All language subtitles for Murder,.She.Wrote.06x07.Night.Of.The.Tarantula.AC3.DVDRip.XviD.en

Shootings in an alley,
smuggled emeralds.

Sounds like a plot
straight out of Puccini.

Keep away from her!

FEMALE NARRATOR:
Tonight on Murder, She Wrote.

If you ever again
come near Maria,
I will kill you.

If you had not
tempted him...
That's not true.

If he dies, you killed him!

The fact is,
I'm being followed.
Really?

I've no idea who they are.

I see the look on your face
whenever he goes near Maria.

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

If she had found out
about Maria, it would
have crushed her.

Pills in pocket.
Faraday,
he tried to kill me.

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(SIREN WAILING)

(PEOPLE CHATTERING)

POLICEMAN:
All right, folks, move back.

I got an ambulance
coming in here.

Move back, move back.
Come on, move back.

(SIREN WAILING)

SILVANA: Oh, Rosanno!
The ambulance...
The ambulance is here!

(SILVANA CRYING)

(GROANING)

(TERESA PRAYING IN ITALIAN)

Rosanno.

No, no, no.

Sorry, ma'am,
but I can't let you.

I'm his wife!

Yes, ma'am,
but I still can't.

Get out of my way! Rosanno!

Teresa,
we're going to the hospital.
Can we give you a ride?

(SPEAKING ITALIAN)

(SIREN WAILING)

I told him no good
would come of that gun.
Would he listen?

Silvana, you mustn't...

He is in there dying!

No. You heard the doctor.
He has a very good chance.

It's your fault.

If you had not
tempted him...
That's not true.

Do you think I don't
have eyes to see?

If he dies, you killed him!

Silvana!

It is time to get
down on your knees and pray,
not make accusations.

Oh!

Lieutenant Birnbaum,
how is he?

Not so good. It's a coronary.

The next few hours
are gonna be real dicey.

Okay, Mrs. Fletcher, this is
a real can of worms here.

I need straight answers.

From me? But...

Out there I got prima donnas,
hysterics, egomaniacs.

You, on the other hand, seem
reasonably calm and lucid.

So you're elected.

Well, where do you
want me to start?

Chapter 1.
Please, sit down.

And take your time.

My oldest daughter,
who I thought I'd married off
two years ago,

just moved back in
with a baby

who gives new definition
to the word "colic."

I got all night.

Odd, you know,
it seems like a week ago,

but the truth is
it really only started
this morning.

I was here in San Francisco
at the Bouchercon, that's
a mystery writers' convention.

And I was just
finishing up breakfast,

when a waiter told me
that I had
an urgent phone call.

Thank you.

Hello.
This is Jessica Fletcher.

DENNIS: Of course,
and I'm so delighted it is.

Well, thank you.
Who is this?

What troubles me most
is the frightening thought

that you might have
flitted in and out
of this fair city

without so much as
a "How do you do?"
To an old and dear friend.

(CHUCKLES) Who is this?

Oh, Jessica,
you disappoint me.

I thought our
former relationship,

however fleeting,
had deeper roots
than this.

Incidentally,
don't you think that's

a dreadful picture
of the mayor on
the front page of the paper?

(LAUGHS)

Dennis!

DENNIS: There I was,
dear heart, in that
wretched bus terminal,

totally humiliated,

being arrested for a theft
I hadn't even committed.

Yes, but if you
had gone to the police
in the first place,

you never would have found
yourself in that position.

What, cooperate
with the authorities?
In those days, unheard of.

However, thanks to you,
all that has now changed.

So you've been telling me.

On my honor,
as a gentleman,

respectability has me in
its fiendish grasp.

Not only am I a salaried
consultant to

several major
casualty companies,

but I have even acquired
a Social Security Number.

My heavens.

Can knighthood
be far behind?

Oh, scoff if you like,
but I am treading a straight
and narrow path

and actually enjoying it.

By the way, what are your
plans? And don't tell me
you're leaving town.

Oh, this afternoon.
Wrong, dear heart.

I have plans for you.

What do you think
about Puccini?

Well, I...
I mean world-class Puccini.

Rosanno Bertolucci-type
Puccini.

Bertolucci?
Really? Oh, my.

Good, that's settled.
They open tonight.

Meanwhile,
I think you should meet
the great man in person.

Mrs. Fletcher,
what a privilege to meet you.

Thank you.

Dennis tells me
you write books about
people who have died.

Well, no. Not exactly.

Very morbid. You should write
about people full of life.
Like me.

Oh, yes. Of course.

And how about this man?

Opening night, sold out.

And the little children
are going to get
almost $200,000.

The little children?

What little children?

The little ones
without homes.

Dennis didn't tell you?
He is vice-chairman of
the foundation

that is sponsoring
tonight's benefit.

I'm just a small cog
in a very large wheel.

You see how modest he is?

No, he is, how you say,
a tower of strength.

Like Pisa,

only not so bent over.

And the traffic was terrible.
It was noisy.

Ah, bellissima!
Come, come.

We have company.
Oh.

You remember Dennis Stanton?

Delighted to
see you again,
Signora Bertolucci.

And this is Mrs. Fletcher
from the state of Maine.

She writes books
about dead people.

My wife Silvana,
my aunt Teresa.

How nice to meet you.

How do you do?

(GREETING IN ITALIAN)

(GREETING IN ITALIAN)

Did you see this?

The wonderful Mr. Bergmann,
our monumental basso,

tells the press
he is the star of the show,

that the great tenor
Bertolucci has lost his voice.

No, no, cara mia,
I'm sure he did not mean...

Oh, he also said that
your precious prot�g�

sings like
a thin-voiced crow
with none of the charm.

What?
Mmm.

Maybe now you will
have the impresario
get rid of this

egotistical mountain
of lard, eh?

How dare this man?

Maria is a beautiful girl
with a delicate voice
of an angel.

Bergmann,
this pompous, mediocre...

Rosanno,
enough about that man.

Silvana, she buys you
a nice jacket.

Here, try it on.

No, no, I don't...
I don't want to.

Please, for me.
It's very nice.

Oh, it is lovely,
Signor Bertolucci.

Well, if you don't want it,
I'll gladly take it
off your hands.

No, no. I'll try it on.

Um...

Excuse me, Rosanno, that
nasty little bit of hardware
tucked onto your belt...

This? Oh, s�.

A very good friend.

I'm not sure

how familiar you are
with American gun laws,
Signor Bertolucci,

but you do need a permit to
carry that around, you know.

Government officials
telling us how to
conduct our lives.

When I was a boy
in Napoli, Mrs. Fletcher,

I learned that one
takes care of one's self.

Are you saying
that you are in some
sort of danger?

During our engagements
in Hong Kong and Japan,
just before we arrived here,

a very unpleasant gentleman
by the name of Faraday

was loitering
around our company.

At first, I thought
he was only interested

in pursuing the favors
of our young soprano,
Maria Deschler.

But I began to realize

that he was also involved
with some very
unsavory-Iooking associates.

When I suggested
he stay away,
he threatened my life.

That's when
I buy this gun,

which, incidentally,
I know how to use.

Quite well, in fact.

Let me get this straight.
The guy was carrying
an unlicensed piece,

and he didn't care
it was illegal?

No, he didn't.

And these
so-called associates of
the victim, who were they?

Well, he didn't say.

Look, if you could
let me continue...

Sure. Go on.

Thank you.

Well, Dennis Stanton
picked me up
at my hotel this evening.

We arrived at the opera house
about an hour before curtain.

It was my first time
backstage at an opera house,

and believe me,
it was a zoo.

(MAN SINGING OPERA)

(WOMAN SINGING OPERA)

Forget the party, Maria.
We'll drive down to Carmel.

There's a little inn
overlooking the water.

I've already booked a room.

Oh, good.
Why don't you ask Veronica

or Angelique?

What do I have in common
with chorus girls?

You and I, our souls,
they're like one.

That wasn't my soul
you were grabbing at,
Giorgio.

(GASPS)

Barry, stop it.
What if Rosanno comes in?

He'll rearrange that
pretty face of yours.

He's a dirty old man.
He doesn't worry me.

He's the reason
I'm working here.

You can write your articles
for anybody you choose,

but for me this is a break,
and I am not going to
screw it up.

Now, go. This way.

One day soon
I'm gonna have it out
with that old man.

He chased Lou Faraday away,
but he's not gonna chase me.

Go on. Now.

I'll wait for you
by that little caf�
down the street. Hmm?

Okay.
We'll sneak out
after the performance.

No, I have to
go to the party.

Forget the party.

Mmm.

I'll be waiting.

(PEOPLE CHATTERING)

Mr. Stanton! I have
just received some
distressing news, sir.

Distressing.

We are to be reviewed
this evening by

a featherbrained
nincompoop named
Hannah Atterbury.

Well, I...

An illiterate scribbler
who spent the first decade

of her so-called career
writing critiques
for dinner theater.

May I...
Oh, my God,
this is not her, is it?

Oh, no.
I'm Jessica Fletcher.
I'm merely visiting.

Oh, good.

Well, you looked
far too intelligent
to be a critic.

Oh, thank you!

I myself do not
need the praise
of the ill-informed

or ill-equipped
to feed my ego.

(GUN FIRES)
ROSANNO: Away from her!

Let go of me!
You want me to kill you?

What are you, Mr. Faraday,
some kind of animal?

You don't tell me what to do,
Bertolucci.

I warned you to
keep away from her!
Let go of me!

(WOMEN SCREAMING)

If he tries to return,
you call the police.

And if you ever again
come near Maria,
I will kill you.

(CROWD GASPING)

Why?

Because you want her
for yourself?

(GRUNTING)

I mean what I say.

If you go near Maria again,
you're a dead man.

BIRNBAUM: Okay, so Bertolucci
catches this guy Faraday,

the victim,
with the young soprano.

Yes, Maria Deschler.

And he tells the guy
if he catches him near her
again, he's gonna kill him.

That's what he
said, kill him?

Well, I think it was
only a figure of speech.

You think?
What are you,
a mind reader?

Lieutenant, would you
like me to continue or not?

Sure. Go on.

Well, whatever problems
the company may have been
having backstage,

they didn't
affect the performance.

The production
was brilliant,

except for Maria.

Howard Bergmann was right,
she obviously lacked
experience.

Afterwards, Dennis and I went
backstage to congratulate

Rosanno
and the rest of the cast.

Ah, Signora Bertolucci!

Brilliant production!
I was enchanted.

And your husband
was in fine voice.

Oh, thank you.
He will be pleased.
Oh! Here he comes.

(MARIA SCREAMING)

Maria!

Maria! Maria!
Maria!

Maria.

Lou Faraday.
I tried to fight him off.

Are you all right?

He's gone into the alley.
Call the police!

(GUN FIRING)

(GUN FIRING)

(WOMAN SCREAMING)

Rosanno!

Silvana, be careful!

(GRUNTS)

Pills in pocket. Pocket...

Faraday,
he tried to kill me.

He called my name,
and I shot him.

Back there, I...
I saw him.

I saw him and I fired.

Did you hit him?

(LAUGHS WEAKLY)
Sure, I hit him.

What do you think?
Take a look.

JESSICA: Dennis turned
over the body,
and it was Mr. Faraday.

He'd been shot
once in the chest.

And Bertolucci
admitted firing the shot?

Yes. In self-defense.

I heard two shots,
Lieutenant.
So did everyone else.

Two shots,
very close together.

And they sounded different,
as if fired
from two different guns.

I finally had a word
with the cardiologist.

As suspected,
Rosanno had a severe
heart attack.

His condition is serious.

Me, I hope he makes it.
I got loose ends
only Bertolucci can tie up.

Oh? Such as?

Well, for one thing,
a couple of hours ago,

Bertolucci threatens to
kill this guy

if he goes
after his girlfriend,
which the guy does.

Then, all of a sudden,
the guy ends up
stiff in an alley,

and Bertolucci is trying
to cop to self-defense.

Now, you, Mr. Stanton,
and you, Mrs. Fletcher,

you hear two shots,
which is very nice,
except what I need

is someone who actually saw
Faraday take a potshot
at Bertolucci.

Lieutenant,
is there something that
you're not telling us?

You might say so.
A couple of minor
inconsistencies.

Like, for example,
the coroner's preliminary
indicates

that the victim
was not standing
when he was shot,

but he was probably
lying on his back.

And the gun
Faraday was supposed to
have fired, guess what?

We didn't find any gun.
Not in his hand,
not in the alley,

not in the next county.

But that doesn't
make any sense.

And finally,
and now it will make sense.

We checked Bertolucci's
pistol and found not one
spent cartridge, but two.

The guy's story is
so full of hot air you could
fly a balloon with it.

SILVANA: No.
I want to speak
to my husband.

DOCTOR: I'm sorry,
Mrs. Bertolucci.
He doesn't want to see you.

He insists on
speaking to his aunt,
Mrs. Mancini.

I am his wife!

There's nothing I can do.
Excuse me.

(SILVANA SPEAKING ITALIAN)
Silvana,
it's going to be all right.

Sit with me. Sit, please.

Doc, if he's
well enough to talk,
he's gonna talk to me.

Not now.
He's barely conscious,
Lieutenant.

He insisted on
speaking to his aunt.

He thinks he's dying.
Is he?

Ask me in the morning.

Good morning, Lieutenant.

Oh, I hope I'm not
interrupting your
breakfast.

This you can
interrupt anytime.
Please.

Thank you.
Dry toast, weak tea.

A year ago it would've been
a bagel, cream cheese,
maybe a little onion,

nice piece of lox.
That was before
my brother-in-law,

Irving the dietician,
came along.

Two years
out of medical school,

already he knows
what's good for everybody.

Because he hates food,
he thinks everybody should.

You want a bite?

Oh, no, no, no, thank you.
I just...
I ate at the hotel.

Whatever you had,
don't tell me.

So, Mrs. Fletcher,
what are you doing here?

Maybe you remember
something else
from last night?

Well, actually, yes.

I mean,
a thought popped to mind.
It's been bothering me.

What happened to
the windbreaker?

Ma'am?

Earlier in the evening,
when he first
came backstage,

Mr. Faraday was wearing
a gray windbreaker
over his sweater.

Now, when the body was found,
the windbreaker was missing.

Since it was such
a chilly evening,
why wasn't he wearing it?

Ma'am,
I really wouldn't know.

Now, about the bullet.

You said you thought that
it was fired
from an acute angle.

Almost 45 degrees.
Right into the heart.

Yeah, it must've
happened something
like that.

Let me tell you how
I got it figured.

Bertolucci chases
this guy Faraday
down the alley,

waving a gun at him.

Faraday gets trapped,
turns, stumbles, falls over.

While on his back, unarmed,
Bertolucci rushes up,

shoots him, then fires
another shot in the air,

then rushes back
to the head of the alley.

Where he what?
Where he fakes a heart attack?

No. That was real enough.

Unexpected,
maybe, but real.

The story about
Faraday firing at him,
that was phony.

Yes, well, it's
an interesting speculation.

And I'm not about
to bring it into court.
Not until I can beef it up.

The way I see it,
only two people know

what really happened
in that alley,
and they're not talking.

Bertolucci
and his Aunt Teresa.

Teresa?

After she came out
of the hospital room
last night,

I pulled her aside.

I wanted to know
what the guy told her.

Believe me,
she was plenty shook up,
whatever it was.

But she just kept
shaking her head.

And you think he
might have made some
sort of confession.

Why not?

(PHONE RINGING)

Birnbaum.

Yeah, she's here.
Hang on.

Hello?

DENNIS: Jessica,
your hotel told me
where to find you.

I haven't
interrupted anything
crucial, have I?

(SIGHS) Hardly.

The lieutenant
and I have gotten
exactly nowhere.

Very well.
Suppose I pitch in?

Oh, no. I couldn't
ask you to...

Nonsense. At the very least,
you can use a chauffeur,

and I'm fairly well acquainted
with the ups and downs
of the city.

Meet you at
the opera house
in half an hour.

I'll see you there.

Good Lord, I'm being tailed.

Fancy that.

(SINGING TOSCA)

(SINGER FALTERING)

Stop! Stop, stop!

Must we be subjected to this?

Mr. Bergmann, please.

Mr. Tortelli has been
gracious enough to
offer his services...

Services?

Yes, that's precisely
what we need here.

Services to inter this
hapless and amateurish
production!

Okay, everybody,
that's it for now.

Break for lunch. Stay by.

I'm sorry, Mr. Tortelli.
You were great.

But Mr. Bergmann,
he's a little temperamental.

Excuse me,
Miss Deschler.

Oh, Mrs. Fletcher.

How's Rosanno?
We haven't heard
a thing from the hospital.

Well, actually
he's very much better.

In fact, the doctor told me
he woke up about an hour ago,
his vital signs are stable,

and he was demanding food.

Well, that's wonderful.

Didn't I tell you?
He has the constitution
of a horse.

However, I doubt
that he'll be back
on the stage any time soon.

You know, Mr. Bergmann was
right about one thing.

Without a very strong tenor,
this production can't go on.

Well,

maybe that's
all for the best.

The atmosphere
around here has been,

I don't know, tense.

Yes. A couple of things
bothered me, Maria,
about last night.

Perhaps you could
clear them up.

I'm puzzled how Mr. Faraday
got back into your
dressing room.

I mean, we all saw Rosanno
throw him out
before the performance,

and heard him order
the stage doorman
to keep him out.

That's old Crusty,
Mrs. Fletcher.

Once the singing starts,
he plants himself in the wings
to watch.

The Cuban Army could
come through the door,
and he'd never know it.

Oh, I see.

And what about
the windbreaker?

The what?

Well, earlier in the day,
Mr. Faraday was wearing
a gray windbreaker,

but not
when we found the body.

I guess he must have
changed his clothes.

He wasn't wearing it
when I found him
waiting in my dressing room.

Yes, that was very
foolhardy of him,

particularly as Rosanno
had threatened him.

Nobody ever said
Faraday was smart.

Yes. Well, Rosanno
certainly didn't try to
hide his jealousy.

Rosanno Bertolucci is now,
and has always been, a friend.

Nothing more.

Will you excuse me?

I wouldn't put
too much stock in gossip,
Mrs. Fletcher.

Backstage at the theater
is a lot like a small town.

People talk,
but they don't always get
their facts straight.

Jessica.
Oh, there you are.

I was afraid
you'd got stuck in traffic.

Oh, dear, no.
Nothing so mundane.

The fact is,
I'm being followed.
Really?

Yes. I've no idea
who they are,
but they're very funny.

They're so bad at it.

Well, dear heart,
did you learn anything?

Not much.

Except Rosanno
seems to be recovering
from his heart attack.

Which means, I suppose,
that Lieutenant Birnbaum
is over there questioning him.

Well, why don't
I drop you off?

I'd offer to join you,
but just before
I left home I had a call.

I have to go to Oakland
to meet a ferrety little man,
thoroughly unpleasant,

but he may know
the whereabouts of some
missing securities.

Ridiculous.
You are ridiculous.

The man was not lying down
when I shot him.

He was standing straight up
at the end of the alley.

About 10 yards away,
in the dark.

I did not measure
the distance.

Also, Lieutenant,
it was not possible

for there to be two
spent shells in my revolver.

I fired one time only.

Look, Mr. Bertolucci,

maybe you can steamroll
these people who work for you.

Me, I'm not impressed.

I already got you for carrying
a concealed weapon.

What was Faraday wearing
when you saw him going down
the fire escape?

I don't know.
I could not see
him so clearly.

Last night,
when you thought
you were dying,

you demanded to see this aunt
of yours, privately.

So what did you tell her?

That, Lieutenant,
is none of your business.

Oh, Lieutenant.

Hello, Mrs. Fletcher.

I understand that
Rosanno is feeling
much better.

He is. I'm not.

He's sticking to his story.

And as far as what
he told the aunt,
he's got no comment.

Not to me, not to anybody.

Well, he may think
he's above the law,

but he's gonna be
one surprised Italian salami

when the DA slaps him
with an indictment.

Lieutenant, excuse me,
but something occurred to me.

A thought about
what might have really
happened in that alley.

Sounds fascinating.
I can hardly wait.

Well, now, suppose
somebody else was
waiting in that alley

for Mr. Faraday.

Suppose somebody else shot him
and then shot at Rosanno

and tried to make Rosanno
think that it was Mr. Faraday
who had fired the shot.

Yeah. You know what
that sounds like?

The plot of one
of Bertolucci's operas.

Unbeknownst to
Count Fettucini,

the chambermaid was hiding
in the flower pot
disguised as a geranium.

All right, Lieutenant.

But what about
the missing windbreaker?

Maybe it was removed
because it showed
powder burns

from a shot fired
at close range,
not 10 yards away.

And maybe those shots
sounded different because
one of them was a blank.

Now, I realize that these
are all theories, but...

Yes, Mrs. Fletcher,
that they are.

And thanks for
passing them along.

I hope you enjoy
the balance of your
stay in San Francisco

and have a safe trip
back to Vermont.

(GUN COCKING)

Put your hands in the air
and don't move.

(SIGHING)

Over there, on the couch.

How do you do?

I'm Dennis Stanton.
I live here.

Don't believe
I caught your name.

Dixon. Special Agent Dixon.

And I have a few
questions to ask you.

Agent Dixon.

JESSICA: He was a what?

DENNIS: Customs agent.
Treasury agent.

Some sort of dreary
government functionary.

For the past several months,
he's been hot on the trail
of some emeralds,

which he thinks
were smuggled into the country
by way of the opera company.

When he saw my face
and matched it to his files...

Yes. Suddenly your past
caught up with you?

Ridiculous, of course.

I told him I'm a former thief,
not a former smuggler.

Didn't seem to
make much difference.

He sent me on
a fool's errand to
Oakland earlier,

while he and his minions
ransacked my apartment.

There are two of them
outside now in a black sedan,

waiting for me to lead them
to my treasure trove.

Are you sure?
I hadn't noticed.

Oh, yes. Subtlety is not
one of Agent Dixon's
strong points.

They're also
keeping an eagle eye

on everyone connected with
the opera company.

But so far it's only a tip.

I mean, they can't
be sure about those
emeralds.

Well, they haven't yet
searched for them.

That would only alert
the people involved.

I wonder if
Lieutenant Birnbaum knows
about the Federal involvement.

I didn't ask,

and Agent Dixon
didn't volunteer.

Giorgio Russo sing my roles?

Absurd! He's a boy.
He's not ready.

Are you so sure?
Giorgio may not
have your reputation,

but he has twice your voice.

Oh, really?

Of course.

And you would
admit it if you weren't
so consumed with jealousy.

That is untrue.

Do you think I am blind?

I see the look on your face
whenever he goes near Maria.

It's not like that.
You don't know
what you're talking about.

Don't I?

(PHONE RINGING)

Yes?

Yes, Maria.

One moment.

Maria?

What is it?

Uh-huh. Yes, I understand.

No. I will take care of it.

Please,
leave everything to me.

(SIGHS)

Silvana, I am very tired.
I would like to
get some sleep.

Of course.
I am tired as well. Well...

Pleasant dreams, my husband.

I know I will
sleep well tonight.

Nothing is
troubling my conscience.

(DOOR CLOSES)

(GLASS SHATTERING)

Maria!

(GUN COCKING)

Freeze!

(GUN COCKING)

Sorry, Jessica.

No one gets to see
Rosanno except his lawyer.

Maybe if I spoke
to Lieutenant Birnbaum.

He doesn't want
to talk to you, I'm afraid.

Oh, Dennis, this is absurd.

I mean, what was
Rosanno doing there?

What was Maria doing there?

I ran into
a friend on the force,

someone I've worked
with off and on
over the past year or so.

Now, he says that
the body in the courtyard

is indeed
young Barry Sanderson,
the journalist.

Whether he jumped
voluntarily or was pushed,

and if so by whom,
is something that is
yet to be resolved.

And Maria?

It seems that she
and Sanderson have had

a well-hidden romance
going for past few weeks,
ever since they met overseas.

It also seems that
he is something more than
a freelance journalist.

Agent Dixon was not
chasing wild geese after all.

They discovered
a dozen quality
emeralds in his pocket.

Now, Dixon believes
that Rosanno discovered
he was being double-crossed,

went to Sanderson's
apartment, and threw him
over the balcony.

No. My nephew
is not a killer.

And he is not
a thief or a smuggler.

Rosanno is guilty
of only one crime,

the sin of being
a devoted father.

Maria,
she is Rosanno's daughter.

A lot of years ago,
Rosanno had a romance

with a singer named
Anna Martinelli.

She got herself pregnant.

I mean, even if he had known,
which he did not,

there was nothing
he could do about it.

Rosanno was
married to Silvana,

and even if they
weren't Catholics,
he wouldn't hurt her.

Now, just a moment.

You're saying that
Rosanno didn't know
that Anna was pregnant?

He knew nothing
about nothing.

Not until five months ago
in London,

when Maria showed up
with a letter from her mama,
who had just died.

It was all in there,
the whole story.

From her grave,
Anna begged Rosanno

to give Maria a chance to
sing with the company.

Rosanno, he got a soft heart.

His own daughter,
what was he going
to do, turn her away?

Of course, no one knew
her real identity.

It must have seemed strange
to the others, though.

Rosanno suddenly
hiring this unknown girl
of questionable ability.

Rosanno was the star.
What he wanted, he got.

And Silvana had no idea?
Not even a hint?

No. They been
married 30 years.

Thirty years,
and she couldn't
give him a baby.

If she had found
out about Maria,

oh, it would have
crushed her.

You see now why I couldn't
tell that policeman.

So, what am I to do?

Sure, Rosanno's been
hiding things,
but he's not a thief,

and he's not a killer.

Okay, Mrs. Fletcher,
that was nice work, getting
the aunt to sing like that.

But you understand
it's not doing much
for Bertolucci's case.

But I just can't believe
that Rosanno is guilty.

Well, you keep
that thought, ma'am.
Maybe wishes do come true.

Oh, by the way,
about that windbreaker.

We found it

stuffed in the bottom of
a garbage can

about a block from
the alley where
the shooting took place.

With powder burns
around the bullet holes?

You bet.

But if Bertolucci had
shot him from 10 yards away,

they never would have
been there.

Bye, Mrs. Fletcher.

Bye.

Take care of yourself.

Oh, dear.

Ah, Jessica,
I recognize that look.

The solution has
revealed itself.
Excellent.

Not so excellent.

I think I know the who,
the why, and the how.

But the problem is,
I'm not sure that
I could prove it.

Really, Teresa, I'II...
I'll be fine.

No, you listen to me.

You been through too much.
You got to rest.

Yes.

Now I see it.

The resemblance.

No, no,
it's all right, Maria.

I was able to visit
Rosanno this morning.
He told me everything.

Poor child.

You have no reason
to be afraid of me.

Now I think of you as...

As my own daughter.

Okay, listen, you two,
you go ahead and talk.

I got to do some shopping.

I'll be back
in a little while.

(SIGHS)

Oh, Silvana,

you're so kind and gracious.

It's just that Rosanno
and I didn't know how
you were going to react.

Oh, how silly of you both.

Did you think I would be
so vindictive that...

That I would blame you?
Especially you, Maria,

for an act of God?

If so,
you would have been right.

Are you crazy?

By your very existence
you bring shame upon me.

You, the fruit
of my husband's loins,
while I...

I have been barren
for 30 years.

You dishonored me!

For God's sakes.

No, please, don't!
You can't
get away with it.

Someone's gonna
hear the shot!

Do you think I care?

I would be happy to rot
in a prison cell

or choke on
the gas fumes

than to live
in a world with you,

my husband's
bastard daughter!

I'm not!

It's a lie!
That letter was a forgery.

When I saw in the paper
that Anna Martinelli had died,

I just made it all up.

I knew Rosanno
wouldn't refuse me.

I don't believe you.

It's true, I swear!

I had to get
into the company.

My boyfriend, Lou Faraday,
he made me do it.

You talk crazy!
Why would he do that?

Because of the emeralds.
We had to get the emeralds
into the country.

For God's sakes,
don't shoot me!

Mrs. Fletcher! Lieutenant.

(LAUGHING)

Gotta hand it to you,
Mrs. Fletcher.

I figured you were nuts.

Oh, Lieutenant,
how gracious of you.

What I mean is, this
whole case has been a barrel
of snakes from day one.

Opera singers,
shootings in an alley,
smuggled emeralds,

fake suicides,
illegitimate children.

Sounds like a plot
straight out of Puccini,

and I hate Puccini.

Well, Lieutenant,
I must admit

that things were
getting more and more
bizarre.

I was starting to
have trouble keeping
track of who's who.

In fact,
I'm still not quite sure that
I've got everything straight.

Okay, the smuggling.

Maria was in on that
little caper
up to her high C's.

She and Lou Faraday
were a hot item in Europe.

He needed a cover
to get the emeralds
into the country.

The opera seemed
like a natural.

By the way, the Feds
found the gems

in the false bottoms
of a couple of steamer trunks.

They figured the value
around seven mil.

Oh! I'm delighted
we weren't involved
in anything penny ante.

And what about the journalist,
Barry Sanderson?

I mean, how did he fit in?

He was a dupe.

Maria used him
just like she used Bertolucci.

Listen for yourself.

The lady tells
an interesting story.

MARIA ON TAPE: I knew where
the emeralds were.

I just hadn't had a chance
to get to them.

Lou Faraday called me twice,
but I was ducking him.

I already knew I wasn't
going to split them with him.

Why should I?

I'd taken all the chances,
not him.

He got backstage
into my dressing room,

and he said that
if I double-crossed him,
he'd kill me.

I told him I was just being
careful, that I was
still crazy about him.

That jerk. He believed
anything I told him.

But I knew I had
to get rid of him.

I told him I'd meet him
in the alley during Act 3,

when everybody else
would be busy,
but just then...

I told you to stay away
from her!

Do you want me to kill you?

What are you, Mr. Faraday,
some kind of animal?

FARADAY: You don't tell me
what to do, Bertolucci!

MARIA: And that's
when it came to me.

I could get rid of Lou
and have Rosanno
take the blame for it.

It wasn't hard
to get Rosanno's gun.

Everybody knew
where he kept it.

Are you okay?
What's the big idea...

Are you okay?
...with the old man?
You just shut up!

When I got into the alley,
Lou was in a vicious mood.

The shot left powder burns
on his jacket,

so I had to
get rid of it,

or it wouldn't
fit the scenario
I'd already worked out.

It wasn't hard to get back
into my dressing room
without being seen.

I guess nobody heard the shot,
or they didn't pay much
attention,

not in that neighborhood.

I called Barry
at this little caf�
around the corner.

I told him I was in trouble,
that if he really loved me,
he'd help me.

He told me
he'd do anything.

After the performance,
he waited on the fire escape
for my scream.

When Rosanno looked
out the window,

he thought he was
seeing Lou Faraday.

(SCREAMS)

(GROANS)

Is that it, Mrs. Fletcher?
Is it over with?

Have we finally
got the whole story?

Oh, yes.

I mean, I think so.

Well, Mr. Faraday was killed
so that Maria wouldn't
have to split the loot,

and Mr. Sanderson was
killed to keep him quiet.

He was the only link
to Maria. Poor fellow.

He was doomed to die
from the beginning.

Of course, Maria had to
make it look as if Rosanno
had killed Mr. Sanderson,

which is why she lured
Rosanno from his hospital bed.

Obviously, she'd
already popped him
over the head

and pushed him over
the ledge before
Rosanno arrived.

Yes, and then messed up
the room to make it look
as if there'd been a struggle.

Stop. Enough. Next you'll have
a tenor jumping out of
a closet in a clown suit,

claiming he killed
everybody because his

identical twin brother
ran off with Desdemona

to get a haircut in Seville.

(BOTH LAUGHING)
Look, do me a favor, go!

Forget murder, forget mayhem.
Enjoy a nice dinner.

Most of all, forget me.

I'm really concerned about
that lieutenant.

A first-rate psychiatrist
would have
a field day with him.

Well, actually, I think
that he's suffering from
a bad case of culture shock.

Jessica,

now that I have you alone,
there's something that has
been bothering me all day.

The trap you set
for Maria was lovely,

but at the risk of seeming
appallingly ignorant,

how did you know
she was the guilty party?

She had to be.

Backstage, when I asked her
if Lou Faraday was wearing
the windbreaker

when he attacked her,
she said no.

She had to say no,
because she was
forced to remove it

because of the powder burns.

So later, of course,
when the police
discovered the jacket

with the powder burns,

obviously she had been lying.

Fascinating. Oh, well.

Now, dear heart,
I don't know about you,

but I think
the lieutenant made
an excellent suggestion.

If you're in
the mood for Chinese,

I know this little cafe
on Fremont Street

where they serve an absolutely
fabulous Szechuan beef.

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