All language subtitles for A.Kind.Of.Murder.2016.LIMITED.BDRip.x264-DRONES-English

Ticket, please.

Just one, please.

- Two, please.
- Enjoy the show.

- Yes, sir?
- One adult.

Strong, silent, sensibly new.

The 1960 Impala convertible by Chevrolet.

- Hey, Tony.
- Evening, Mr. Kimmel.

Have you met my girlfriend? She's a...

Greater leg room.

Roomy reasons why Chevrolet
is first in the value that lasts.

Across the USA, Chevrolet is the way
to start the sixties right.

...Saratoga Springs, the body of
a woman was found brutally stabbed

just yards away from Harry's Rainbow Grill,
one of the bus's regular stops.

The husband has put out a plea to anyone
who saw anything, to come forward.

Now boarding Green Line Bus
to Saratoga Springs at gate 5.

Clara!

Honestly. Why do you always insist on
seeing me off if you're going to be late?

So you heard, my mother is dying, again.

I have some good news.
Well, I think it's good news.

My story's in this month's issue!

That's the good news?
Why don't you focus on your real job?

- Wait till you read it.
- I will wait. I have to work to do.

I have all the paperwork
on the sale of the Carter house.

People are boarding.

I wish I could drive you.

We could stop on the way
just like old times.

I like the bus. Gives me time to think.

Well, could you think
about our party, please?

I suppose I have to.
But for God's sake, don't invite Jon.

You know Jon has to be there. If we don't
ask, he won't come again, just like Jack.

And what a loss he's been.

Let's not quarrel, honey. Okay?

I'll see you in a few days!
We'll make it a hell of a party!

Send my regards to your mother.

Thank you.

Sorry, folks! Our first rest stop tonight
is gonna be a bit further on up the highway.

Harry's Rainbow Grill is closed.
Some sort of police investigation.

Nothing we can do.

Take care.

It was a good turnout for Mrs. Kimmel.

Yeah. Thanks, Tony. She was...

She was really loved.

- Any more news, Detective Corby?
- No, nothing new.

But I never give up. You can tell that
to Mr. Kimmel. Should be comforting.

I'll be sure to tell him, sir.

- I'm so sorry.
- Thank you very much.

- I'm so sorry.
- That's very kind. Thank you.

God, I hope they don't
drag snow into the house.

What are you talking about?
They're walking up the path.

None of the women want to ruin
their shoes. Lighten up. Come on, Kits.

Oh, Bill!

Betty.

- Great to see you.
- Hi, Betty.

Can you believe it?
The Stackhouse's entertain.

Okay.

Thank you very much, Walter.
And I must say,

your wife is the most wonderful person.

There's not a house she can't buy or sell.
You're gonna be able to quit work soon.

Taking on her pretty face
was the smartest thing I ever did.

Sorry, I have to go, do my duty.

Martha.

So glad you could make it.

I hope you don't mind
that I brought my friend Ellie along.

- She was having a dull day.
- I'm sorry I can't promise fireworks.

But we'll do our best.

- Martha!
- Excuse me.

So this is the good life?

Yeah.

- Let me get you a drink.
- Any chance of a beer?

A beer? I think we got one of those.
Don't move an inch.

Martha gave me the story you wrote.
I loved it.

Well, they've taken another.

That's really cool.

Here I was, thinking you were just a...

- straight up architect.
- Oh, no. Nothing straight up about me.

Well, what do you do? Or...
maybe I should try and guess.

- I might take offense.
- No, I want to guess. Indulge me.

Musician... right?

Of some sort. You write poetry.
You live in the village.

Two out of three, that's not bad.

I don't write poetry.

- There you are.
- This is Jon Caar.

We work together. Martha puts up
with both of us. Jon meet Ellie.

Ellie Briess.

I meant to ask.
Can you get away on Sunday?

I don't know,
Clara and I are supposed to...

I get it. Don't do it, Walter.
Same old story.

Give me a break, man. Okay?

They need food.
And soon before they start to fall over.

Who was that girl Martha brought?

I don't know her name.

I do. It's Ellie Briess.

Who is she?

Oh, I don't know.

And I don't care.

Come on.

- Come on, come on, come on.
- You are a sex maniac.

You used to love my mania.

Come on, Kits, let's try to remember.

Why don't we start by christening
every room in this house?

Please, Walter.

Not tonight. Can't you just go to sleep?

God. When is it going
to fucking end, Clara?

Why are you so unhappy?

You promised me you'd go see someone.

I just don't wanna see anyone.

And it's not my fault.
Can't you just... just leave me alone.

I told you, Detective. I don't know anyone
who would have wanted to kill Helen.

I appreciate you coming around,
but I need time.

Time to grieve.

Yes.

I understand.

I'll find your wife's killer, Mr. Kimmel.

I want you to be reassured by that.

I want you to know
there's no one smarter than me.

"Nobody holds a good opinion of a man
who holds a low opinion of himself."

Mark Twain.

Same century, mister... Corby,

but it was in fact, Anthony Trollope.

I'll sleep easier, Detective, knowing a man
of your intelligence is on the case.

I'll leave you to your picnic, Mr. Kimmel.

I have a job, for God's sake. I can't just
drop everything every time you get sick!

I can't take much more of this, Mother.

I have tried to tell you.
And you never listen. You never do!

I can't... I can't promise.

Walter has just got back. I have to go.

I have to go. Goodbye.

Hi, Kits. You all right?

Don't let her get to you.

How's the lovely, Ellie?

Why don't you spend the rest
of the evening with her?

That's right. Go to her.

Get out. Just go to her!

A police chief told the press today they are
still looking for clues to the brutal killing

of a woman now identified as
Helen Kimmel at Harry's Rainbow Grill.

Investigations are continuing.

Corby.

The Helen Kimmel murder.

It's building nicely. I can taste it.

Kimmel has a strong alibi.

We've already turned him over.
There's nothing there.

That kid Tony Ricco swears
Kimmel was at the movies.

He's in the clear.

- Hi there, Mr. Kimmel. How's it going?
- It's going okay, thanks.

That detective's been here again.
He keeps asking me the same questions.

Well, Tony, you just keep
giving him the same answer.

I got you a special treat today.

- You're spoiling me, Mr. K.
- It's all a question of who you know...

and who you trust.

Hash browns with lots of onions.

- And one of your frankfurters.
- You got it.

- And give me some cheese with that.
- Sure thing, Mr. K.

And a big slice
of that chocolate banana cake.

- ...still going on about this.
- I saw you. Everyone saw you.

- Are you out of your fucking mind.
- Ellie Briess. Ellie Briess.

- Don't dare deny it.
- It's not worth denying.

I have... I have... I have really tried.

But you are making it impossible for me.

What the hell happened to us?
Did we... I guess we had one good year.

Was that it? Was that all we got?
One good year? Well? Was that it?

Stop it! Stop shouting at me.

Good night, Claudia.

You married me "in sickness
and in health." Remember?

Yeah, yeah, whatever happened to "health"?

It's not my fault! I can't help it.

I promise. I promise.
This time I will go and see someone.

I know I've said it so many times,
but believe me, Walter.

- I will go and see someone.
- Calm down.

- I promise I will.
- Sure. Great idea. Go right ahead.

For God's sakes, Clara,
don't being so melodramatic.

Leave me alone!

All right.

All right. I will. You're on your own!

House is all yours tonight.

Are you following this story?

Not closely.

I'd say he looks like a man
who murdered his wife.

That's ridiculous. You can't tell that
just by looking at someone.

Well, I'd say he did it.
I've worked it out.

He followed her bus,
lured her away from the stop...

killed her.

Simple as that.
Turned around and headed home.

Left no clues. Seems he has a great alibi.

He's real smart.

Clara!

Clara!

Clara! Oh, for God's sake.
Open the door. Clara!

Oh, God, no, no, no! Clara! Clara!

Clara!

Clara. Come on, Clara.

Clara, wake up.

We'll pump her out.

We should know in 48 hours.

Walter?

Who was she seeing?

- What?
- Her analyst, what's his name?

I'm sorry.

I couldn't persuade her to see anyone.

I tried.

You should have tried harder.

Dr. Palmer, please dial the operator.

Dr. Palmer, please dial the operator.

She took every goddamn pill in the house.

I knew she was going to.
We'd had another fight.

I stood my ground this time.
I told her. I've fucking had it.

I didn't sign up for this.

But at that moment I think
I really wanted her to.

No, Walter,

you're not thinking straight.

Hi there. Remember me?

Sure. Of course. Hi.

Good to see you again. Come in.

Some orchids. Lots of them.

To thank Mrs. Stackhouse for the party.

She'll love them. Thanks.

So, what brings you up here?

Oh, you know, I like to get out
of the city on the weekend

and just drive.

Me and my car found ourselves
driving north, so...

here I am.

So your wife is at work?

I remember you saying
that she worked on Saturdays.

Yeah, it's her busiest day.

She sells houses. And I build them.

So this is your design?

How long have you lived here?

We move in a year after we got married.

Yeah. How long ago was that?

Four years ago now.

Yeah.

Kids?

No. Not yet.

I'm moving soon.

Still the village, but a...

little place of my own. Time to grow up.

It's not all it's cracked up to be.
I wouldn't rush it.

No, honestly. I need to slow down.

Packed a hell of a lot
in these past five years.

Stop. You're making me jealous.

Oh, no. I'm not so sure.

Grass is always greener.

Well... I'd better get going.

- What'll you be doing tonight?
- Singing...

At a little club off MacDougal...
Called "Molly's."

You should come along sometime.
I'm there almost every night.

Maybe one day I will.

- It was nice to see you.
- You too.

I'll take a rye.

Rye. Double. Neat.

I'm free

As the wondering breeze

I'm free to wander any place I please

And yet

I can't escape from you

I'm free

As the birds in the trees

I'm even free

To sail the seven seas

And yet

I can't escape from you

I could ride away

And hide away

Where we were miles apart...

Don't ever leave me.

Don't ever leave me, never.

Promise?

Promise me.

- Who did you tell?
- Don't worry.

Everyone thinks you had a bad flu.

Kind of a pneumonia.

Thank you.

I knew it's what you'd want, Kits.

The orchids downstairs, who brought them?

Was it Betty?

God, I completely forgot.
Martha's friend, Ellie, brought them.

To thank you for the party.

- How long did she stay?
- I don't know. Not very long.

Long enough to fuck her?

Oh, Clara.

I was right, wasn't I?

- Admit it. Admit it. Admit it!
- I can't have this conversation right now.

I'm going out. I will be back.

I promise. But this can't go on.

This has to end.

Are you looking
for anything in particular?

Yeah. I'm looking for a book called
"The Living City" by Frank Lloyd Wright.

- You happen to have it in stock?
- I'm sure I don't.

As I thought, I don't have it.

I do have a copy of Lloyd Wright's
"Disappearing City."

I've got that.

In fact, I have a 1932 first edition.

I could try to find it.

Do you want me to order it for you?

Yes. I would, thanks.

Just fill in your name and address.

Do you own this bookstore?

Yes.

So you must be Marty Kimmel?

What is it to you?

I heard your wife died recently.

She was murdered.

Sorry.

Have they found her killer?

No.

Well...

I hope they find the man who's guilty.

So do I.

Thank you for your concern.

I'll be in touch if I find that book.

You shouldn't be up this late.

Neither should you.

No doubt you had a couple
of scotches with Jon?

Yeah. That's exactly what I did.
We needed to let off some steam.

Where did you go?

Some dive. I don't remember the name.

I followed you from the office.

I saw you.

With your whore.

Ellie Briess.

- I knew all along.
- No. You didn't.

There's nothing to know.

Don't think there's a future in it
because there isn't.

I'm going to divorce you, Clara.

I'm calling our lawyers.

Do what you want. It's your life.

If you divorce me...

then I will kill myself.

And everyone will know it's your fault.

And everyone will blame you, Walter.

There will be blood on your hands.

Mr. Stackhouse.

I thought you were with Mrs. Stackhouse
seeing her off at the bus station.

What are you talking about?

A telegram.

Her mother.
It seemed very serious this time.

She was aiming to catch
the 6.30 up to Saratoga.

Watch it, mister.

Clara! Why didn't you tell me
you're going away?

Why should I make it easier for you?

It seems my mother
is really dying this time.

So, you get to spend
another 48 hours with Ellie Briess.

Think that will make you happy?

You don't look at all happy.

Excuse me. How much time
do we have at this stop?

Fifteen minutes.

So they say.

Oh, Mr. Stackhouse.

I just received a call from the hospital.

To say that Mrs. Stackhouse's mother
died during the night.

Oh, God.

Oh, no.

Thanks, Claudia.
I'll call Mrs. Stackhouse back right away.

But she isn't there.

She never arrived.

- No, that's impossible.
- Oh, dear.

Do you have the number of the hospital?
Who did you speak to?

- Are you sure you got this right?
- I didn't make a mistake. I swear.

Stackhouse residence.

- Is this Walter Stackhouse?
- Yes.

My name is Detective Miller,
Saratoga Springs Police Department.

I'm afraid we have something
we need to talk to you about.

- You okay, Mr. Stackhouse?
- Yeah.

I'm afraid I still need to go
through a few things with you.

Can you do this now?

Sure.

I think so.

I'll be fine.

What do you think happened?

We're not sure, sir.
She may have taken her own life, she...

She may have been pushed, of course.

How do you do?
I'm Detective Lawrence Corby, homicide.

- Walter Stackhouse.
- I'm so sorry for your loss.

I'll take over this now.
Just leave your notes.

When was the last time you saw your wife?

Yesterday, at home.

But I spoke to her on the phone...

from my office before she caught the bus.

Do you have reason to believe
your wife would commit suicide?

Well, she's tried before,
I'm afraid to say.

But I just can't imagine
Clara would jump off a bridge.

Well, I've seen the bridge.

It's not likely that she slipped and fell.

Well, I hope someone's going
to make some investigations.

Don't worry, I will, Mr. Stackhouse.

When you left work, after speaking to
your wife, did you go straight home?

Yes.

Well, actually, no.

Actually, I was trying to reach a friend.

I drove around for a while.

Did you ever reach your friend?

- Yes.
- I'll need his name and address.

Ellie Briess,

38 Cornelia Street, it's in the Village.

So, they have my name?

I hope they won't blame me.

No. She always had mental problems.
Neurotic, jealous.

Oh, hi, Martha.

Jesus.

No. How awful.

Poor Mr. Stackhouse.

Do... do they know what happened?

Yeah.

Bye.

I didn't think I should tell
Martha you were here.

Good day, Mr. Kimmel.

Stackhouse.

Walter Stackhouse.

Walter Stackhouse.

Walter Stackhouse.

- I'm not open today. I'm sorry.
- It's me.

Detective Corby. I think we need to talk.

Did you read a story in today's
local paper about a woman

who died at Harry's Rainbow Grill?

Yes, I did in fact.

A bit of a coincidence, don't you think?

What are you saying?

Well... your wife...

and now some other... poor man's wife.

What was his name?

I have no idea.
The paper said it was a suicide most...

The husband's name was Stackhouse.

Walter Stackhouse.

He's under investigation.

Just like you are, Mr. Kimmel.

Statistics tend to make me
suspicious of husbands.

And I love statistics.

What specifically did you want
to ask me, Detective?

You know....

I've been going over your wife's
case again and again.

Your movie alibi...

it bothers me.

Anthony has given his statement.

Anthony Ricco.

Seventeen...

young...

I'm talking to him regularly.

All your colleagues
know me very well, Detective.

So I believe, and I wanna get
to know you better even myself.

You know, we've got a lot in common.

My family comes from Newark.

We can't let your wife's killer
get away with it, can we?

I'll be in touch again soon.

Thank you for your time, Mr. Kimmel.

- Hello?
- Tony?

You wanna come over
for some beers this evening?

It was her choice.

Wasn't it?

Of course it was.

You can't blame yourself.
I mean, you tried everything.

Did I? Did I really?

What's the difference between
wishing someone dead

and actually doing something about it?

One hell of a difference.

- What are you talking about?
- No...

I don't know.

I honestly don't know anymore.

Morning, Claudia.

I'm sorry. I don't want to work
here anymore, Mr. Stackhouse.

- I've just come to collect a few things.
- There's no reason for you to leave.

Okay. I understand.

If that's the way
you prefer to handle things.

I don't want anything.

I'm sorry, Mr. Stackhouse.

Truly.

Mr. Stackhouse, please have a seat.

This is Mr. De Vries.

Have you ever met Mr. De Vries before?

I don't think so. No.

- Well?
- Yeah. That's him.

I never forget a face.

That's him.

- Everyone I know always says...
- That's fine.

Thank you, Mr. De Vries. You can go now.

So... Mr. De Vries says he spoke
to you at Harry's Rainbow Grill.

You asked him how long the bus
stopped, the night your wife died.

Yes, I was there.

I...

followed the bus.

I wanted to talk to Clara.

And did you?

No. I couldn't find her.
I looked everywhere.

Why didn't you tell us this?

Thought she got off at one
of the other stops on the way.

Had some other plan.

So, your story about
driving around, was...

Yes, it was very stupid of me.

I should have told you.

Well... you better tell me now.

Exactly what did happen? Cigarette?

Well... I felt...

- I felt we had to finish something.
- You'd been arguing?

No.

Just a question of finishing something...

important that we were discussing.

Were you and Mrs. Stackhouse happy?

Actually, we were getting a divorce.

Did you both want this divorce?

In all honesty, she didn't want a divorce,
but she knew there was nothing she could do

- to stop me from getting one.
- Seems she tried.

I followed up on those
previous attempts that she made.

Can you prove suicide
in this sort of case?

Well, coming off a bridge that high,
with so many injuries,

it's hard to get a consensus, but I just like
to eliminate all the other possibilities.

One more thing.

Did you ever hear about another woman's
body found near Harry's Rainbow Grill?

It happened not too long ago.

She was badly beaten.

Knifed.

She was definitely murdered.

No. I didn't.

Kimmel.

Helen Kimmel.

- No.
- I'm working that case too.

I haven't found the killer yet.

Well...

thank you very much for coming in.
I'll be in touch soon.

Where are those martinis?

Coming right up.

- You ever been to Paris?
- Of course. Have you?

- No. I haven't.
- All architects ought to go to Paris.

- And all writers have to go...
- I know.

Somehow I never got around to it.

Well...

it's still there.

It's that goddamn Detective Corby.

You know...

maybe it's better if you weren't around.
Just come with me. Let's go downstairs.

Okay.

He won't stay long.

This is weird.

Good evening, Mr. Stackhouse.
It's a bit late, do you have a moment?

Yeah. Come on in.

I've interrupted you.
I can only apologize yet again.

What did you wanna talk to me about?

- I talked to Kimmel.
- Kimmel?

The man whose wife was murdered
at Harry's Rainbow Grill.

- Oh, yes.
- I'm convinced he's guilty.

So why tell me? I've...

Everyone thinks it was some
sort of random maniac. But...

You've given me ideas.

Is this house your own design?

Very...

adult.

Would you be willing to show me around?

Sure.

- Let's start back here.
- What's downstairs?

Just my den.

May I? I'd like to complete the picture.

Nice.

I like this.

What's this?

It's a kind of scrapbook. Ideas.

Pictures and things
I cut out of newspapers, you know?

They're my clippings. Crazy stuff.

Inspirations for my short
stories that I write.

Maybe one day I'll write a novel.
Who knows.

Quite a hobby.

This is about Kimmel.

Is it?

My God.

You cut it out?

I must have. I don't remember.

I've hundreds of cuttings of all sorts.

I just cut things out.

You've never actually met Kimmel,
have you?

Me? Kimmel? God, no.

This doesn't look too good for you,
Mr. Stackhouse. I don't like it.

I followed Clara's bus to the rest stop.

I waited...

looking all over for her
till the bus left.

And then I came home.

So you...

knew she was missing and...

when you came to see me?

- And later we...
- Well, I couldn't understand it.

When she didn't get back on the bus,
I thought maybe she'd gotten off earlier.

Anyway, it was stupid of me.

She might have had some crazy plan.
She knew where you lived.

She'd followed me there before.

The trouble is...

I was seen... at the rest stop.

They might try to make
something of it. That's all.

Make something of it?

What the hell are you talking about?
What are they gonna make of it?

- Walter, you're scaring me.
- No, don't be scared.

I haven't done anything.

But it could seem strange
that I followed her bus.

I don't know why I did.

What will seem strange is that you
didn't tell the police right away.

You told a stupid lie.
You panicked. Pure and simple.

Big deal.

You were in shock, for God's sake.

I reckon once they check out Clara's
history it'll be over. So just relax.

Though it might not be
a bad idea to get an attorney.

No. I...

No. That'd make it look like
I have something to hide.

Ellie, can I get you a drink?

No. I have to go.

I have to get up early.
Call me later. Bye, Jon.

I know what you're thinking.

Ellie complicates things.

Well, yes.

Until this blows over,
I'd keep Ellie right out of the picture.

I've got one lying bastard and then one...

No. Make that two lying bastards.
Both killed their wives.

I know it. I'm watching them. Close.

Look, Stackhouse is a classic
copycat killer.

And Kimmel is a psychopath.
His wife was in the way.

We need more
than your textbook theories, Corby.

And I'll give you
a lot more than that, Captain.

I don't think it's gonna
be long until I nail this.

Did you know Mrs. Stackhouse?

I only met her once.

Look, this isn't the best time
for me to talk to you.

And I don't like you
touching my things, okay?

I have rehearsal this morning.
I need to be there.

Well, I'm sorry, but I'm gonna have
to delay you, Ms. Briess.

See, I'm a bit confused.
Your "friend", Mr. Stackhouse

lied about where he was the night
his wife died and now he's lied again.

Not that long ago another woman's body
was found murdered at the same rest stop.

Mr. Stackhouse told me he'd never heard
about it. But guess what? He had.

I don't understand.

He's got a newspaper clipping
in his scrapbook all about the case.

This is it.

I appreciate your cooperation.

I'm back.
And I've brought someone with me.

Mr. Kimmel, I'd like you
to meet Mr. Stackhouse.

How do you do?

I'm good. How are you?

You two have a lot in common.
This is your chance to commiserate.

A strange thing... Mr. Stackhouse was
so interested in the death of your wife,

that he cut this out
and put it in his scrapbook.

Now why do you think
he would do a thing like that?

I have no idea.

You should ask him.

I've already told you,
I cut out hundreds of things.

I write stories.

Do you have any particular
literary interests, Mr. Stackhouse?

I'm always interested
in rare architecture books.

You should browse our shelves.

I have a substantial collection.

I was right.

Common ground indeed.

And why shouldn't there be?

Kimmel... you're a fucking liar!

You thought you were home
and dry. Admit it.

This guy, Stackhouse...

he threw a wrench
in your works, all right.

I don't know what you're
talking about, Detective.

Are we through?

Yeah. For today.

Good bye.

This is just too much!

Why, for God's sakes, go look
at a guy whose wife was murdered?

Just look at me and swear
to me you didn't do anything.

- You have to ask me that?
- I just want you to swear.

I did not kill Clara!

I don't know how this
has gotten so out of hand.

I can't get something
you said out of my mind.

What? Tell me. What?

"I have this fantasy
she's no longer there."

Is that the real reason you lied?

Because you were thinking
about it all the time.

You were thinking about it
long before you met me.

Tony.

Please.

Excuse me, sir.

What do you want?

I wanna say thanks.

Whatever you did, I just...
I want you to know that...

- it doesn't matter to me.
- I'm not guilty.

- Did it never cross your mind?
- No.

- But it obviously crossed yours.
- But... I...

I didn't actually do it.

- But I feel...
- What do you feel?

I don't know. I guess in some way
that we have something in common.

- No. We have nothing in common.
- We're all guilty of something.

I feel you are my guilt.

And what the hell does that mean?

It means I share in your guilt.

I may have thought about it,
but... but you did it.

Get out of here.

Do you realize what you're doing to me?

You're ruining my life. I can never tell when
that cop is gonna walk through that door.

I detest you.

Get out of my shop. Now.

I'm sorry. I really am.

You okay, Mr. Kimmel?
That man pestering you? Who is he?

Don't you worry. I deal with customers
like him all the time.

He's a nobody.

Yes!

He was here. So what?

And what did he have to say?

He said he was sorry he brought the police
down on the head of an innocent man.

Yeah? And what did you do?
Discuss architecture?

We're both innocent men.
In a similar situation.

Pursued by a man who invents crimes.

You're a sad bitch, Kimmel.

Did you murder your wife
for the simple reason that you thought

that you married beneath you?

For that simple reason?
Who would believe it? Well, you know what?

I do.

A man of your intellect.

How did you ever let that happen?

She was always bugging you
with her inane chatter.

So, you...

you got rid of her.

But you never reckoned
on Stackhouse, did you?

Now, admit...

that you know he's guilty
and you're as guilty as he is.

- Admit it.
- Is everything okay, Mr. Kimmel?

Mr. Kimmel? You all right?

That's all for today.

See you tomorrow.

Corby is obsessed with me.
You should see him. He's eaten up.

He's... he's got it in his twisted little
mind that I killed Clara.

- But Jesus!
- To a lot of people around here,

certain things do seem
a little hard to figure out.

People can go to hell.
I'm through with it.

Maybe you should think about
taking some time out. You know?

Some sick leave.

Sick leave?

What are you saying?

Well, I thought you must need
some time to yourself.

You thought that, did you?

Well, thanks a lot, Jon.

Tony, open the door. Open up!

- Leave me alone.
- I can explain.

- Just five minutes.
- I'm calling the cops. Go away.

You just give me five minutes. Please.

That's all I ask. Five.

Open the door.

A Mr. Schaeffer is here to see you.
He says he has an appointment.

That's fine, Martha. Send him in.

- What are you doing here?
- I think you owe me.

Corby knows you came to see me,
but I said nothing.

I didn't even give him this.

I think Detective Corby
might just make something of this.

Your little visit to your
favorite bookstore in Newark.

I want money.

A discreet arrangement between you and me.

A serious way of saying sorry.

I'm not giving you a fucking cent.

I can make you look very guilty.

No, you can't. I haven't done anything.

- You can't prove anything.
- Proof is not the key thing.

It's doubt.

Doubt is everything.

You should know that.

I'll keep this safe.

Until I hear from you.

Detective Corby!

Detective Corby!

Mr. Stackhouse.

I need to talk to you.

- I went to see Kimmel.
- I know. We've been watching the shop.

No. I didn't mean the other day.
I went before.

I went before Clara died.
I went to his bookstore in Newark.

I ordered a book...

I left my name and address.

Jesus Christ.

Boy, I'm impressed. Can you tell a lie?

Why did you go there?

- I wanted to see Kimmel.
- Why? I don't get it.

Well, I know it sounds crazy,
but I wanted to see...

if he looked like a man
who could murder his wife.

It... fascinated me.

It fascinated you?

Yeah. I'm a writer, remember?

As far as excuses go,
that one doesn't fly.

So, why are you telling me?

Well, he's got my dated order slip.

He just tried to blackmail me.
It's laughable.

No. It's interesting.

Well, it's a little
private transaction. I...

But I feel better now that you know.

I wanted to tell you in case he comes
to you with some fantastical story.

He won't need to use too much imagination.

- I didn't do anything.
- So you keep saying.

What's the next revelation
gonna be, Mr. Stackhouse?

I'm just watching you digging your grave
and it's getting deeper and deeper.

If you wanna press charges, feel free.

This young man
wants to change his statement.

You fucked up trying to blackmail Stackhouse
with that order slip, didn't you?

Big mistake.

I don't know what you're getting at.

You get nailed.

I'm getting closer and you know it.

He gets away with murder.
That's what I'm getting at.

You gotta face it. He's got
the cute blonde to replace his wife.

His smart friends, his neighbors.
Oh, yeah.

And he's stinking rich.

As for you, Kimmel...

Well...

the luck is just not
on your side now, is it?

I couldn't care less about Stackhouse.

Amazing, though, isn't it?

Looks like he can
actually get away with it.

- Scott free.
- I told you I don't care.

But... your alibi is falling apart.

Could be death row for you
while he's out there, living the good life.

You're not gonna get away with it.

Stackhouse is your problem, Kimmel.

Back on the bus in 15 minutes.

- Helen!
- Marty! What the hell are you doing here?

- I got something for you.
- You drive up here

in the middle of the night without any
warning. Who the hell do you think you are?

I thought I told you
to throw that ugly jacket out.

All my friends think you look
like a hobo. I can never ask...

If you divorce me...

then I will kill myself.

Do what you want. It's your life.

Go right ahead.

Go.

I've got a Jackson following Stackhouse.
Kimmel's taken the bait, all right.

Let's stick with him. He's lost control.

- What do you think he's gonna do?
- I don't know.

But I know what I hope he's gonna do.

Why didn't Stackhouse take a cab?
Where the fuck is he going?

- How much further is he going?
- I don't care.

As long as I have a ringside seat.

Stackhouse! You blunderer!

I did it!

Police! Drop it!

- Jesus Christ.
- What a mess.

I have this fantasy. I have this...

I have this fantasy
that she's no longer there.

I haven't done anything.
I didn't set out to tell such stupid lies.

I wanted to see if he looked
like a man who murdered his wife.

Wishing someone dead. It's fascinating.

I haven't done anything wrong.
We're all guilty of something.

I'm a writer.

I write stories.