good.

Elliot and I, we were friends.

Very good friends.

Uh, we met at a meeting
about three years ago.

As a matter of fact, I helped him
to get the apartment across the hall.

And, uh, during the...
This last year, uh,

we had grown very close.

I mean, we, uh— we had dinner
together two or three times a week.

On Sundays we'd go to the park.

Every once in a while
we'd go to a movie.

It was wonderful.

But it was also very hard.

Elliot is terribly
sh... He... He was...

He was terribly shy.

And so am I.

I should have spoken up.

I never even told
him that I loved him.

I don't—I don't understand
how someone could kill him.

Why?

Well, that's what the lieutenant
is determined to find out.

Grace, those papers that
Elliot had in his desk drawer...

Did he ever mention
anything about them?

No. Not really.

I just assumed that they had
something to do with his work...

at the Old York Hospital.

It's one of those hotsy-totsy
society hospitals...

for the rich and pampered.

- And what did he do there?
- Bookkeeping, accounting.

You know, Timothy, I met some people
from Grace and Elliot's regular meeting,

and they were in shock.

I mean, they couldn't
believe that he'd

started drinking again
after all these years.

Well, I hate to be the
bearer of sad tidings.

A copy of the official
autopsy report.

His blood alcohol level was 2.0.

Cause of death: acute
alcohol intoxication.

Oh, these shoes.

I knew I didn't like
that salesman's face.

This doesn't make any sense.

Now, what about the bars
and liquor stores near that alley?

No one recognized
Winston's photograph.

If he was drinking elsewhere, why
and how did he end up in that alley?

I love to watch you
at work, Jessica.

Each time you get an answer, you
come up with two new questions.

You know what I think? I think that his
death was linked to those missing papers.

Which means— Which means
that someone, preferably me,

really should go and nose
around that Old York Hospital.

You? Since when did the N.Y.P.D.
homicide bureau issue you a badge?

Oh, for heaven's sakes, Timothy.

If there was anything wrong,
they'd never open up for a detective.

Especially without a search warrant,
you'd be traipsing all over their rights.

On the other hand, I, as a
poor, hopelessly helpless,

terribly rich widow with
a frightful pain here...

Maybe it's here.

Don't worry. I'll work it out.

Leon, would you knock it off?

Leon, I'm trying to concentrate.
Well, I am concentrating.

What do you say after
lunch we, uh, call in sick, huh?

You don't think they'll
notice both of us?

Go take a cold shower, okay?

All right. It won't be the
same without you. Come on.

Uh— Excuse me.

- Hello. May I help you?
- Oh, yes, I'm quite sure that you can.

I'm Christine Chesterton, and my
doctor made an appointment for me...

to have a complete physical
examination this morning.

I'm sure you have it
down there somewhere.

Uh, that was Mrs.,
uh— Chesterton.

That's Ralph
Thorndyke Chesterton.

The late Ralph
Thorndyke Chesterton.

I was told to be here
precisely at 10:00 a.m.

But I can only give
you one hour and a half,

because I have to be at
the Met for an extremely

important charity luncheon
no later than 12:00 noon.

I'm sorry. I can't find it here.

Well, my dear young lady,

obviously we are the victims
of some ridiculous clerical error.

Now do listen to me carefully.

My doctor— Now, that's
Lowell Wheatley, M.D...

Spoke to your doctor
about a physical checkup.

Now where do I go,
and who do I see?

Well, uh— I suppose you
should start with Admissions.

Excellent. Is it that way?
Oh, I can find the way myself.

Do take care of Noodles
for me, will you? Thank you.

My husband expired at
Mount Sinai, you know.

So, of course, when Dr. Wheatley said
to me that I was to come to this place,

well, I was
understandably bewildered.

How long has this hospital
been in operation, Doctor?

About 40 years.

Oh, you're much
too young for that.

My partners and I bought it
about three years ago. Partners?

Oh, well, then that distinguished
gentleman that I met at the corridor...

must be one of them.

Dr. Markle, yes. Now open wide.

Dr. Wheatley?

Dr. Robert Markle,
Old York Hospital.

Good morning.
What can I do for you?

Well, I seem to have
inherited one of your patients...

A Mrs. Christina Chesterton.

Oh, yes. Christina.

She charged in here this morning, claiming
that you'd set her up for a physical exam.

I'd mentioned you to
her about a week ago.

- What seems to be her problem?
- Aside from acute hypochondria,
I have no idea.

Oh, yes, that is
a very fine school.

I feel better already.

You must have been very young
when you graduated from there.

Mrs. Chesterton.
Mrs. Chesterton.

- Could we please get back
to some of these test results?
- Oh, yes, of course.

Well, so far, I don't see
anything critically serious.

Oh, are you sure?

Well, we won't have the whole
picture until the lab reports are in...

and our radiologist has had a
chance to analyze your X-rays.

I think I should tell you,

I did see some suspicious
shadows on your gallbladder.

I knew it.

I've been in the most
terrible discomfort for months.

Oh, but it says here that you’ve
complained of dizzy spells,

uh, severe headaches,

occasional swollen glands.

Well, I mean, you couldn't
possibly expect me to list everything.

Well, the plain truth of it is,
you didn't learn all that much.

Oh, don't be so sure about that.

Oh, I—I'm sorry, Miss
Fenton. Do you mind?

Oh, no. No, not
at all, Lieutenant.

I love the smell of a pipe.

And please call me
Grace. Thank you, Grace.

I can tell you this, Timothy—
These are very smooth operators.

Well, find me a
doctor who isn't.

Well, I had a complete physical
examination four weeks ago, and I'm fine.

But you'd never know
it by these people.

Oh, thank you, Grace. I'll
just put this in the hamper.

Good.

Oh! Noodles! Get
down off the couch!

Timothy, I had another
look at the autopsy report,

and there's something
there that bothers me.

And what would that be?

Well, the coroner listed the
death as acute alcohol intoxication.

He also said— And I
think this is a direct quote...

"Anomalies to this
situation also exist."

Now, what exactly
does that mean?

It means, Jessica, that the
gentleman is protecting his posterior.

We all do it, just in case.
Just in case of what?

Whatever.

Whenever things don't quite
add up or a piece doesn't fit,

well, we hedge a little.

The Piedmont project
is not my responsibility!

You're the one who
brought it in, David.

At the time, Craig, Lebanon County
real estate was going through the roof.

All right, gentlemen. Please!

I still think we need
more diversification.

Oh, I suppose you think we should have
stuck with those double "A" municipals.

Well, considering interest rates at the
time, it might not have been a bad idea.

All right now! That's
enough, both of you!

However it came about, our portfolio seems
to be suffering a short-term shrinkage.

Which means, I'm afraid, we're going
to have to increase our productivity...

to offset our losses and
maximize our cash flow.

How many gallbladders
can there be left in this city?

I still think we should
expand into cosmetology.

We're talking top
dollar, minimum risk.

And bring in someone
new and expand the circle?

That's a risk I don't like.

Now, this Chesterton woman—

I see, uh, she's in
very good health.

Although she could be
convinced to be otherwise.

"Anomalies." Gee.
You spotted that, huh?

Can't get away with
anything in this place.

Martin, the W.M.C.
in drawer 21...

You pull him out, slice me a section
of brain tissue. The D.A. wants it stat.

Okay, Sid, so what were
they? The anomalies.

Well, for one thing, you
take the guy's liver—fatty.

And I mean fatty.

But he wasn't into cirrhosis.
Anybody want a Danish?

I got prune, blueberry, lemon.

No, no, thank you.

You know, the funny thing is, his other
organs were pretty good— spleen, kidneys.

Which means if the guy had been
boozing, he'd done it a long time ago.

Yeah, but you said
that he died of alcohol.

Hey, you take anybody
who's on the wagon...

He goes on a big enough bender,
that's it—stiff city in one night.

- How 'bout some coffee, huh? Tea?
- Oh, no.

- Anything else?
- I got soda in the fridge.

No, no. I mean the anomalies.

Oh, uh, nasty bruise
on the side of his head.

- Might've happened from a fall,
you know, after he got drunk.
- Or before?

I wasn't there.

Listen, I'd love to stay
and chat, but they're

pilin' up like logs
in the fireplace here,

so if you'll excuse me.

Oh! There was one other thing.

His right vocal
cord had a cut on it.

Very small, very
fresh. What it means...

Timothy, the deeper we dig,

the more this is beginning
to smell like a homicide.

Well, your sense of smell is
not gonna persuade the captain.

He likes his proof in a
neat little package. Hey, Tim.

Hey. Top o' the
mornin' to you, Phil.

Wrong, old buddy.
It's bottom of the barrel.

Well, meet Jessica Fletcher.

Phil Cashman. He
writes for the Post. Oh.

What's the matter, your boss giving
you trouble again? Oh, him always.

Today, it's your boss. Oh?

- Hanratty, this captain of yours
is a class-one, Grade "A" jerk.
- Is he now?

He's so hot to get his
name in the papers, he's

managed to create a
murder out of thin air.

Created a murder?

Yeah. Some poor slob they scraped
off a subway grate a couple of days ago.

Just another boozer
gone bad, but this captain

of yours is suddenly
calling it a homicide.

Which, incidentally, he says, he's
managed to solve all by himself.

It was police work,
plain and simple.

A pawnbroker
reported that a wino...

tried to hock a valuable watch.

This one.

"To Elliot, from Grace."

And when we picked him up, he
was also carrying Winston's wallet.

It was a good bust, Hanratty. Brings
our average up a couple of points.

We're nipping at the
heels of Manhattan South.

- Excuse me, Captain, but are you sure?
- Of course I'm sure.

A little pressure, inside of
an hour, we had a confession.

- A confession?
- In so many words.

The guy's crazy. I
never killed nobody.

Then why did you confess?

What are you talkin' about?

The guy asked me if I took the
watch. I said I took the watch.

What was I gonna do, lie?
They caught me with the goods.

And the wallet. And
the wallet. Big deal.

But kill him? No way.

The guy was dead
when I found him.

Why don't you tell
us what happened?

Okay, lady. I'll
lay it out for you.

It's late. I'm parked in my
usual place on the subway grate.

My head is killing me,

and multicolored pigeons
are bashin' around in my brain.

I'm almost asleep when I
hear this car burn rubber.

I look up, and I
see it pullin' away.

What kind of car? Did
you get the plate number?

What, are you kiddin'? What
do I look like, Dick Tracy?

Go on.

And then I see them...

A new pair of shoes
sticking out from under

the sports section of
the New York Tribune.

It's this guy.

Real careful, I get the newspaper
off of him, and I check his pockets.

Bingo—he's got his wallet.

I get the watch, and
then I go for the shoes.

Yes, we were curious about the shoes.
Why did you only take one of them?

Because I couldn't
get the other one off.

That's when I realized
this guy was cold.

I don't mean cold,
but stiff, like in dead.

Just then, I think I hear somebody
comin', and I take off like a bat.

- Carrying one of the shoes.
- Yeah.

I guess I tossed it away
the first chance I got.

Hey, that's it—the whole thing.
I got nothin' else to tell you.

Well, Mrs. Chesterton,

it is indeed fortunate that
you came to us when you did.

Oh, then there is a
problem. I knew it.

The X-rays of
your gallbladder...

do show some suspicious shadows.

Oh, dear! Oh, no, no,
please, don't be alarmed.

It may be nothing.

But Dr. Zachary and I concur...

that exploratory
surgery is indicated.

Oh, my! Surgery?

The situation is
minor, for the moment.

But stones do present a danger.
There's always the risk of peritonitis.

And Dr. Markle and I feel strongly
that immediate surgery is preferable...

to an operation at some future
date under emergency conditions.

Emergency? Oh, no,
I wouldn't want that.

I left distinct orders that
we were not to be disturbed.

Oh, he is? Well, put him on.

Robert. I understand you're
in with Mrs. Chesterton.

Do us all a favor,
will you? Tread slowly.

You never know when you
might step on a rattlesnake.

I'm glad you called.
I'll, uh—I'll clear that up.

Well... This is really
very embarrassing,

but that was our
X-ray laboratory.

They seem to be having a
problem with one of their machines.

Something about fogged film.

I think, considering the circumstances,
we should reshoot those X-rays...

because, after all, we wouldn't want to
wake up and find ourselves suddenly...

in the middle of some unnecessary
surgery, now, would we?

Actually, we were very lucky.

I'm sorry to have put
you to this inconvenience.

Oh, then there's nothing
wrong with my gallbladder?

Oh, no, no, no. You're in remarkably
fine shape. No question about it.

Oh, really? Mrs. Fletcher.

Uh, Fletcher? Oh, no, no, David.

No, no, this is Mrs.
Chesterton, remember?

You examined her
just the other day.

Oh, yes, I remember
her quite well.

You know, I thought there was
something familiar aboutyou.

And then while I was browsing
at the bookstore, it came to me.

Well. Why...

I think perhaps I owe you
gentlemen some sort of explanation.

Is there somewhere that we
could go and talk, privately?

My office?

Well, to be perfectly honest...

Well, the fact is, I came
here because of Elliot Winston.

Elliot? Well, why?

His death was
unfortunate, I suppose,

but why would one nondescript,

unfortunate
alcoholic accountant...

be of interest to
someone like yourself?

Because of the circumstances.

What circumstances?

Uh, he went on a
binge, drank too much.

It all caught up
to him. Look, Mrs.

Fletcher, we knew
about Elliot's background.

We—We thought he'd
straightened himself out,

but obviously that
was not the case.

I'm not so sure. Or rather,
the police are not so sure.

There's some indication
that he might have been killed.

Murder? That's unbelievable.

Absolutely.

Why would anyone want to
kill Elliot Winston, of all people?

He was a quiet,
harmless little man.

Oh, but that's just it.
That's what he was.

And yet, if the police are
right— I mean, don't you see?

By day, he was
this ordinary man,

and yet, by night, who was he?

A schizophrenic?
Multiple personalities?

I—I mean, the story
implications are endless.

Which is why, I'm
embarrassed to say,

I-I did come here under
somewhat, uh, false colors.

Somewhat?

I hope you'll forgive
me. Well, of course.

You know, you're
quite an actress.

You may have
missed your calling.

Dr. Markle,

I hope this isn't too
much of an imposition,

but would you mind if I chatted with
some of Mr. Winston's coworkers?

I really can't tell if
there's a book here...

unless I— I get
the feel of the man.

Well, they're all
rather busy just now.

Let me talk to the rest of
them, and I'll get back to you.

Thank you so much.

Markle's not a bad
guy. Just cautious.

Besides, he was a little upset with
your impersonation, despite what he said.

Well, I can't say I blame him.
Well, I'll see what I can do.

As for your book,

I'd love to give my fellow human
beings the benefit of the doubt,

but when it came
to Elliot Winston,

I always knew he'd end up in some
alley with a newspaper for a blanket.

Some people thrive
under pressure,

and some, like Elliot, tend
to come apart at the seams.

Yes, I can see that.

Oh, uh, by the way,

how'd you manage that
business with Lowell Wheatley?

Oh, he went to medical school
with my own doctor from Cabot Cove,

who happens to be
a very good friend.

Slick. Well, I wish you
luck with your book.

I'm afraid I won't be
around to help much.

I'm leaving for a vacation in the
Caribbean tomorrow. Oh, have a nice trip.

Oh, thanks. Good-bye.

Bravo, Robert. You
handled that just beautifully.

Is that a note of sarcasm I
hear in your voice, David?

Coldly dismissing a
curious writer, especially

one with Mrs.
Fletcher's credentials...

Not very smart.

Oh, but I didn't dismiss her.

In fact, I'm going to have
Stephanie give her a call...

and tell her that we would be
delighted to cooperate in every way.

Every way? I hope that doesn't
include opening our records.

I think I can handle
the situation, Doctor.

Uh, David, do you think
there's any truth to it?

- What's that?
- Winston's death.

That it might have
been a murder.

Why ask me, Robert? You
knew him better than any of us.

And this one I got in a teeny
little shop in Amsterdam.

Isn't it beautiful? Oh, amazing.

Look at that lovely workmanship.
Amsterdam, you say?

Yes. I was there, uh—
Oh, my goodness...

Almost six years ago now.

My Jenny and me,
we—we never got anywhere.

Waitin' for my
retirement, we were.

Then we were gonna see it all.

I'm sorry.

You would have
had a wonderful time.

I was always so envious...

of all the others who had
someone to share with.

Oh? Then you
traveled alone, did you?

Oh, it wasn't so bad really.

Well, that was the hospital.

I've been invited back
this afternoon at 4:00.

You know, Jessica, if there
is any monkey business

goin' on over there,
they'll be on their guard.

Well, I just wish I
knew a little bit more

about the people who
are running that place.

Well, as of a half hour ago, the computer
still hadn't come up with anything.

Now, I think you oughta hold
off until tomorrow, just in case.

Yes, but the invitation
is open now, Timothy.

Don't worry. I'll be fine.

My goodness. I wish I could type
that fast. What is it printing out?

Bills. Very large bills, mostly.

Medical care doesn't come
cheap these days. Oh, yes, I know.

Fortunately, most people
have some sort of insurance.

What exactly did
Elliot Winston do here?

He audited accounts
receivable, tracked

billing, handled problems.
That kind of thing.

And who does his job now?

Uh, no one. I mean, I think
they're interviewing people.

You've been most informative,
Stephanie. You really have.

I don't suppose it would be possible
for me to see Mr. Winston's office.

That wouldn't do you
much good. They've taken

his files and stored
them in the basement.

His files. Now, that
is a wonderful thought.

I mean, they'd be certain to
show something— memos, letters...

Something that would give
me an insight into the man.

I'm sorry, Mrs. Fletcher.
They're confidential.

I couldn't let you examine them
without authorization from Dr. Markle,

and he's gone home for the day.

Nurse Holtz. Nurse Holtz. 3
West. Nurse Holtz to 3 West.

That's me. Excuse me, please.

Well, thank you, Stephanie.
You've been very helpful. Any time.

Lady, what are you
doin' down here?

Well, uh—uh, um, I'm
working on a story actually.

Yeah? Then why are you
sneakin' around in the dark?

Well— Huh? Do they
know you're down here?

Oh, oh, yes, yes.
I'm sure they know.

Really? Well, we'll
just see about that.

Leon!

Hey, Steph. Look
what I just found.

That's great, Leon. Go
get yourself a cup of coffee.

Yeah, but she was— Go get
yourself a cup of coffee, okay?

I'll see you in a
couple of minutes.

You don't take "no" for an answer, do
you? Not when it's the wrong answer.

What are you doing
here, Mrs. Fletcher?

And don't tell me you're researching
a book. That's a load of bull.

Yes, but Elliot
Winston's murder isn't.

Oh, please. Elliot
was a nice guy.

He had a problem with booze, and it finally
caught up with him a few nights ago.

It's as simple as that. I'm afraid that
is not true. The pieces just don't fit...

Not for the police and
certainly not for me.

Stephanie, he had some
papers in his apartment—

Papers that he
brought from work.

He was about to expose
something about this hospital.

- Now, do you know
what that might have been?
- Look, I just work here.

Did it have anything to do
with unnecessary surgery...

The kind that they were
planning to perform on me?

Yes, that is what he was onto.

It was insurance fraud, right?

They wouldn't have
killed him, not for that.

Who? Who's "they"? Dr. Latimer?

Dr. Markle? Dr. Zachary.

- I think you better go.
- Stephanie, don't make it
any worse for yourself.

Don't make me call Leon, Mrs.
Fletcher. He's not always very nice.

Look, if you know anything, I
suggest that you talk to the police.

I'll tell you what you are, Jessica.
You're a willful, foolish woman.

Oh, Timothy!

One of these days
that fearless curiosity of

yours is gonna get
you in a lot of trouble.

But I was never in danger, believe
me. Forgive me if I don't believe you.

Grace and I sat around until
nearly 10:00, waitin' for your call.

Good. I'm sure you
had a very good time.

And then when I couldn't stand
it any longer, I called your hotel,

and they told me that you'd gone to
bed and don't wish to be disturbed.

I don't suppose you’ve
heard from Stephanie Holtz.

No, and I don't expect to. She sounds
like a very self-protective young lady.

As for the others,
here's what the computer

picked up on those
doctors who run the place.

You'll be especially
interested in the top file.

Dr. Craig Zachary. A phony?

The real Dr. Zachary is
practicing in Joplin, Missouri.

This one seems to have
borrowed his credentials.

Well, I'm going to see Larson
about getting a court order...

to go over that Old York
organization from top to bottom.

Good. Of course, the trouble is, it
may turn out to be a den of thieves.

But it still doesn't answer the big
question: Who killed Elliot Winston?

I am not gonna
request a court order.

Sir— Forget it, Hanratty! Just
let the bunco squad handle it.

Sir, the Elliot Winston
murder is directly connected...

And will you please stop referring
to that man's death as murder?

Look, ever since you and that Fletcher
woman compromised my suspect,

the D.A. refuses to go forward.

Now, do you know how that makes
me look? Yes, sir. Like the fool you are.

What?

I don't know where
you got your badge, sir,

or how you happened
to make precinct captain.

Oh, you be very
careful, Hanratty! But

there is one thing I
know for sure, Captain.

You're no cop, and
you never will be.

Now if you'll excuse
me, Captain, I'm gonna

file my report with the
police commissioner.

And I'm gonna forward it
to him without your blessing.

Because one thing for sure—
I'm going to get that court order.

Watch it, lady!

Comin' at you, Harry.

Dear heavens.

Will you tell the lieutenant to meet me at
the Old York Hospital as soon as possible?

It's very important. Thank you.

Tell Bob I'll give him a call after
I've talked to the people at the bank.

I, uh, don't anticipate
any problems.

With the kind of money we're
depositing, I shouldn't think you would.

Listen, I'd say have a nice
vacation, David, but I know better.

Oh, I might find a few
hours for some scuba diving.

Yeah, I hear the action
at poolside isn't bad either.

Mrs. Fletcher. What a surprise.

Hello, Dr. Latimer.

How's it coming with your, uh,
research, hmm? Any problems?

Actually, what I need are some personal
insights that only you can give me.

Ah. Well, I'd like to help, Mrs.
Fletcher, but I have a plane to catch.

Oh, yes, your Caribbean
vacation. Oh, dear. Uh-huh.

Well, actually, this wouldn't
take that long. When I get back.

Well, that might be too
late. Uh, well, I mean...

You know, we discovered
the most curious thing...

about Elliot Winston's
autopsy report.

Oh? Uh, what was that?

Well, it was his right vocal
cord. It had a tiny little cut on it.

Don't you find that odd?

No. Why should I?

If we could just spend
a few moments together.

Perhaps we could have a
cup of coffee in the cafeteria.

Really, Mrs. Fletcher.
I, uh—I don't have time.

You know, I know I think
what caused that little cut.

It was that little nasogastric
tube put through his nose...

to provide passage
to the stomach.

Was it? And do you know why
that tube was slipped into his throat?

So a toxic amount of alcohol
could be pumped into his stomach...

to make it look as if he'd
drunk himself to death.

Don't you want to know
where you slipped up, Doctor?

Slipped up?

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

It was the newspaper.
Do you remember saying...

I always knew he'd end up in some
alley with a newspaper for a blanket.

How did you know that he was
covered by a newspaper, Doctor?

Only the man who robbed
him knew that, and his killer.

Why are you so anxious
to get to the Caribbean,

Doctor? Because they
can't extradite you? Is that it?

Are you going to leave the
others to face the authorities?

Are they supposed to take the blame
for the murder that you committed?

Good-bye, Mrs. Fletcher.

Stephanie, if he gets
out, they'll never catch him.

Leon!

I think the lady wants you to
stay, Doc, so I guess you stay.

Well, Jessica,

the man's confession
was short and to the point.

Elliot confided in Latimer,
thinking he was his friend.

Latimer knocked him out and then forced
the whiskey down his throat with a tube...

so as his death
would be overlooked.

And the others had no
idea? A bout the murder? No.

Of course, they were
all greedy thieves,

but Latimer was the only
one desperate enough to kill...

to protect their
sleazy little gold mine.

Oh, good gracious.
Look at the time.

Oh. I'd better be getting
you to the airport, Jessica.

Oh, but I have over two hours.

Well, uh...

Th-The fact is, Jessica...

All right, you two.
Now what is it?

Well, Jessica darling,

actually it's my nephew Sean
and his lovely wife Maggie.

I've told them so much
about Grace that, well,

the dear ones have
invited us for dinner...

so as they could, uh, get
acquainted, as they say.

I hope you don't mind.

Mind? Of course I don't mind.

Well, what are we waiting for?