All language subtitles for Confess, Fletch [2022]_EN

The Red Sox are taking on
the Yankees at Fenway Park.

Five stars.

Hmm.

Oh.

Boston police.

Hi, this is I.M. Fletcher
calling from 5 Union Park.

- Yeah, and?
-There's a murdered woman downstairs.

-There's a what woman?
-Murdered.

Well, uh,
this is just
a general precinct line.

If you're scheduling a meeting
or something like that.

Yeah, well,
this is just a courtesy call.

A courtesy call?
You got a murder, you call 911.

Well...
...the emergency part's
kind of over, you know?

Well, this isn't
the murder department.

Can you just tell homicide?
It's 5 Union Park.

They like murders.
They'll be interested.

Uh, whoops.

-You Fletcher?
-Yes.

I'm Sergeant Inspector Monroe.

Inspector?
Like in Scotland Yard?

-This is Griz.
-Hello, Mr. Fletcher.

Please,
my mother calls me Mr. Fletcher.

-You can call me Fletch.
-Did you have a piece of fruit?

I had a pear. How did you know?

There's obviously
a piece missing.

Griz, check the front door.

Okay.

-What's your full name?
-I.M. Fletcher.

Hmm. I am Monroe.

Full name, please.

Irwin Maurice Fletcher.

They caught me
in the middle of a yawn.

They wouldn't let me retake it.
Can you imagine that?

What'd you hit her with?

I didn't hit her with anything.

This your place?

Well, I'm renting it
for a couple of weeks.

-It's owned by a guy
named Owen Tasserly.

Rather opulent
for just one person.

Well, before you get the idea
that I'm some rich asshole,
I'm not.

My girlfriend has the money.
She arranged this.

Where is she?
Rome.

Where I just flew back in from.

Um,
I checked the front entrance.

There's a key deadlock
and there's a sliding bolt

and no footprints
and no forced entry.

Nice job, Griz. Take five.

What's your girlfriend's name?

Andy. Angela.

Andy Angela.
Write that down, Griz.

It's Angela de Grassi.
You kill her too?

May I remind you
that I reported this murder

and waited
for you all to arrive?

You been drinking long?
Oh, geez,

I had my first beer
when I was 12.

Mmm.

Here you go, Griz.

I'm not your waitress.

No, I understand that,
but I thought maybe
you'd like my fingerprints.

-See? Cooperating.
-Mmm.

Hey, um, guy--
Sorry, I don't know your name.
Evidence?

Do you need a blanket?

You know what, Griz?

Why don't you ask
Mr. Fletcher some questions.

You're gonna have
the trainee interrogate me?

Go ahead, Griz.

Go ahead, Griz.

Okay. Um...

Um...
...Mr. Fletcher,

did you know the victim,
Laurel Goodwin?

Mm-mmm.
We never offer up
the victim's name.

It's Griz's turn.

Never met her. At least
not while she was alive.

What flight were you on?
Alitalia.

I landed at 8:46 p.m.

But you didn't call
the police until 11:09.

Well, I stopped and had dinner
at the Warren Tavern
on the way in.

Can you produce proof of that?
A receipt, perhaps?

-I paid cash.

-What do you do for a living?
-I'm a freelance journalist.

I've spent the last two years
traveling Europe
writing about art.

Quite the art collection
Mr. Tasserly has.

Yeah.

Paul Klee out there.
A Degas horse.

I saw a Warhol over there
by the fish tank.

See, this is my theory.

I think the victim
interrupted an art theft.

The thief got spooked,
bonked her over the head
and then ran.

No amateur sleuthing,
please.

Listen, I used to be
a investigative reporter
of some repute.

I could be very helpful
in this whole matter.

I used to play the trumpet
in high school.

I never offered advice
to Miles Davis.

Shut up and talk.

That's a very confusing
combination of commands.

Mr. Fletcher,
why are you in Boston?

I'm researching a book.
The definitive biography
of Edgar Arthur Tharp Jr.

The cowboy painter.

-You've heard of him.
-I prefer Remington.

You would.

Go on, Griz.
Okay. Where was I?

Sorry, I'm so distracted
by Mr. Fletcher's feet.

Come on, Griz.
Feet want to be free.

I see you two
have been brainwashed
by the shoe lobby.

My Go--
Okay, look, Mr. Fletcher.

If you did kill
this young woman, a confession
would be appreciated.

I have a baby at the house.
Do you have a baby
at your house?

I really could use some sleep.

Okay, Inspector,
you know there's such a thing
as paternity leave, right?

So, you're a journalist,
traipsing all over Europe?

-You really make a living
doing that?
-Yeah, I make a decent one.

No secondary forms of income
from more unsavory lines
of work?

Writing for in-flight magazines
is about as unsavory as it gets.

You got some place you can stay?
We're gonna need 24 hours
to do a full sweep.

I don't know. Right here's okay.

Are you sure there's nothing
you're hiding from me,
Mr. Fletcher?

Come on, Inspector.
I'm an open book.

Mr. Fletcher?
Yes.

Thank you for meeting me,
Miss de Grassi.

Would you like something, sir?

Uh, are you paying?

A negroni, please.

-Madame, another one?
-No, thank you.

So, how is
the Count Clementi
Arbogastes de Grassi?

My father is fine.

But I don't understand
why he hired you to find
his stolen paintings.

Who are you?
I'm a freelance journalist.

Uh, your father liked a piece
I wrote about an art theft
at the Royal Museum in Brussels.

My story helped the police
crack the case.

Good for you,
but you're not a detective.

No, but I was
an investigative reporter
of some repute.

I don't do much
of that anymore.
Why?

It's an occupation that's been
cheapened by the digital age,
like president.

Well, I wasn't
at my father's villa
when the paintings were stolen,

so I don't have
any new information.

Well, that's okay. I do.

You do? Tell me.

There's an art dealer
in Boston named Ronald Horan.

He's already sold
two of your father's
Renaissance paintings.

-The Bellini and the Perugino.
-Are you serious?
H-How would he have them?

Well, I have no idea.

He might not even know
that they were stolen.

Do you think he has
the other paintings?
All nine were taken.

He very well might.

The Picasso was appraised
at 20 million dollars.

Well, that hardly
seems worth stealing.
Grazia.

Excuse me, I changed my mind.
I'll have another.

So,
what are you going to do now?

Well, I'd thought I'd visit
Mr. Horan in Boston

and see if he had any ties
to Rome or the black market
in the art world.

How can I help,
Mr. Fletcher?

You don't need to be so formal.

What should I call you?

All of my friends call me...

Fletch!

I want to swim in your eyes.

Like a...

...piss.

Like a piss?

No, like a pisciata,
like a pool.

My Italian is very good.

- No. No. No.

So what do you know
about this Ronald Horan?

On his Facebook page,
I found out he teaches
an art history class at Harvard.

He's a member
of the Mayflower Yacht Club

and he's really into EDM,
electronic dance music.

Had his gallery broken into
in 2015.

They stole
some Impressionist paintings,
um...

I really haven't found
anything incriminating.

Sometimes I wonder
i-if my father's new wife,

the Countess de Grassi,
as she loves to call herself,

if somehow she's involved.

I don't trust her, Fletch,
and I know she married papa
for his money.

Well, Andy,
that's pretty cynical.

Well, maybe she married him
for love...

of money.

Was it because of a woman?

Two actually.
My ex-wives said
they needed space,

so I figured
6,000 miles is about right.

Wow, how is it
that you were married twice?

I am very easy
to fall in love with.

I'm very good
at falling in love.
Not so good at choosing.

How so?
Well, I've fallen in love
with married men,

pathological liars,
two drug dealers

and a pyromaniac.

Well, now, see,
I'm only one or two
of those things.

Your famine
creates traffic jams.

Please, no more Italian.

-Ignore it.
-Mm-hmm.

Okay.

We need to speak
to Madam Angela de Grassi.

Has something happened
to my father?

I'm afraid so.

He has been kidnapped.

All we know is that
it was three men with guns.

They put your father into a car
and drove off.

They put the priest
in the machine?

Did they hurt him?
We don't think so.

You don't
have to speak in English.

My Italian is very good.

We've kept it quiet so far.

Was the Countess de Grassi
there?

No, she's visiting her brother
in Milan.

The kidnappers have already
named a ransom.

I'll pay them
whatever they want.

They don't want money.

They want a painting
your father owns.

A Picasso.

That's very Italian.

Fletch, I can't sleep.

-I miss you.
-I miss you too.
I wish you were here.

Do I hear people talking?

Uh, listen, Andy,
I need you to contact that site

where you found
Tasserly's townhouse.

Is there
something wrong with it?
Well, kinda.

Uh,
I found a dead woman downstairs.

What? Oddio santo!

Who-Who-Who was she?
Who killed her?

Apparently,
her name is Laurel Goodwin.

I have no idea who killed her,
but there is a detective here

who seems very keen on the idea
of it being me.

How could he think that?

I'm looking into it.

Please don't get involved, okay?

We have to focus
on finding out
if Horan has the Picasso.

Okay?
We have to save my father.

No, we will. We will.

Did you get the line of credit
set up at Lloyds?

Fletch, the Countess is
going around Rome

telling anyone who will listen

that my father's
left her everything,
as if he's already dead.

Andy,
why don't you just come here?

That way, we can be together
while I sort out
this Horan situation

and all this other stuff.

I want to be with you, Fletch,
but not with my father
still missing.

And now this horrible thing
has happened to you.

Yeah, I think the horrible thing
happened to Laurel Goodwin.

- Yeah, is this Julio?

Hi, it's Mr. Fletcher.
I was calling about the used van
you had listed on Only Vans.

Morris.
Oh, that's great, yeah.

I will--
I'll see you this afternoon.
Excellent. Thanks.

You sleep.

You know what?
Right here's fine.

What? I can't stop here.

Understood.
Maybe you have something
up there I can vomit into?

-Five stars.
-Bye.

Oh, my...

Where the fuck are we?

Um...

Five stars.

Hello?
Ralph Locke for Mr.--

In here.

Mr. Horan.

Well, wonderful
to finally meet you, Mr. Locke.

Please, call me Ralph.

Ah, I'm sorry,
I don't shake hands.

Uh, since the pandemic?

Since touch screens.

Haven't had a cold in 20 years.
Please.

There you have it.
Mm-hmm.

Some interesting music
you were listening to.

Yes, it gets the blood pumping
and the pulse pounding.

I guess that's why
it sounds like a heart monitor.

I apologize, Ralph,
I'm a little pressed for time.

I teach
a summer school class
at Harvard.

Oh, please, no worries.

Portrait of a Woman
With an Ermine Collar.

In this case,
Picasso's wife, Olga.

He made several portraits
of Olga,

but when you emailed me
about this one, I didn't
really believe it existed.

But it does.
And I found the owner.

Is he willing to sell?

Uh, he's willing
to entertain an offer.

What's his name?
Oh, he prefers
to remain anonymous,

but he lives in New York City

and I think I can get
the Picasso here by Saturday,
maybe even Friday.

Well, that is terrific.

There is also the question
of credit, Mr. Locke.

Most of the people I deal with
I've known for years.

Lloyds Bank of Canary Islands
should be able to establish
whatever credit you require.

It's like I've known you
for years.

Here is a simple boilerplate
contract for my services.

-'Kay.
-Oh, please.

-Okay.
-That one goes here.

Of course.

Quite the collection
of impressionists
you have here.

Mmm.
Pre-, post-, neo-.
All the best prefixes.

I was robbed a few years ago,
so I don't keep anything
of value in the building.

Those are reproductions.
That's how I introduce
my children.

Oh, do you sail?
I do not.

I have an aversion
to boat shoes.
Well, shoes in general,

but boat shoes in particular.
I mean, is it a slipper
or is it a shoe?

Come on. Pick a lane.

Is this a model of your boat?

Well, yes,
I'm embarrassed to admit it is.

Well, she's beautiful.
Thank you.

I hope to see you soon,
Mr. Horan.
Indeed.

-Always fondling my boat.

All right. Well, here we go.

$1200.
All right, cool.

Just be mindful of the bees
in the back. You feel me?

That honey's all yours, baby.

Hi, Andy. Still miss me?

Yes, my love, so much.
But you know what I found out?

The Countess's brother,
he's been to prison.

He's a thief.
I bet you he stole
all the paintings for her.

You know, Andy,
I know you don't like
the Countess very much,

but she was very charming
when I met her.

Where are you?

that I'm about
to go get painted.

Oh, Andy, Horan says
he could get the Picasso.

Oh, Fletch.
You must get it.
It's my father's only hope.

Well, I'm sure
the Italian police are working
around the clock on this case.

-Or at least near a clock.
-Do you know
where the painting is?

Horan says
he doesn't keep any art
at his building,

so I'm gonna stake out his house
the next couple of nights.

See if he goes anywhere
to get the Picasso.

You need to steal
that painting back, Fletch.

A-All of them, if you can.

Maybe you should get a gun,
just in case.

You must know
a lot of criminals.

-Yeah. Andy,
I have to call you back.
-What? Fletch!

Whatcha doing?

Um...
Nothing.

Where's your permit?

Geez. Of course.
I knew it. Unreal.

I'm gonna get out of here.
Unless I'm under arrest,

in which case,
I'm listening very carefully
to your instructions,

because we all know
how that shit goes.

Oh, no, no, no.
Look, I may have
come across wrong here.

I'm Mike Wahlberg. Mikey Mike.

I'm with
the City League Arts Project,
the CLAP.

-The Clap?
- I know.

Trust me.
We're workshopping the name,

but our mission is
to discover and celebrate
some of the young artists

here on the streets of Boston.

But who's gonna
see your work here?

My aunt takes this way
to work, so...

Right,
here's what I can do for you.

See that van?
You can paint the whole van.

-Then, when I drive it around,
people can see your creation.
-Sounds sketchy.

Well, look,
I understand
you might not want to trust

a white guy driving
in an unmarked van

who likes to have
conversations with young people,
but I tell you what.

I can give you $300 cash.

You're not making this sound
any less sketchy, bro.

It's for supplies and labor.

You trust us?

You're artists, right?

If you don't use that van
as your mobile canvas,
you're just cheating yourself.

I don't know what all that
white man nonsense was,
but you got a deal.

Fantastic.
All right, I will be back here,
right here.

Two days. The whole van painted.

Make sure you sign it,
so the world knows who did it.

Okay. What was your name again?

What did I say?
You're asking us
what your name is?

Be inspired.

Five stars, my friend.

Hey!

Oh, fuck! Fuck me.

Oh, sorry. Oh my-- Oh!

It's not cracked.
Good for you.

-I just got it fixed. Hi.
-Hi.

Are you the guy
staying in Owen's townhouse?

Yes, uh, Fletch.

Eve.

Hello, Eve.

Did you murder that girl?
No, I didn't.

Did you?
No.

Did Owen?
Who knows?

He has a lot of ladies up there,
but they usually leave alive.

So what else can you tell me
about Owen?

Oh, you want to know more
about Owen?

-Sure.

Do you, uh...
...smoke?

-Every now and again, sure.
-Okay, well,
you should come over.

-I live right next door.
-Eve, I am under suspicion
of committing murder.

-How do you know
I'm not just gonna strangle you?

Fletch, you're so naughty.

Okay, let's go,
Mr. Boston Strangler.

My-- My contacts are in
the wrong eyes.

Here we go.

-Okay, we are home.

Oh, the power's back on.

I guess my check didn't bounce.
That's good.

Mignon, are you ready?
It's time for dinner.
We have a guest.

Glad I tidied up earlier.

I hope you like music, Fletch.
Mmm.

Did you want your keys?

I'm starving.
I'm gonna heat something up.

Are you hungry?
Oh, no, I ate yesterday.

Matzo ball soup.

So what's Owen's story?

What's he do for a living?

He's from a very wealthy family,
so he doesn't really have a job,

but he's tried his hand
at a lot of different things.

Um, yeah, for a while
he wanted to be an actor,

but he didn't really know
how to act,

so he started a restaurant
that went out of business
before it even opened.

Then he invested in a hotel
that never opened,

and now he's an art broker.

You seem to know a lot
about Owen.

-Yeah.

Mignon!

- Oh, geez.

Wow. That is a lot
for a little dog.

She pees when she's hungry.
I do the same thing.

Owen goes to Europe a lot,
and I feed his fish
when he's gone.

They're all named after artists.

Picasso, Rothko, Frida Kahlo.

Owen and I are friends.
I never want to say
anything bad about him,

but he is very pretentious.

Hmm.

-Mignon, you want some chicken?

-You want chicken?

This townhouse
is broken up into condos

and I've lived here the longest,

before the rich people
moved in upstairs

and started the "no pets" rule.

They said I could keep Mignon,
but when she died,
I couldn't get another dog,

but the joke's on them,
because this is my third Mignon.

When one dies,
I just get another one
that looks exactly the same.

And they think
I have a 25-year-old dog,

because rich people
are so oblivious.

Like,
I don't know what it is.

People get a bunch of money
and-- Oops.

-Your scarf was on fire.
-Oh, thank you.

Yeah, I hung out with Owen
a lot this last year,

when his wife left him.

I kind of became
his quasi-shrink.
We talked a lot.

He'd come down here.
We'd smoke. He'd cry.

I've been through divorce.
Yeah.

That's how
I got this apartment.
Oh.

Well, it wasn't really divorce.

He died on the toilet,
but nobody wants to hear
that story.

No, we sure don't.

But Owen is divorced?

Um, not officially.
Whoa. Okay.

His ex Tatiana,
she's making it complicated.

I don't want to say
anything bad about Tatiana,

but she's a detestable person.

She calls herself
a lifestyle curator,
a thought leader.

What is that?

Not familiar with it.

Owen financed her company,

now she wants to cut him out

and she wants full custody
of their child.

Huh.
Owen is a good dad.

Tatiana really,
really, really...

Just-- Just be careful.

...really sucks. Oh.

Yeah, you got it.

You got it right
in the thing there. Oops.

I mean,
Tatiana is hot if you like
that sort of thing.

That's-- That's gonna-- Ooh.

But she is so mean to Owen.

People are weird.
They like being treated
like shit--

-Please, just-- Good Lord.
-Oh.

-I really cut myself.
-Yeah, you did.

Put some pressure on that.
The knife was so sharp,
I didn't even feel it.

-Put-- Wrap it up.

Anyway, that's Owen's story.

And there's more stuff,

but I don't wanna
betray his trust.

Please, I totally understand.

Drinking a lot.

-Hard drugs.
-Ooh.

I don't want to say which ones.

It's like Percocet, Oxy, Molly.

Drugs are no way
to deal with your problems.
No.

It sounds like
you really care for Owen.

What? That is personal.
Just a habit.
I ask a lot of questions.

I used to be
an investigative reporter.
I am not in love with Owen.

I never said you were.
You didn't?

-No.
-Oh. Well, I...

Okay. I thought maybe
that's what you said.

Mignon,
get your foot out of this pan.

Yeah, that's the pan.
That's the one.

Really? You're gonna--
You're gonna eat that?
Yeah.

Maybe not that piece.
Yeah, well, not this one.

This one's bloody.
Mm-hmm.

Yup.
Sorry.

So Owen didn't kill that girl,
but they are gonna suspect him.

-Why are they gonna suspect him?

Well, he got arrested
a few months ago.

Oh, no.

I probably
shouldn't tell you that.

Well, what, uh-- What happened?

Well, okay.

Whoa. More fire. More fire.

Oh, it'll burn off.

Um, so there's this banker
that lives on the fourth floor,
he's kind of a dick.

He and Owen
got in a little fight.

Really?
And why was only Owen arrested?

What is this?
Woodbird and Bernstein?

Almost.
Owen is a good guy.

I'm not in love with him.

Matzo ball soup?

You know what,
as much as I would love to eat,

-I-- I really have to be going.
-Oh.

But if you hear anything else
about the murder,
you let me know, okay?

Sure, Fletch.
Okay.

-Bye-bye, Mignon.

God, again?
What is this? The battery?

-Mignon, shush.

I got it, Fletch.

Mignon!

See ya, Fletch.

PETA is not a big fan
of this idea.

They balance
their body temperatures
through their skin.

That's why pigs
like to roll around
in mud or puddles

to cool off on warm days.

They have very few sweat glands

and they don't release
body heat
through sweating like we do.

So, the saying
"sweating like a pig"
is, like, total bullshit?

Well,
that phrase actually comes from
smelting of iron ore to...

Okay.

Good evening, Inspector.

What brings you to Back Bay,
Mr. Fletcher?

You know,
I just love listening
to podcasts in my car.

Particularly interesting one
on pigs.

Did you know they don't sweat?

And they have
the longest orgasms
of any mammal.

Would you mind stepping
out of the car please,
Mr. Fletcher?

Okay,
but I'll only stay
for two or three insults.

Four, max.

This is a nice car
for a broke asshole.
That's one.

No one seems to remember you
from the Warren Tavern
last night.

I don't remember
any of them either.

Come back with me
to police headquarters.

I still have
a few more questions.

You know, I would love to, uh,

but I'm meeting
the head of the Tharp Foundation
for dinner tonight.

You can either come voluntarily
or I can arrest you.

I get it.

You want my help.
Okay. How'd you find me?

We police
get to keep some secrets,
Mr. Fletch.

And those civil liberties
are so pesky.

Hi, Griz.
Hello.

Did you miss me?

No.

Hey, guys,
is there a way we can
call in a coffee order?

I'd kill for a macchiato.
Not literally.

Nice job, Griz.
Four stars.
Your back seat's filthy.

Anybody up there watching live?

They gotta hear
about pig orgasms.
Pig what?

Don't-- Don't--
Don't encourage him.

You should Google it, Griz.
You would not be disappointed.

So what do we know
about this victim?
Like we're gonna tell you.

Laurel Goodwin's
from Worcester.

Was living in Allston
with two roommates.

Worked at a Cambridge Café
as a barista.

W-We're telling you.

Ms. Goodwin was pursuing
a career in the art world.

-Hmm.
-
Interesting connection.

Well,
I either just walked
into a frame up

or, uh, somebody from my past
is trying to get revenge on me.

-Who hates you?

Besides Griz.

Well, I did put quite a few
prominent people away

when I was
a very famous reporter

at the News Tribune
in Los Angeles.

I looked into
your criminal record.

And?

Bad check charge.

-Two contempt of court charges.

A number
of non-payment
of alimony charges.

100 percent of most of those
were dismissed.

You're a bit
of a shady character,
Mr. Fletcher.

But I am adorable.

Come on, guys. Look,
all of the pertinent information
isn't even in yet.

Did you even talk to
or interview this--
this next-door neighbor, Eve?

I mean, she had some very
interesting thoughts
about Mr. Tasserly.

When I showed Eve a picture
of Laurel Goodwin,

she said that she remembered
seeing her
the night of the murder.

With a man
who fits your description.

Well, Eve is a stoner.
I wouldn't trust anything
she has to say.

-We found your fingerprints
on the wine bottle.
-So?

It's the murder weapon.

-Huh.
-Minute traces of hair
and blood from that young woman.

You guys, look,
that bottle was left
on top of a welcome note

for me as a gift.

It was set up that way
so I would have to pick it up.

What note?

Oh, God,
I forgot to give you it.
Here. I still have it.

Withholding evidence.
Not suspicious at all.

"Mr. Locke"?

My pen name. Ralph Locke.

Sounds made up.

It's a pen name.

"Enjoy your stay."

Yeah, Griz,
you better run that down
to forensics, tout de suite.

Oh, are you Ferberizing?
Is that why you're tired?

Yeah, yeah,
we are actually.
We're Ferberizing him.

I never knew any creature
on earth could just cry so much.

But it's gonna be so worth it
when Charlie can self soothe.
Cute!

She's not wrong,
but you have to stick with it.

You shook a police tail today.
You rented a fast car.

Your fingerprints
are on the murder weapon,

and someone matching
your description was seen
with the victim.

I could arrest you.

And we're not
going to arrest him?

Who wants to do that paperwork?
Am I right?

If you did it, Irwin,
I will catch you.

I don't like people
calling me Irwin.

Dang! Pigs have
crazy long orgasms!

Hey!

Hey!

Fuck!

Hey!

Ow.

-I'm here to--
-No.

Yes.

Okay.

Bye.

I'm here to see Frank Jaffe.

Do you have a meeting?
No, just tell him
Fletch is here.

Is that a first name
or a last name?

Just Fletch.

Just Fletch?

Cool.

Larry,
you let this prick in?

Hi, Frank. Thank you.

"Brown Out."
Septic tank explosion.

I get it. Very clever.

Did the Pulitzer committee
see this?

Fuck you.
You still owe me money.

What? No, I don't.

Yes, you do.
For what?

For charging a fuckload
of ridiculous shit
to the News Tribune

and leaving town.
I had to pay for it.

You rented
a fucking carriage horse.
Language.

I paid you back.
No, you didn't.

I apologized for
not paying you back.

No, you didn't.
Well, I meant to.

Listen, where is everybody?
They're still working
from home.

Can you believe it?
The fucking babies.

The place is like
a silent retreat.

And these goddamn millennials,
they're so respectful.

I can't tell you
how much I fucking hate
this place.

You didn't bring anybody
from LA?

Just Pete
who does The Jumble.

Hey, Pete!

Hey, Fletch.

Jesus.

I hate Pete too.
Mr. Excitement.

What do you want,
Fletch?

Can I talk to you
in your office?

My office is
a fucking goldfish bowl.

I can't even scratch
my nuts in there.

Let's go to my real office.

But you can't wear that hat.
They'll chop
your fucking head off.

What brings you to Boston?

'Cause if you're looking
for a job at a newspaper,
you're a fucking idiot,

but I could use you.

I have retired
from reporting.
Oh, good for you.

Mmm. Do you happen to know
if luxury rental cars have
hidden GPS trackers in them?

They do.
In case people steal them.
Why?

Well, the police are
following me around.

Oh, good. I hope
it's for something serious.
I need a pick me up.

First night I'm here,
I get accused of murder.

What?
Wait, the girl on the south end?

That's the one, yes.

Uh, you ever come across
this Detective Morris Monroe?

He seems to think
that I'm the culprit.

Really? Yeah, he's a smart guy.

His father was a cop.
He's from Dorchester.

Uh-- They call him
"Slow Mo Monroe",

because he, uh, takes so long
to solve cases,

but he solves a lot of cases.

You think you could
pull some strings

and, uh, find
a police report
on someone for me?

No, Fletch. No way.
Way too big an ask.

Oh. Just be a real shame
if Daphne found out

that you defiled Clara Snow
in the supply closet
all those years ago.

I mean, especially
in today's climate.

-Mmm.
-You were her boss.

First of all,
it wasn't the supply closet.
It was the copy room.

And it was
a bilateral defiling.

Are you really trying
to blackmail me?

Kinda.

-You wouldn't.
-No, you're probably right.

On the other hand,
I am still under suspicion
for murder.

Whose police report?
Owen Tasserly.

Write it down,
you old lush.

He was arrested a while back
for something.
I don't know what.

But I think he might be
the actual murderer.

I'll see what I can do.

Thank you.

But hey,
if you did kill that girl,
do the right thing.

And give me an exclusive.

Almost great seeing you again,
Frank.

Just glad you kept
your fucking shoes on.

Uh, hi,
is this Tatiana Tasserly?

Yes, uh, it's Frank Jaffe.

I'm the style editor
over at the Boston Sentinel.

Listen, we were thinking
of doing a little piece

on Boston's top
lifestyle curators

and your name was
on the top of our list.

I know.

Well, that's just wonderful.
I would love to do that.

I want a room to tell a story

and all the pieces
are the characters.

I wanna feel like
I'm in the middle
of a conversation.

Between inanimate objects.
Right.

Genius.
Oh, my gosh,
and this thing?

Oh--
This idea of the branch
in the vase?

I have--
How do you come up with this?

-I-- I've only seen branches
on trees!
-Right. I know.

I'm really giving it a moment,

which lures the eye
to this gorgeous table.

And I got this, Frank,
from a convent in Cuba.

Wow. Those Cuban nuns
must be very proud.

-Right?
-Even if they don't have
anywhere to eat anymore. Huh?

Every single piece I curate
is bespoke.

Ooh. Bespoke.
I love that word.

What does it mean again?

Bespoke?
Bespoke.

-Uh, it's when
an object bespeaks. It...
-Right.

...be-talks.

It-- No, wait.

It be-teaches us
something about ourselves.

Wow. Thank you.
Yeah.

I think I have my pull quote.

I mean, so many people, Frank,
are trapped
in a world of sameness.

I just want to surround them
with beautiful things.

Beautiful clothes.
Beautiful food.

Don't you just hate people
who are too poor
to afford beauty?

Um...

The worst.

Well...

Anyway, you're currently
separated from your husband,
Owen Tasserly.

Yes. Yeah. Yeah.
Okay.

Uh, now, is he still co-owner
of Chez Aesthetica?

We had an evolved
and harmonious disuniting.

And he decided
to leave the company.
Hmm.

Now, I-- I'm sure you heard
of the unfortunate incident
at his townhouse.

The-- The murdered woman.
Yikes.

We've been reporting on it
in the paper.

We were totally shocked,
of course, um...

Well, Owen's been away
traveling in Europe.

Right.
So...

I'm always looking for ways
to actuate the senses, so--

Yeah, of course,
but if I could just follow up.

You would make me
kind of a hero
back at the office,

if you could give me
any kind of clue

as to who
might have committed
that murder.

Frank, sorry,
I can't help you there.

Um...

But Owen can be
so irresponsible.

So many people have keys
to that house.

His housekeeper,
his trainer,

his pothead neighbor
who feeds his fish,
and God knows who else.

Why doesn't he
just change the lock?

Frank, I have told him
a million times.

Owen can be
such a fucking idiot sometimes.

Hmm.

I'm so happy you're here,
Frank. Such a fan.

More water.
Your Negroni.

Oh, grazie. Grazie.
Some olives.

Ah, thank you.

It's so nice.

Ah, Fletch, you're late.

Can I get you a drink?
Yes, please.

A vodka gimlet.
Thank you very much.

The staff seems
very smitten with you.

Fletch, I am not going
to have any of your
American double-talk.

I want truth.
Where are my paintings?

Well, see,
here I thought they were
the Count's paintings.

Oh, the Count is dead.

How do you know this?

I know in my heart.
The pain I feel.

You and Angela think

I was only with my Menti,
my pequeno javali,
for money,

but this is lies.

Pequeno javali?

Mmm.
"Little boar" in Portuguese.

I am half Brazilian,
also half Italian
and half French.

That's, uh-- Huh.

Uh-- And what is the Countess
doing here in Boston
in this very expensive hotel?

Thank you very much.

I come to stop you.

I know that you
and Angela plan
to rob my paintings.

Confess, Fletch.

I'm sorry, how do I know
that, uh, you didn't take
the paintings?

Or have the Count kidnapped
or murdered?

I loved my Menti.
I would do nothing
to harm him.

I did not steal
the paintings.

Fletch, if I murder anyone,
I will murder you.

Now, Fletch,
come up to my room.

I have something to show you.

Well, that's not gonna happen,
Your Highness.

Fine. I go up
and come back to show you.

Order me another drink.

Grazie.

Okay.

Morris, I thought I'd stop by.

I couldn't--
He just came here.

You're enjoying this,
aren't you?
Very much so.

It's quite satisfying.
What? No day care today?

My wife had
a doctor's appointment.
My nanny is, um, indisposed.

It's her support dog's birthday.

Is that dog registered anywhere?
I'd love to send it something.

Okay, look,
are you here to confess?

No, but I did have some ideas
about the case.

Goddamn it! We are not
working on this case together,
Irwin.

Come on, just hear me out.
What is happening?

What?

Hands can parade around naked
all day,

but God forbid
you show a few toes?

Now, come on.
Let's talk about
the suspects here.

Number one.
Tatiana Tasserly,
Owen's ex-wife.

-Who you dropped in on today.
-Yes, I did.

Maybe she didn't know
Owen was out of town,
and she wanted to frame him.

-Why?
- Acrimonious divorce.

She wants control
over the company
that they share

and custody of their daughter.

Tatiana Tasserly
was in yoga class that night.

Vinyasa or Bikram?

We'll get back to that.

She could have hired somebody
to do the job.

Second, Eve, the neighbor.

She has a key
to Owen's townhouse,

she feeds his fish
while he's out of town

and just happens
to be in love with him.
She admitted it to me.

O-Okay. Okay.
W-What you're doing right now,
that's called witness tampering.

You're just begging me
to arrest you.

Come on, Morris.
You want me on the outside,
so I can solve this thing,

-and then you can take
the credit.

It's okay,
look at the cow.
Look at Mr. Moo. Mr. Moo.

Daddy's got to talk
to the murderer right now.

The only reason
I haven't arrested you yet

is because I enjoy
watching you dig a deeper hole
for yourself.

Eve has a motive.
Rejection, jealousy.

I hope it's not Eve though.
I really like her.

Such compassion.

And then, of course,
Tasserly himself.

I mean, it is his townhouse.

Tasserly was on a flight
to Paris at 5:27 p.m.
that night.

Plenty of time to do a murder
before you get on that plane.

Coroner has time of death
at 9:00 p.m.

You're gonna trust a coroner?
They're weirdos.

Tasserly's motive?

He's been a lunatic
since his wife left him.

Oh, and someone
broke into his house
last night.

I don't know who it was.
Couldn't get a good look,
but he had a beard.

Might have been Tasserly.
He might be back in town.

Owen Tasserly broke into
his own house?

-Criminal mastermind.

Whoever it was
did not want to get caught.

He take anything?
Not that I could tell.

Lakers fan?

What do you think?
What about you?

-What do you think?

Charlie, Charlie--
Charlie, I get it.

I'd be crying too
if I was a Celtics fan.

Person of interest
leaving the building.

Slow Mo, he's getting away!

Watch it, pal.
He'll arrest you
at your retirement dinner.

Hey, guy, don't worry.
Monroe's not even sure
who shot Lincoln.

Somebody solve a crime.
How about that?

Can you just--

Oh, thank you. Go ahead.
After you.
Okay.

Are you--

Uh-- Uh, are we going up?

God bless her.

Hmm.

Oh, he's on the move.

If he crosses the state line,
I want to see where he goes.

Hey, you coming?
No.

"No." Love that.

Mr. Horan. How are you?

- I'm well, thank you.
-Here for the clambake?

No, I'm just here
to pick up some things
from the boat.

I actually--
I can't have anything.
I'm allergic to shellfish.

Are you?
Good to see you, Marv.

But I can have corn--
Okay, bye.
Thank you.

I'm allergic to shellfish,
so I can't really have--
Yeah, no.

Okay. Well, see you.

Come on in, Jack.
Save me some corn.

And potato salad.
That's all I can eat.

♪ It's time
We bought ourselves ♪

♪ Some tickets
Out of Frownsville ♪

♪ I see us by a lake
In a cabin ♪

♪ That just so happens ♪

♪ To come with a boat for two ♪

♪ Paddle ourselves
A rendezvous ♪

Sorry. It's just me, Ronald.

- Everything's okay.
- Hey, Ron.

♪ You can run
But you can't hide ♪

Actually, you can hide,
but I will find you.

♪ You're gonna feel so lonely ♪

♪ When you
Miss my huggin' ♪

Thank you.

♪ You'll miss me, baby ♪

♪ When I've gone away ♪

♪ You'll feel so lonely ♪

Thank you so much.
We're The Hot Sardines.

Wow,
what a perfectly beautiful day.

The twin smells
of the ocean and money
carried on the summer breeze.

Here's one we call
"Meet Me at the Bottom
of the Bottle."

It's about drinking.

Something perhaps
some of you might
know something about.

You have, uh,
permission to board?

I do. Uh, in fact,
the owner of the boat
just texted me

and asked if I could check.

He might have left something
on board.

Uh-huh?
Yeah.

And what's the name
of the owner the boat?

Oh, Ronald Horan.
Ah.

Yeah, he said
he might have left
his lesson plan on board.

Did you know he's a professor?
No, shit.

Ronnie, uh-- He brags
about it to everyone.

Yeah.
What's your name?

Uh, Sydney Blake.
Ah.

I'm, uh, Kenton Alfred.

I'm the commodore here
of the club.

Hey, your old man
isn't Jefferson Blake,
is he?

My uncle.

Ah!
Yeah. That's--

Well, your uncle
and I got into
a little mischief...

Oh.
...back at Exeter.

We once stole
a homecoming float

and-- and crashed it
right into a goal post.

-We were a little, uh, stewed.
-Oh, yeah. Sure, sure.

Nothing like a little
consequence-free fun
for the rich, huh?

How is the old the guy doing
these days?

Oh, you didn't hear?
No, uh-- We lost uncle Jeff.

No, no.
I'm sorry,
what happened?

Yeah, he swam right into
a-- a boat propeller. Yeah.

Oh, no.
Yeah.

Uh, just basically,
you know, pureed him.

Oh, good Lord!
Just a mess.

-He just looked like sauce.
It was not great.
-Oh.

Well, see you around.

Mr. Fletcher.

Morris.

Are you really an inspector?

The mayor bestowed
that special rank on me

after I solved the murder
of a city council woman.

She got stabbed multiple times
with an ice pick
in her own bathtub.

I mean, I guess if you work
in politics,

you probably do have to take
a lot of baths.

We obtained
surveillance footage
from a store around the corner.

Where the fudge is made?

And the footage shows
Laurel Goodwin
walking with a man

whose height and build
is very similar to yours.

Well, that doesn't rule out
Tatianna or Eve,

or anybody really
hiring someone
to do their dirty work.

Did you see his face?

He was wearing a purple hat
with a yellow logo.

Exactly like
the one on your head.

You fucking with me?
Come on.

Be honest, Morris.
Are you fucking with me?

Mr. Fletcher,
when have you ever known me
to fuck with you?

Okay. Well, I--
I see that, sure,

but it's probably
a Minnesota Vikings hat,
you know?

Any theories?
Yes.

Irwin Maurice Fletcher,

you're under arrest
for the murder
of Laurel Goodwin.

Come on now! That's--
You're not playing fair.

Can you do me a favor?
Read me my rights in Italian.

I've been working
really hard on it.

Let's go.
Okay, ow.

Andy, it's me.

Oh, I'm glad you're awake.
Listen, I need--

You're what?

Oh. Well, in that case,
I'm really glad you're awake.

Yes, what aren't you wearing?

Oh, goodness.
You woke up
in a very naughty mood.

What?
No, I don't need
a reason to call you.

I was just calling.
I happen to be calling you,
you know, to hear your voice.

And I need you
to bail me out of jail.

Come on, Griz.
Is this about the bus?

It was nothing personal.

You're free to go.

How can I
make it up to you?

Are you set for luggage?

I'll let you
take me to dinner?

I'd rather throw myself
into Boston Harbor.

Seems extreme.

Go, Lakers.

-Hey.
- I got that
police report you wanted.

I just emailed it to you.
It's encrypted.

-Oh, good.
Uh, what's the password?
- Go fuck yourself.

-Frank, don't be an asshole.

Okay.

Fletch,
how dare you abandon me
at the hotel yesterday?

The Countess de Grassi
has never been left alone
at the table.

-Countess, what are you doing?
-Ah, you were right.
The hotel is too expensive.

I can't get Menti's money.

Everything is all freezed.

Uh, why did you come here?

Why should
the Countess de Grassi
stay in a too expensive hotel

when her almost son is here

in this nice big townhouse

near very good shopping--

You can't stay here.

What would
poor dead Menti say

if he know the Countess
is in some fleabag hotel?

Hmm?

No. No happy.

Now, Fletch,
where is my room?
I'm sorry. I--

You know, I came here to work.
You're just gonna be
in the way.

Oh, you bet your big cock
I'm going to be in the way.

I am going
to keep an eye on you.

Okay, you can stay one night,

and then we're gonna look
for a nice mid-range hotel
for you.

What is this "mid-range"?

Now come, Fletch. Come. Sit.

I now show you
what I want to show you
at the hotel

when you leave me
with il conto.

I found this at the villa.

Photos. Angela's photos.
Hmm.

Did you know Angela
went to university

here in Boston for a year?

No, it never came up.

Hmm.
Do you know who that is?

Turn it over.

Owen Tasserly.
Did you know they were friends?

She might have mentioned it.
Oh.

Andy made all the arrangements.

Fletch,
listen to the Contessa.

Angela cannot be trusted.
Why is she not here?

She's trying to find
her father, your husband.

Oh, Fletch. Fletch.

I know this is
so bad news for you.

Now, where is the shower?

You want to take a shower?

No, I want you to take a shower.
You stink.

I make drinks.

Countess, do you mind?

Fletch, I found
a dead fish in your tank.

Okay, well,
we'll light a candle for it.

-Now, could you please--
-Oh, Fletch, I am so sad.

My Menti is dead.

My chiromante tell me
the kidnappers
have killed him.

Where did all your clothes go?
What is the chiromante?

How do you say?
Uh, is a fortune teller.

She tell me
they take my Menti,
they put him in a coffin,

they fill it with cats,
and they bury him alive.

Is horrible, no?
Well,
it sounds very implausible.

Fletch, is no time
for a wisecrack.

My Menti is allergic.

Now, shall I make us negronis?

Sure.
Okay.

Go buy gin, vermouth,
Campari and oranges.

Can I please have
the bathroom to myself?

Fletch,
you parade around me naked,

but I am not going
to sleep with you.

You came in here.

Please do not put
too much vermouth

in my Negroni.

Hurry up.

In the alleyway,
headed towards your end
of the street. Over.

Copy that. Roger.

Oh, no! Oh, no!

- You Irwin?
- Call me Fletch.

Really quite extraordinary.
Yes, it is.

He's asking 25 million.
My advice is to counter at 20.

Well, okay.
Make that counter.

Fantastic.

Hey, uh, excuse me,

do you happen to know
where I can maybe buy
some fireworks?

Yeah, New Hampshire.

Where are you, Fletch?
I called a few times.

My lawyer told me
that the fucking Countess
has gone to Boston.

Has she tried to contact you?

I'm coming to Boston tomorrow.
My flight arrives at 5:32 p.m.

Can you pick me up?
I miss you.

Ciao, amore.

What the--

The fuck?

It was the teenagers.
They were drinking.

So sorry about your window.

This boat is private property.

-Yeah, I know.
-No one is allowed on
but me.

And I am bringing in
my own private security.

Oh, hey. I know the guys
who used to guard Peter Wolf.

Shit.

- The J. Geils Band?
- No.

My security team will be here
within the hour. Thank you.

Come on.
Angel is a centerfold?

I don't know what that is
and I hope that I never do.

How long have you guys
done security?

About eight years.

I've never felt the need
to have a gun,

because I have sort of
an inner calm.

Oh, for--
Let's go check that out.

Let's go.

Uh, I'm coming. I'll--
Sorry. I'll help.

Pretty dark,
so be careful, guys.
It's really dark.

-Okay, Marv.
-Thanks, bud.

It's just
those same inebriated kids.

Probably just doing pranks,
and, you know, just trying
to get hits online.

Trying to go viral.

I've been doing this 21 years.

When I, uh-- When I was 17,
I stopped a burglary at Caldor,

and I kind of was like,
"You know, I think
this is the thing for me."

I-- I tripped the guy,
but still.

Hey, you guys like J. Geils?
"Freeze-Frame"? "Love Stinks"?

I think Horan's
never even heard of them.

I mean, I get you don't know
"Whammer Jammer".

First record.
Who's gonna hear that?

Harmonic instrumental.
I mean, whoa.

But "Centerfold"?

You really need
to get some sleep.

Oh, my God.
No, I don't, actually.

Fletch, I told you
I not sleep with you.

Countess, this is my bed.
There are three other rooms.

Have you found my paintings?

I wasn't looking for your--
for the-- for the paintings.

I think the wicked Angela
has you under a spell.

For your information,
I'm crazy about Angela.

I'm actually thinking
of asking her to marry me.
Oh, no.

Don't waste
your third marriage on her.

Menti was my third marriage,
and, oh,
he was my best one yet.

You know,
I wish you and Angela
could get to know one another.

I think
you would actually be friends.

She hate the Countess.

I think
she just doesn't know
the Countess.

Fletch,
are you trying to seduce me?

-That is not at all
what's happening right now.
-Okay, Fletch. Okay.

-Maybe only this once.
Come. Come.
-Okay.

I'm gonna go
to one of the spare rooms.

Hmm. Bravo, Fletch.
Bravo, bravo.

You have passed my test.
Now you can be my son-in-law.

-It's a nice big hairy chest,
I see.

You have a nice chest,
Fletch.
Thank you.

Morris! Morris! Morris!

Jesus, Griz.
Sorry.

Oh, my God.
I have something for you.

There was an incident
last night
at the Mayflower Yacht Club

and these kids,
they were shooting out
some fireworks.

And I think
that they went astray
onto this one yacht.

Yeah?

The yacht belongs
to Ronald Horan.

We found Fletcher
parked in front
of the Horan Gallery.

Right.
So do you think that--

This stupid idiot moron
has something to do with this.

Fuck, yes.

Yeah. Fuck yeah! Fuck yeah!

Ow! Oh, ow.

Well, he told me
his name was Ralph Locke.

And that's why
I wanted to see you.

Be very careful doing business
with Mr. Fletcher.

Thank you, Inspector.
I appreciate that very much.

I missed you, Fletch. Mmm.
Oh.

I missed you, too.
I missed you so much.

Mmm.

Okay. Okay. Sure.

-So, has the Countess
tried to contact you?
-Yes.

Shit. What is she up to?

Well, spying on me.

Where is she staying?

At the townhouse with me.

Are you kidding me?

How could you let her
stay with you?

She showed up with suitcases.
I can't get her to leave.

Did you have sex with her?

No. I slept in the other room.

I don't believe you.

Andy, why did you lie to me
about Tasserly?

What?
What are you talking about?

You didn't tell me
you did a year of college
in Boston

and that you knew Owen Tasserly.

Of course I did.
No.

You said you got the townhouse
off a luxury rental website.

Fletch,
you're becoming paranoid.

-Listen, I think Owen Tasserly
killed Laurel Goodwin.

He was arrested
for bonking his neighbor
over the head

with a very heavy object.
He's violent.

He could have easily
bonked Laurel
over the head too.

Owen's not a serial "bonker".

Well, look, he's going through
a hellish divorce.

He's abusing drugs.
He's-- He's a mess.

Yeah.

He told me all about that.
Poverino.

-What? You talk to him?
-Yes, we talk.

He's an old friend.

Does Owen know
any martial arts?
What? No.

-Does he have a beard now?
-How should I know?

You just said you talk to him
all the time.

You can't hear a beard
over the phone.

I don't know.
Maybe you Facetime
or send each other texts.

I just got off
a very long flight.
I'm very tired.

-You're attacking me
with all these questions.
-Okay.

Okay. I'm sorry.

Grazie.

-Angela!
-Sylvia!

Fletch,
we're gonna cook you dinner.

Okay, listen to this.

Our Ronald Horan
is under investigation

for a possible
false insurance claim

about a robbery at his gallery.

What is Irwin up to
with this guy?

Also, you asked me to search
the Italian papers.

Check that out.

What's it say?

Oh, in English.

Fletcher's at a press conference
about a kidnapping
of the Count de Grassi,

father of Angela de Grassi.

Andy Angela.

And the kidnappers are demanding
a Picasso painting

from the Count's collection
as ransom.

But Angela's saying
that the painting's been stolen.

Hmm.

So, are we gonna
bring Fletcher in?

Not yet. Keep looking.

Okay.

-Wait a minute.

Just like family,
we are together.
Mmm.

If only Menti were here.

Dear papa.

Oh, grazie.
Mm-hmm.

]
-Mmm. I'll get it.

Who is it?
No one you know.

-Is it someone I know?
-Fletch, set another place.

-Owen!
-Angela.

Come into your own house.
Ciao, amore.

This is my boyfriend
who's been staying here.

And Sylvia, my stepmother.

I know. I know.
We look like sorelle.
Sisters.

Uh-huh.

-Quite an art collection
you have, Mr. Tasserly.
-Thank you.

-That my shirt?
-No. Maybe.

-Owen,
you are an art dealer, no?
-I'm an art broker.

-You study any martial arts
by any chance?
-Muay Thai.

-Muay Thai.

Look, I owe you
a big apology
about the other night.

What? What happened?

I let myself in
because I needed something
urgently.

I honestly assumed
nobody would be staying here
after there was a murder.

I didn't know it was you,
or I wouldn't have done that.

-What did you do?
-Oh, he kicked my ass.

Uh...

What did you need so urgently?

Some medication.

Medication? For what?

Um... It's a rare disorder.
Segegenisis.

It's-- It's--
It's a stom-- stomach thing.

It's a-- You get it
from eating too much...

porridge.

Owen, come on.
Tell us the truth.

Fine. I snuck in
to get a bottle of Oxy
I had in the drawer.

Oh.

I flew back from Paris early
because I know
I need to get help.

But I was weak, okay?

Did you come here tonight
to see me

or to look for more Oxy?

Can't it be both?

Ay.
Owen, you're going to rehab.

Anything else you want
to tell us about, Owen?

-Where are my paintings?
-What is she talking about?

Is the Picasso here?

- Sylvia.
-What?

-Come on,
you're being ridiculous.
-No.

Owen knows nothing
about the paintings

that you
and your criminal brothers
stole.

There it is.

Ladies. Ladies.

Ah, Rothko.
Oh, Lee Krasner. Miró...

Ladies.

- Ladies.
- Where's Frida Kahlo?

Owen,
who are these loud Italians?

Tatiana, thanks for coming.

Oh, shit.

What? Frank!

Frank? That's Ralph.

He's the guy
who's been renting my place.

He told me he's Frank Jaffe
from the Sentinel.

Then he came over
and interviewed me.

So there is an explanation.
Uh-huh.

You came over to my wife's house
pretending to be a journalist?

Well, I was a reporter
of some repute.

-What are you playing at, bro?
-What is going on here?

Okay. A lot of balls
in the air right now.

-Fletch, what did you do now?
-He killed Frida Kahlo.

I knew you were a phony.

A style editor?

He doesn't even know
what bespoke means.

-Doesn't even know
what bespoke-- The fuck, dude!
-No.

You better be able
to explain yourself.

-Okay. Well, it's not
a short explain--

Jesus! Fuck!

All right.
You have got to stop
hitting me!

I'm calling the cops
on this piece of shit right now.

Call the cops. Please.
Ask for Inspector Morris Monroe.
He's a smart guy.

-You can use my name.
-Which one? Fletch?
Frank? Ralph?

-Owen, stop! Stop!
Everybody calm down!
-Ow.

Hey, hey, basta.

You! Yes.

Put your phone down. Yes.

Let's all take a breath.
Listen to me.

Fletch has been investigating
the murder.

I'm sure that's why
he was at your house, Tatiana.

Oh, wow. What smells so good?

Wow. Are you guys doing a seder?

Eve, you're here.

-Who is this?
-Of course you're here.

-Why are you here?
And who is this?

I don't know.

We met on the street.
He asked to come up
and see you.

-I let him in.
- Cool.

Are you Irwin Fletcher?

Yes, I am.

Whoa!

I mean, no, I'm not.
I always get that wrong.

My name is Bart Robinson.

I was engaged
to marry Laurel Goodwin.

Okay. Hey, buddy.
No one's getting shot today.

Let's get you sobered up, huh?

-Get some coffee in you.
This is Sylvia.
-Please. You come to Sylvia.

-She's gonna get you
some nice food.
-I'll make you a plate of food.

- We'll be okay.
- What kind of food?

Get you a bite to eat.
We're gonna take care of ya.

What is that?
Owen, is that Oxy?

I have a prescription.
Right now? Really?

Owen, I told you.
Booze and pills,
it's a bad road.

-People love you, Owen.
-Oh, Eve.

- Oh!
- Owen!

Owen, you didn't sign
the fucking paper!

That dog is make pipÃ
on the carpet.

-Oh, yeah. She's hungry.

Um, I have to go.

-Wait, what? Why?
- Ah, bravo.

Fletch, this is something
I need to do right now.

And I will not
be cross-examined.

-Let it out, buddy.
-Yes.

-Let it out. Let it out.

You are being impossible.

This is delicious.

Are you really not gonna
tell me anything?

Andy, don't do this.
You're on thin ice, Fletch.

Angela, right?

I'm on thin ice?

God.

Mr. Horan, lovely to see you.

So, uh-- It's last call
at the clubhouse.

Oh, well. Better hurry.
Yeah, you gotta--
better get in there.

You know, if they're closed,
there's-- must be Scuppers--
Cheers. Thank you.

-Hey, Commodore.
-Hey, Ron.

Shit.

You still haven't explained
why you were avoiding me.

I was not avoiding you.
I was trying to protect you.

You lie some fucking bullshit!

Do you really expect me
to believe that?

Angela, I told you.
I am under investigation.

People are watching
my every move.

Oh, come on, Ronald!

You could have found a way
to let me know you sold
two of my paintings!

- Oops.
- What on earth is...

Mr. Locke.

Fletch?
Hi.

What are you doing here?

You know, I was worried.
I'm a-- I'm a worrier.

You don't need to worry.
The paintings are here.

We can save Menti.

Come on. You're like a wet dog.

Stupid shoes.

Ronald was my professor
in Harvard.

He was also my lover.

Okay. You know what?
Don't look so proud.

She doesn't have the best record
at picking guys.

So, you stole the paintings
and gave them to him to sell?

They're rightfully mine.

But before I met you,

Ronald stopped returning
my calls or my emails.

So I was surprised
when you told me
he had sold two paintings.

I always intended
to keep my bargain with you.

I was just very concerned
that I was being surveilled.

I'll take your word for it,
Ronald.

I did a little digging,
you know.

It would appear that
your father's art collection

was all looted
during World War Two.

If they belong to anyone,
it's probably
the Italian Republic.

Okay, wait.
Was Owen Tasserly in your class?

Yes.
We were both in Ronald's class.

Why does that matter?

What is your obsession
with Owen Tasserly?

You lied to me about Tasserly,
and I think I know why.

-What are you talking about?
-Owen goes to Europe
all the time.

So he clearly helped you
steal the paintings
from your father's villa.

Then Laurel Goodwin found out
and he killed her.

But instead of turning
Tasserly in for that,

you decided to let me
take the fall.

Because all you care about
is your paintings.

There's video of Owen and Laurel
on the night of the murder.

The cops thought it was me
because of my Lakers hat.

You're the only one that knows
about my Lakers hat.

So you are an accessory
to murder and a liar, Andy!

And a cold-hearted snake.

What?

Okay.

Uh... Okay, I was wrong.

-Um, you're not the bad guy.
He's the bad guy.

Shit. Can I take this back?
Can I take any of that back?

Put these on.

I--
Okay. Can you--

One second.

Okay, I'm very sorry.
Uh, I was wrong.

And-- But you have to admit
it was a pretty good theory.

-I just missed a couple of--
-Shut up!

Really!

Ronald, what are you doing?

I was in a bad spot.

You shouldn't have sent Fletch
to shake the tree.

Why did you kill Laurel Goodwin?

I researched you, Fletch.

You're a decent
investigative reporter.

I couldn't run the risk
of you nosing around
in my business.

I needed you out of the picture.

I guess I'm flattered.

Inspector Monroe
came to see me today.

That's when I decided
I had to leave the country
with the paintings

and tie up the loose ends.

How did you know
about my Lakers hat?

Mmm. Murderers get to keep
some secrets.

Now, put on the handcuffs.

You weren't planning
to take us out to sea
and tie us up together

and push us overboard, were you?

I was already prepared
to commit one murder tonight.

What makes you think
I won't commit two?

Oops.

Ronald, stop this bullshit!

Yeah!

Shh, shh, shh.
You raise your voice again,

I'll just put on
some very loud music.

Can I pick it, please?
'Cause the EDM...
Just anything else.

Dixieland, jazz...
...bluegrass.

Put on the handcuffs, asshole.

You're sick!

He hasn't had a cold
in over 20 years.

-I should shoot you now.
- Ronnie!

-Help!
-Help! He's got a gun!

Ronnie!
What the hell are you doing
down there?

-Ah!

Oh, no!

Hi, Fletch.

Uh, hi.

Uh, so, the Scotch
should be a fine single malt.

Again, it's a hospital,
but we'll see what we can do.

What about beer?

Edibles make me gassy.

Horan's boat is
that big green...

Turned into a pretty nice night.

From a weather standpoint.

Sorry. No paintings.

What? No, no, no. That can't be.

We checked everywhere.

We cut open the mattresses,
ripped out the paneling.

There are no paintings
on that boat.

That is impossible.

Wait.
Uh, how did you find me here?

Well, when there was
the incident here last night,

I put together
that Horan owned the boat

and that we found you
parked in front of his gallery.

Well, I put that together.

Well, yes, I--
I know that, Griz,

but when I say I, I mean--
Griz-- Griz put that together.

So I went to see Horan

and there was something
about him that just
made me suspicious.

So we did some digging
and found out
that he was heavily in debt

and being investigated
for a false insurance claim.

- Mmm.
-Mm-hmm. I also found that.

Griz put that together.
Just saying.

And that's when it hit me.

Us.
Us.

Horan killed Laurel Goodwin.

Went to go arrest him.
He wasn't there.

And we had a hunch
that he might be here.

How did you connect him
to Laurel's murder?

He's always sanitizing
his hands.
Mmm.

He had the cups
for the ink pens,
clean and dirty.

Germophobe.
Germophobe.

So take a look at this
right here.
Look at this video.

Look at the very end.

-Oh, look there.
-Uh, what? I don't s--

He jerks his hand back
because she touches
his bare skin.

Germaphobe.
Germaphobe.

But that man has black hair.

Found this cheap black hair dye.

So, how did he know
who I really was?
That I wear a Lakers hat?

Do you remember a picture of you
from an article
from La Republica?

Sure.

Oh...

-I was wearing my lucky hat.
-Mm-hmm.

And I Zoomed with Horan.
Wow, I am an idiot.

Thank you.
Yup. Finally, a consensus.

Okay, but why Laurel Goodwin?
Why her?

Laurel Goodwin was auditing
Horan's class at Harvard.

Horan had installed some art
in Tasserly's townhouse.
So, he had a key.

He feigned interest
in Miss Goodwin's career
to lure her there.

She was just
a convenient victim.

He wanted to frame Fletch.
Oh, God. Poor woman.

That bastard!

He was going to kill me, too.

I'm gonna head back
to the station.
Yup.

Well, let me just say
I'm glad that we finally
solved this case.

Together.

We?
We.

We three.

No.

-Mmm.
-We solved the case.

Well, we.
No, no, no, no.

You came barefoot into my office

and woke up my child
with a list of suspects
that Horan wasn't even on!

-I don't know about that.
-You got your ass kicked
on the boat

and almost got shot in the face.
That's what you did.

I'm gonna go to the car.

I'm gonna miss us.

But you know,
only you could have snuck in
a place like this

and been able to just blend in.

They'd never let me in
a place like this.

And I'm an inspector.

Yeah, I know.

'Cause you're Jewish.

It's not right.

L'chaim.

Okay, Andy, why didn't you just
come clean with me?

This all would have gone
so much easier had I known
the whole story.

I couldn't trust you
with all the information.

Why?

Because, like you said...

you're an idiot.

So you were just using me
this whole time?

No, Fletch.

It's just that I fall in love
with idiots.

I may be an idiot,
but I saved your life.

You didn't.

That girl,
she saved both of our lives.

Well--
What was her name?

Grizzly.

Actually, you know what?
I never did get her...

Hold on one second.

Oh, this is fun song.

Griz, one last thing.

I never got your real name.
I-- I gotta know.

It's Griselda.
And I'm not ashamed
of my name, Fletch.

You shouldn't be ashamed
of yours either.

Thanks.

There's a lot of other things
you could be ashamed of.

Like your arrogance,
your white privilege, your feet.

Okay, well, um, thank you
for saving my ass, Griselda.

-Mmm.
-And if I could just say--

Hands off the car, Fletch.

The fuck do you want?

Hi, Frank.

You still want that exclusive?

Menti, how are you, my friend?

Buongiorno, Fletch.

How were the Canary Islands?

Ah. You arranged everything
splendidly.

Hmm.

Well, it turns out...
...the Countess
actually loves you.

She was even able
to forgive Angela.

-She's a remarkable woman.
-That she is.

And in Angela's defense,
she didn't know
about the murder.

I think she stole the paintings
so the Countess
couldn't have them.

I think she resents
sharing your love.

Where are the ladies now?

They are spending your money.

-Ha!

So I have your paintings
in a van in a garage
very near here.

I had a thought.
Why don't you keep them?

You can't be serious.

It is better for my family
if the paintings stay away.

Are you absolutely sure
about that?

The paintings are worth
roughly... a shitload.

They were stolen by the fascisti
in the first place.

They always made me feel guilty.

-Grazie.
-Grazie right back to you.

Angela is my daughter.

I can forgive her.
Can you?

Well, I would have,
but she, uh, dumped me.

She dumped you.

Maybe someday
I will understand...

...the sex from behind.

-Che cosa?

My Italian is very good.

-Ah.

-Mio dio!
-Papa?

Sei un visione?

I'm not a ghost, my darling.

Papa!
Ang.

I'm fine. I am fine.

I-- I have a confession
for you both.

We make believe my kidnapping,

-so that we--
- Why you do that?

To discover
who take the paintings.

- Oh.
- We decide
it's best to...

Slo Mo Monroe.

Don't you have any other cases?

-No, I solved them all.
-Yeah? Mazel.

Oh, I got something
for your son.

I was gonna send it
to your office.

Huh.

I mean, is that adorable?

My wife will love it.

Did you find the paintings yet?

No, but city and highway cops

are on the lookout
for a '98 turquoise
Ford Econoline van.

Plates Victor-Gary-2-7-0-Sam.

Apparently registered
to an I. M. Fletcher.

I gave that van away, so...

So you're telling me
if we stop that van,

we're not gonna find
the Count's stolen paintings?

You are one relentless guy,
Morris.

You would have made
a good reporter.

Mm-mmm, no.
I don't know
who people hate more.

Cops or reporters.

It's cops.

("Halfway Right, Halfway Wrong"
- playing)

Bye.

Enterprise Exotic Car Rental.

Hi. Yeah.
Listen, uh, I had
a family emergency come up

and I can't return the car
in person.

So I parked it in an alleyway
right off of Utica there

and, uh, you wouldn't
believe it, somebody stole
the license plates.

So someone can just
pick that up.

Well, sir,
you're gonna have to file
a police report.

Yeah. I'm sorry.
You're breaking--
You're breaking up there.

Menti.

-Countess de Grassi.
-Si?

This came for you.

Only one?

Fletch.
You're a piece of shit.

I-- I think that's, uh, Munch.

No way this shit's real.

That's gorgeous, Mignon.

As a boy,
Edgar Arthur Tharpe Jr.

covered his walls with pictures
he'd torn out of books
and magazines

of cowboys, Indians, buffalo...

-Hi, Frank.
- Why the fuck
did you send me

that ugly fucking painting?

I just threw it in the trash.

You're welcome.

- Where are you now?
-None of your business.

I need you for a story.

There's a shit show going on
over at March News Corp.

Old man March
is retiring abruptly

and he's putting
his idiot son in charge.

I need you to go to Chicago
as soon as poss--

Let me just stop you
right there, Frank.

I am still officially retired
from investigative reporting

and there's no amount of money
that could change my mind.

Well, that's perfect,
because this pays
roughly no amount of money.

Come on, Fletch.
Aren't you bored?

Not yet. Bye-bye.

Wait, wait, wait.
Don't hang up.

Oh, and that
ugly fucking painting,

have it appraised
before you throw it away.

What? What?

-Tay!
- What?

Where's the trash? Give me--

Five stars.