Original subtitles

I never met a comic strip character before.

Well, I've never been one.

Stan stole the idea for that strip from me.

The main suspects are a chicken, a horse and a couple of cows.

He's crazier than a longhorn on locoweed.

Tell me why you are saying these things about me.

Oh, my God, what's going on here?

Thanks to you, we are being sued.

I kind of like the roundness of the 40 million you mention in your cartoon.

I am not that cartoon character.

Before you know it, Jessica Fox will be history.

So, how was your tip, Mrs. Fletcher? Gorgeous, Sid.

If you don't mind me saying,

that character they got you playing in the Hatterville comic strip,

it's given the missus and me some real good yaks.

What did you say about a comic strip?

That's right, you been away. Here, see for yourself.

You're the fox, ain't you? Jessica Fox?

This fella Hatter, who draws the strip, he's pretty clever, huh?

"Oh come now, Sergeant DeRodent, it was you that stole

"100 pounds of fish powder from..."

She's accusing this police officer of stealing evidence

would have convicted the... The Three Moose Ears Gang?

I never met a comic strip character before, Mrs. Fletcher.

Well, I've never been one.

Hi, this is Stan Hatter's machine.

Say something after the beep, and I'll get back to you.

I'll say something, all right.

Stanley, you miserable coward. Look, I know you're there.

If the roof and the plumbing aren't fixed by tomorrow morning,

you're dead meat. Ciao, darling.

They don't call 'em ex-wives for nothing.

Number one? Uh, four.

Not a lot of people back home in Montana can say that.

Hey, that guy's still out there.

Teddy, you've seen too many old movies. Get back in here.

He's been out there for three weeks,

and it's not the neighbor's window he's been looking at.

Hey, didn't you say number two's been trying to nail you?

Five. Two already owns more of me than I do.

Yes?

Look, there must be something on him I can use.

Well, something I can give to one of his wives, or...

Mr. Whiting, I already told you, all the schmuck does is work.

Like all of you guys.

Now listen, Jerry. I'm paying for...

Hey, Mr. Whiting, since your retainer, I have not received dollar one.

So, I'm quitting. Now, wait a minute...

Uh-uh. I'll see you around.

Monday, all right? Plus one more week in advance.

All of it. I want results.

Even if you have to create them yourself. Understand?

Hey, hey, I'm not that kind of...

Mr. Bozell, why else would I have hired you?

Police, Mrs. Fletcher. I'm Lieutenant Peter DiMartini, as if you didn't know.

Lieutenant, if that's what you are, unless you have a warrant,

I want you out of my apartment right now.

Uh... Not yet.

Not until you tell me why you are saying these things about me.

"In a few days I'll make you an offer you won't refuse.

"And, Pilfer, don't arrange a fox hunt..."

And where are you getting your information?

Wait. Wait. This rodent character that I...

That she seems to be threatening to blackmail

is supposed to be you!

Oh, come on. Enough already.

And the Three Moose Ears that she refers to,

wasn't there a big drug sting several years ago,

the Three Musketeers, wasn't it?

Mrs. Fletcher... And you were one of the arresting officers.

Right, and the drugs that we seized were stolen from the evidence lockup.

Like the fish powder in the comic strip. Of course.

And you were suspected of the theft.

Not were. Are. Three years of phone taps,

audits, tails, the whole shot.

There's a lot of people that would kill to see me take the fall.

All the way from the DEA to Internal Affairs to the wise guys.

And meanwhile, I'm pushing papers down at headquarters.

Lady, are you telling me you don't know anything about this comic strip?

That is exactly what I'm telling you.

Then it's gotta be this guy Hatter. I've never met Mr. Hatter.

This drug case of yours, the people that you arrested,

they were all released, weren't they?

Yeah, lack of evidence, $20 million dollars' worth.

Listen, are you sure you can't tell me

anything about this offer that you're gonna...

I mean, she is gonna make me?

I suggest you talk to Mr. Hatter about that.

Oh, yeah, right. All I get is his answering machine.

Lieutenant, tell me... Yeah?

Did you steal those drugs?

Hello, Gloria. Yes, I got in just about an hour ago.

Welcome back. Gloria, I have to see Mr. Yorke.

I mean, does he have a few minutes in the next... He's left for your apartment.

He's coming here? Yes.

Three more papers canceled Biff Banyon last week.

Dayton, honey, you have got to start living within your means.

Okay, then, 2500 against next month's royalties.

Paige, it's not as though we're talking serious money.

Darlin', it is all serious now.

You are down 64 papers.

Hey, your storylines have been getting kind of tired lately.

You can't go in there! All right, Paige,

how the hell did this happen?

And you call yourself a feature syndicate?

What I want to know is, how did a strip that I didn't draw,

and didn't even ever see before,

slip past everyone and get printed in 2,000 newspapers?

Stan. Day.

This cop, DiMartini, has been screaming into

my telephone answering machine all morning.

And I can't say I blame him.

Are you trying to tell me that is not your work?

Damn straight, it's not.

Stanley, honey, don't hustle a hustler.

Okay, okay. Let me put it this way.

Until you can tell me how this happened,

and guarantee that it will never happen again,

no more Hattervilles. So long, Paige.

I'm finally gonna take that vacation.

Try it, Stanley, and I will nail you for everything from breach of contract

to cruelty to those stupid little critters you draw.

And while we're at it, we'll just see how many alimony payments

you can afford to miss.

Stan Hatter thinks he is indispensable.

He's crazier than a longhorn on locoweed.

Day, that kid he's got working for him...

Right. Teddy, uh... Teddy something.

Teddy Gray, was that it?

No, Teddy Graves, that's it.

I hear he's got a whole lot of talent.

Yeah, I think I heard that, too.

You figure he could take over the Hatterville?

Maybe. With a little help from the right person.

Just to refresh your memory, Stan stole the idea for that strip from me.

That's right, Mr. Melton, in order to pay the takeover costs,

we'll have to fire 63% of the employees,

raid the pension fund, and issue junk bonds.

And the upside?

The upside, after taxes, depreciation, green-mail and legals,

is an instant outfall of 78 million and change.

And then, of course, we take the company to chapter 11.

Do it.

"Picked up 40 million bushels of chicken feed on that deal.

"I had nothing to do with that Preferred Livestock swindle."

SECRETARY ON PHONE: Yes, Mr. Melton.

Get me Paige Kindle, The Empire Feature Syndicate.

Yes, sir.

Ah, Jessica. Russell!

I knew you were due in today,

so I took a chance that you'd be here.

Well, I can't tell you how glad I am to see you.

Well, lawyers don't hear that very often. Please, sit down.

Thank you.

How was your trip? Oh, it was wonderful.

Not a thing went wrong. I wish I could say the same about my homecoming.

Do you happen to know a comic strip called...

Hatterville? Yes, and a police officer

named Lieutenant Peter DiMartini?

And the Wall Street buy-out artist, Roger Melton.

I've heard of him, yes.

Jessica, I think you ought to take a look at this.

Where did you get this?

Melton's attorney faxed it to me.

He's a killer, Jess, just like his client.

You and Mr. Stan Hatter and the outfit that syndicates his comic strip

are going to be sued for libel, invasion of privacy

and quite possibly extortion to the tune of several million dollars each.

But, Russell, this is ridiculous.

I know absolutely nothing about all this,

and I certainly didn't give permission to...

Jessica, whether or not you did,

I'm afraid you're going to be faced with some difficult choices.

To defend yourself, or settle.

Settle?

Of course, you can sue Mr. Hatter,

but even if you win, even if you can prove

that Mr. Melton has no case whatsoever,

your legal fees can amount to upwards of a quarter of a million dollars,

plus the emotional expense.

And with an out-of-court settlement, who knows?

I think I better go lie down.

Toddson Brothers. Got a package here.

Hey, kid, how much time we got left?

Twenty-two minutes.

That's all right, we'll make it.

Oh, man, how'd they get in here?

Would you get rid of 'em?

Sure.

I'm sorry, Mr... That's right, Jessica Fox.

Where is he? Well, ma'am, he's...

Mr. Hatter?

Hi. Pardon my bad manners, but if I miss my deadline,

I'm out a couple thousand bucks in late fees.

Well, I'm afraid that is your problem, Mr. Hatter.

Mrs. Fletcher, I didn't draw it.

I checked with the syndicate. A messenger showed up with the artwork,

they threw it into the hopper.

Who looks? Even they can't figure out how it got into print.

"It"? The DiMartini strip. He's telling you the truth.

What about the strip where you accuse Roger Melton of a stock swindle?

Oh, my God, what's going on here?

What is going on is that thanks to you we are being sued

for millions of dollars! Why, Mr. Hatter?

Mrs. Fletcher, I'm as angry about this as you are,

but I swear, I had nothing to do with this!

But how can you say that? I mean, there is Jessica Fox.

That is my real strip. That, I had nothing to do with.

Honestly. But this makes absolutely no sense.

I mean, why would somebody want to counterfeit your comic strips?

I don't know. Maybe it's a nut case.

Or maybe somebody that just wants to get me in trouble.

Coffee?

Oh, no, no. Mr. Hatter, I realize that because I am

considered a public figure, I can't prevent you from creating

a cartoon character that looks like me,

but when the words coming out of her mouth are libeling people...

Look, Mrs. Fletcher, I'm your biggest fan.

When I came up with the idea for this barnyard murder-mystery thing,

I thought, "Who better to solve it than Jessica Fox?" I mean, Fletcher.

Look. See? The main suspects are a chicken, a horse and a couple of cows.

This is Lorraine. She suffers from MPS. Multiple personality syndrome.

A cow?

Oh, yes. She has seven distinct personalities. But she's not the killer.

Look, obviously, someone's messing with my people, damn it!

Now, I never meant to complicate your life,

and I promise I'm gonna take care of this.

I'm gonna get to the bottom of it.

I'll call my lawyer, and get you off the hook, just as soon as I get out

from under my deadline problems.

Stan, 14 minutes. It's okay, kid. We're gonna make it.

Look, um... I'll write you out of the strip.

Hey, I'm only a week ahead.

Before you know it, Jessica Fox will be history.

I'll have you bitten by Rex Rattlesnake.

Or maybe devoured by Leroy Lion.

Or maybe one of the other characters.

I'll kick it around with 'em. I'll get back to you.

These characters, these animals,

they're kind of like his friends. He takes it very seriously.

"I won't print the Hatterville strip that will prove your guilt

"if I get 250,000 dollars by the weekend.

"Time and place will follow."

Well, I can't say that I'm surprised, Lieutenant,

and I certainly don't blame you for being upset over this,

but what I don't understand is why you are showing it to me.

I mean, this is a matter for the police.

You want to know why? I'll tell you why.

Because A, I'm innocent, but I can't prove it

because my alibi, my former partner, is dead.

B, I don't have 250 dollars, let alone 250 thousand.

And C, you must think I'm some kind of a major idiot.

Cabot Cove Gazette?

That's right, Mrs. Fletcher. I checked. That's from last Tuesday's newspaper.

The only thing I can't figure out is why you would try to blackmail me.

Look, Lieutenant, I can almost understand your paranoia,

but last Tuesday I was in Italy,

and I haven't been in Cabot Cove for three weeks.

I mean, it was bad enough that I was accused of libel,

and now, blackmail. What I want to know is

how much more of this is going to happen.

Honest to God, Mrs. Fletcher,

I don't have any more of a fix on this than you do, but...

Look, Mr. Hatter, I mean, at this point

I'm sure you understand that it is very difficult for me

to believe anything that you say.

But I'm telling you that...

Look, it's a wonderfully clever scheme, you know, dragging me into it,

and diverting suspicion away from yourself. And the Cabot Cove newspaper,

I mean, that was a really very clever touch.

But I... And it turns out that

there's a newsstand at Grand Central Station that carries it one week late.

Mrs. Fletcher, I can prove

the cartoon that appeared in this morning's paper is a forgery.

Can you?

Now, look at the characters' eyes.

You notice there are little highlights in their eyes? Yes.

Now, these are on the upper right-hand side.

Well, mine are always on the left. I can show you thousands of my drawings.

Always on the left.

You could have done it intentionally.

But I didn't. It's the truth.

Look at the way the hand is drawn. Stan's thumbs always have

a little inward curve, right about there.

And that's not my lettering, Mrs. Fletcher.

Besides, why would I jeopardize my career?

Another couple of years, Hatterville will be as big as Peanuts or Calvin and Hobbes,

and then I'm home free.

Well, Stanley, I can't say I am exactly surprised that somebody

who draws cutesy little animals that spout political philosophy

would be twisted enough to pull a stunt like this.

But someone like you, Mrs. Fletcher?

Tell me, have you ever looked a man-eating shark in the eyes?

I presume your comic strip refers to my investment

in the CompuChamp Corporation.

I told you, I didn't draw that.

Which you were implying, Mrs. Fletcher, to be a major swindle on my part.

The kind of crime that, were I proven guilty, could send me to prison

for a very long time.

Mr. Melton, I... Miss Kindle, I've had my people

looking into your publishing operation,

and I find I'm faced with a truly difficult choice.

Whether to take over your company and pillage it,

or to simply buy up your many, many debts and demand payment.

I can assure you, my decision will be based solely upon

which option will cause you the most pain.

Now, as to the amount of money

I intend to sue you for, I kind of like the roundness

of the 40 million you mention in your cartoon.

In dollars, of course.

I'm just telling the both of you

that whatever I suffer because of you two,

I will make you pay for!

May I suggest you discuss your differences on your own time.

Look! Stop, both of you!

I am not that cartoon character.

If it weren't for Mr. Hatter's ill-advised decision

to feature a fox that looks like me,

I wouldn't be here at all.

Mrs. Fletcher...

Mr. Melton, would you please sit down?

Ever since I got back to New York today,

I have been threatened and shouted at.

Now, I think it is time to try to find out

who's really responsible for whatever it is that is going on.

Now, suppose we assume for a moment that Mr. Hatter is telling the truth.

Thank you.

The word was "assume."

Well, then, the question is, can you think of anyone

that you know who might want to cause you

this kind of trouble?

Well, actually, any of my ex-wives.

The politicians I've skewered. The celebrities.

Then there's always that fading star,

Day Whiting, genius behind Biff Banyon.

The fact is, Mrs. Fletcher,

that Stan Hatter stole the idea for Hatterville from me.

He knows it and I know it.

That was back when he was your assistant?

Yes.

Add 25 percent for yourself, young man.

Thank you, Mr. Whiting.

Unfortunately, all my notes and sketches were lost

some years ago in a fire, of mysterious origin, I might add.

So it's his word against mine.

Look, pal, I can't wait until next week. I need it this morning.

Mr. Bozell, I'd like you to meet...

Now, Whiting. Come on, no more snarling.

I understand your situation, believe me.

This afternoon, I promise.

All right, you promise.

Forgive the interruption, Mrs. Fletcher.

A failed journalist. The man couldn't even make it in a supermarket tabloid.

Yes, Mr. Whiting, you said that you'd been meaning to get in touch with me. Why?

Because I have a great deal of respect for you,

and for your work. And once I heard about what's been happening,

I wanted to offer you a piece of advice. Protect yourself.

Sue Stan Hatter for everything he's worth.

Well, I'm afraid that lawsuits aren't my style.

I rather thought you'd say something like that.

Look, you're here because you obviously think

that I might be responsible for Hatter's troubles.

Well, you seem to have a real motive.

Are you?

You have to understand. Stan Hatter is a sick, desperate man.

He's a pathological liar. This whole scenario,

it's a grandstand play to gain sympathy.

He's the victim. At the same time, on a truly Machiavellian level,

the hype will boost his readership,

the sales of all those stuffed animals,

the viewership of the TV cartoon series.

I never said he wasn't brilliant.

You know, up until a moment ago you had me half-believing

that Stan Hatter might be responsible for all this.

You're losing me.

Look, whatever Stan Hatter's problems are, he regards his characters as his friends.

I can't believe that he would be capable of letting his little cartoon creatures

say or do anything that was unethical.

That's a very shaky premise.

Is it? I mean, my characters in my novels are very real to me.

I mean, would you allow your...

What's his name, Biff Banyon to say or do anything like that?

Well, no. We're talking apples and oranges here.

You and I live in the real world.

Mr. Whiting, your credit card wasn't accepted.

Thank you.

Excuse me, Day.

Mrs. Fletcher, this is Mell Lazarus.

What a pleasure, Mr. Lazarus.

How do you do, Mrs. Fletcher. Have you heard the news about Ben Watanabe?

No.

All right, Mr. Hatter, you still haven't answered my question.

Don't you find it a little strange

that Mr. Watanabe was in your studio at 3:49 in the morning?

Sergeant, I have told you before, he always worked at night, for me,

and for a lot of other cartoonists.

Buckman! Do you mind?

I'm sorry.

Check the bottoms of your shoes.

I want every fragment out of that wristwatch crystal.

Right, Sergeant.

Come on, Mr. Hatter, let's give a look to your studio.

Excuse me, Sergeant Redstone,

are you assuming that this was suicide?

Pending any evidence to the contrary, yes. We are assuming cause of death

to be massive head trauma caused by impacting the pavement.

This is unbelievable.

He had everything to live for.

He had a wife and two daughters in Scarsdale,

a terrific career going.

Mrs. Fletcher, what is your interest in,

or connection to, Mr. Watanabe?

Oh... And don't try to complicate things, please.

I'm quite familiar with your, to put it politely, your obsession with murder.

Accusing me of being obsessive is hardly polite, Sergeant.

Okay, all right, I'm sorry.

At any rate, that is not the reason that I'm here.

All right, where's this Mr. Hatter?

Lieutenant, what are you doing here?

Oh, still warm and cuddly as ever, huh, Sergeant?

I asked you a question.

It's a personal matter.

Oh, really? Oh, well, I bet it's fascinating.

A discredited former narcotics cop...

Excuse me, Sergeant.

Mr. Hatter, do you happen to recall seeing that this statuette was cracked?

I don't remember seeing it that way yesterday.

I don't know, I don't really look at it all that often.

Teddy, did you notice anything?

No. Maybe it fell.

This is exactly what I was talking about.

I'm not suggesting anything, Sergeant.

Except that forensics might just want to take a look at it.

Oh, please, Mrs. Fletcher. Your think I don't know your game?

You are suggesting that it wasn't suicide.

That the guy was murdered, struck with that thing there. And then, what? The killer

threw his body out the window so he could

make it look like he took his own life, right?

You know, that is a very interesting possibility, Sergeant.

I mean, a fall from the fourth floor

could certainly obscure the real cause of death.

What is this, anyway?

Oh, It's the Reuben Award.

It's like the Oscar, from the National Cartoonists Society.

Okay, let's pretend this is a murder investigation,

and in a minute I am going to ask you exactly why you are here,

but you first, Lieutenant. And unless you want more trouble from IA

than you've already got, I suggest you keep the answers very straight.

I heard about Mr. Watanabe on the police radio, and...

No, Sergeant. No way Ben could have done those counterfeit drawings.

He was strictly into lettering.

And the style. Whoever did 'em wasn't very good.

I mean, Sergeant, when a killer intends to kill someone,

doesn't he or she usually bring their own weapon?

What are we suggesting now, Mrs. Fletcher?

Only that the statuette, if that is indeed what Mr. Watanabe was struck with,

was more a weapon of opportunity.

Which would mean probably that it was unpremeditated.

That's good, Mrs. Fletcher.

Well, it also means that it could have been anyone.

A burglar, or maybe a crazed fan.

Except there was no sign of forced entry.

On the other hand, none of this precludes a nice simple solution.

Mr. Watanabe masterminded the whole blackmail scheme,

he became disconsolate about the fact that he'd dug himself

into such a big hole and he took his own life.

You still hate those loose ends, don't you, Sergeant?

Or even better, maybe he was murdered

by one of his blackmail victims, someone knowledgeable enough

to make it look like it was unpremeditated, Lieutenant.

Oh, that's cute.

From 10:00 to 6:00 last night I was at headquarters.

At least a dozen cops will back me up.

If it is murder, you better believe

I'm going to check with every single one of them.

In the meantime, none of you take any trips.

And that includes you, too, Mrs. Fletcher.

Let's go.

Oh, Jessica, I can't tell you how rotten I feel

getting you involved in all this.

Well, thank you.

But the fact remains that whether Mr. Watanabe was murdered or not,

there's still a very malevolent blackmailer loose.

What we have to do is find a common denominator,

some sort of thread that will connect the victims.

So far, you've used up three of your five minutes, Mr. Whiting.

So, I suggest you drop the tap dance and get on with it.

Absolutely, Mr. Melton.

The point is that I'm terribly sympathetic

to the wrongs that you've suffered at the hands of Stan Hatter.

The man is arrogant. He's patently dishonest.

He's a disgrace to our profession, and it's time...

Mr. Whiting... Yes.

The fact is, Mr. Melton, that I have been financing

a lengthy investigation into Hatter and his activities.

This investigation is about to bear serious fruit,

and may well benefit your case against...

How much? Ah.

Ten thousand dollars. But we should get results...

Yes, sir. Cut a check for 10,000 dollars to...

Dayton Whiting, with an "H."

Dayton Whiting. Yes, Mr...

Mr. Melton, you won't be...

Something to take to the bank along with my check, Mr. Whiting.

I'm accustomed to receiving results for my money.

Twenty-five, twenty-six,

twenty-seven, twenty-eight, twenty-nine,

three thousand.

I honor my agreements.

Wait.

You said something about an extra week in advance.

Jerry, I don't need it or you anymore.

Don't you have some parking tickets to write up?

I want to talk.

Call a 900 number.

What is your problem, lady?

You know there's only one thing worse than a crooked cop...

Wait a minute... That's a crooked cop who muscles in on my case.

Who do you think you are? Mother Teresa?

I seem to remember you getting in over your head

on an officer-involved shooting about a year ago.

That was righteous. Internal Affairs cleared me on that.

Sure. Sure, after you'd pushed papers for about a month,

and the IA looked into everything including the color of your skivvies.

So what? Well, that's been happening to me for three years.

You're supposed to be innocent until proven guilty,

but that does not apply to cops.

Everyone in this building, including you, thinks I did it.

So, what do you want?

Whoever drew that rat comic strip,

they must be trying to make me take the fall.

I mean, the blackmail has got to be some kind of cover-up.

I have no money. Yeah, well, that's spoken like a true cop.

I figure, if I can find out who drew the comic strip,

then I might to be able to figure out who engineered

the Three Musketeers drug heist.

Oh, so, you clear your name,

you get your job back and you live happily ever after.

Something like that, yeah.

Yeah, well, that's a fairy tale, DiMartini.

Still,

you could look after that Fletcher woman.

I mean, at least she talks to you.

Maybe she's allergic to your charm.

Okay, ground rules.

You tell me everything she does, and everyone she sees.

You got it. And when the killer is busted, it's my collar.

Killer? I thought you said it was suicide.

This came down from the lab.

Thank you.

But I think that a semi-educated guess

describes it more aptly, Lieutenant.

Well, at any rate, thank you for letting me know.

It was murder.

Your Reuben Award. It was wiped almost clean, but they did find traces

of Mr. Watanabe's blood. But there were no fingerprints.

I still can't believe anybody would want to kill Ben.

Well, as I said, I'm not sure that the killer really wanted to...

Find anything? I'm afraid not, so far.

We've been through every word the Globe's got on DiMartini and Melton, and not even

a comma that cross-references.

Except they apparently have the same blackmailer.

With the same kind of sleazy secrets. I told you all.

That's it! The same kind of information.

The same quality of it.

Operator 221. Yes.

Could you give me the number of the American Inquirer, please?

Hello, Scuzz.

Don't tell me, you got a folder in there marked "dead file," right?

No, I... Don't mess with me, Bozell. I don't have a lot to lose.

I checked with a couple of your former editors

at the supermarket tabloids, Mr. Bozell.

The material that you submitted was so libelous

that even the worst of them couldn't use it, or you.

Oh, yeah? Well, they are all a bunch of spineless wimps.

Every damn word of that was true.

Not quite every word, pal.

You simply filed it all away until you had an opportunity to use it for blackmail.

Wrong, lady. Somebody stole them out of my files.

Oh, sure they did.

The thing that's heartwarming to me is that you finally made the big mistake.

No, I swear!

I never killed that lettering man. I...

You got the wrong guy, DiMartini.

Look, why do you think I'm about to split?

Because if you figured it out, then sooner or later all those people

who are being blackmailed are gonna come after me, too.

He's got a point there, Lieutenant.

He's lying, Mrs. Fletcher! I was paying him to handle my publicity, that's all!

Well, not according to this, Mr. Whiting. It's one of several

that Jerry Bozell made during the last few weeks. Duplicates of the tape

that he sent to you, reporting on his surveillance of Stan Hatter's activities.

I hired him three weeks ago.

To find something that you could use against Mr. Hatter,

some impropriety, some sort of misbehavior?

Yes. Yes, to get back at him for the money he's making from my idea.

My intellectual property. And all the millions he stands to make.

And I didn't kill Ben Watanabe.

Oh, come on, Mr. Whiting. You drew that fake comic strip.

What? Are you kidding?

I couldn't do that cornball Bigfoot stuff if my life depended on it.

My style is realistic.

Yes, Mr. Whiting is what Mr. Hatter refers to as a wrinkle artist.

Some critic. Look, as it happens, I spent all of last night with a lady.

And for the sake of my health, and her marriage,

I would be grateful if you would not bring her into this

unless it's absolutely essential.

Well, then who drew the comic strips and who killed Watanabe?

I think I know, Lieutenant.

But I'm afraid that proving it isn't going to be that easy.

Except that it may have gotten just that much easier.

There.

I didn't imagine it.

When we were at the cartoonist's club, I brushed a plant

away from my head and...

And it reminded me.

Now, this morning, it looked as if it was leaning away from the window.

Now, plants usually reach for the light.

Yeah, I know, it's called heliotropism.

I raise orchids.

So, somebody rotated it. So?

Rotating plants can be good for them,

although I have a feeling this was done for another reason.

Give me a hand and we'll lift this up.

It's one of those artist's gloves.

Watanabe's blood.

Probably.

And with a little bit of luck,

laboratory analysis should give us the identity of the killer.

Now wait a minute, Mrs. Fletcher, I questioned Watanabe's widow,

and she said the same thing. That her

husband stuck to a very precise work routine.

Every night, he would show up at a half-dozen cartoonists' studios,

but she insisted that he kept

the schedule in his head and that there was no written copy of it that she knew of.

Yes, that's right, Sergeant.

Yeah, but now you're telling me that he didn't show up at Stan Hatter's studio

at his regular time? I mean, how the hell do you know that?

Well, it's something that was very easy to overlook, Sergeant.

I almost didn't think of it.

What, Mrs. Fletcher?

I telephoned all the cartoonists that he worked for.

It turned out that yesterday one of them had called Ben to report that he hadn't

finished writing the dialog, and his strips wouldn't be ready for Ben

to letter till today.

So, what does this tell us?

Well, I think it tells us that the killer was familiar with Mr. Watanabe's schedule,

and didn't expect him to show up at Stan's studio when he did.

So, when Watanabe got there, and discovered that he wasn't alone,

the killer figured there was no option but murder.

The bloodstains on the glove are from the victim. That's it.

What, no hair? No skin particles?

Nothing. Damn.

Yeah, my sentiments exactly, Lieutenant. I had to break a date with my fiancé

and waste two very expensive theater tickets, with very little gain.

Perhaps it's not so little, Sergeant.

May I use your phone? I need to leave a message for Mr. Hatter.

Mr. Graves, you're under arrest for the murder of Ben Watanabe,

and for extortion and blackmail.

Okay, yes. What Mr. Whiting told you, that part's the truth.

He did hire me.

And gave you scripts based on the material

that he'd stolen from Jerry Bozell's dead files.

I don't know where he got it from. I just drew the pictures.

You know, the subtle differences between your drawings and Stan's,

that was very clever, Teddy.

When Stan was sick, I ghosted all his strips. Nobody ever knew.

Until you told Day Whiting, which gave him the idea. It was also clever of you

to use the Cabot Cove Gazette for the blackmail notes.

How was I supposed to know you were out of the country?

Anyway, Mr. Whiting told me I could keep whatever blackmail money came in.

Hmm. What a guy.

He's okay. He paid me more than Stan did,

and treated me like I was somebody.

And exposed you to a great deal of risk.

Risk?

Blackmail victims frequently kill their tormentors,

particularly if the victims are really guilty as charged.

I guess I never thought about that.

Don't look at me, kid. One of these days, I'll get off the hook.

I never meant to kill Ben.

Honest.

I was working on the last batch of phony strips.

And wearing those white gloves to prevent leaving

fingerprints on the drawings.

Yeah. I'd been working about an hour and a half. My eyes were tired,

my back was starting to complain. I needed to stretch. I figured I had plenty of time

before he was due to appear, so I took a

break and went to the kitchen for some coffee.

Then suddenly I heard the front door being unlocked.

It was Ben. He wasn't supposed to get there for another hour.

He saw the false strips and knew something was fishy.

Then I accidentally bumped something and he turned.

Ben had a black belt in karate and he looked like he was ready to kill,

so I grabbed the Reuben Award and swung at him.

Then I realized how much trouble I'd be in if they found Ben

on the floor of Stan's studio,

so I decided to fake his suicide.

There was a commotion in the street.

If the police stopped me and asked me questions,

I didn't want the glove found on me, so I hid it, then and there.

Why, Teddy?

Stan Hatter told me that you're brilliantly talented. That you were on your way

to a superstar career in the comic strip business.

Maybe in ten, fifteen years.

Eight months working as Stan's gofer and I had it up to my skull.

And that music he played, day after day...

Mrs. Fletcher, that phone message you left for Stan,

about how the police knew it was murder and were coming in to really go over

the studio tomorrow morning...

It was really a message for you, Teddy.

I was counting on you calling in to Stan's machine

because the only way that we could prove that you were the killer was

if you incriminated yourself.

That's pretty good, Mrs. Fletcher. That's pretty good.

Mrs. Fletcher, I gotta tell you. I don't take it all back. Just most of it.

Jessica, are you sure that I can't see you home?

Thanks, Stan, but I'd really feel guilty if

I contributed to you missing your deadline.

Oh, thanks a lot, Jessica.

Well, Jessica, I guess what it comes down to is,

see you in the funny papers!