All language subtitles for MSW - S09E16 - Threshold of Fear

She moved in
about five years ago

and she's never been out
of her apartment. Never?

It's not at all what
it appears to be.

There is not enough
malpractice insurance in the world

to cover what you've
been doing to her.

Dr. Holden, do I
have to go to sleep?

There you go.
You're going to feel

much better in the morning.

You'll be around,
Mr. Phelps, won't you?

I have to keep an
eye on Alice, don't I?

Hello, Alice.

Go away!

Alice may have seen something

that incriminates someone else.

Good morning, Mrs.
Fletcher. Express Mail.

Thank you, Richie.

Yes, the galleys
have just arrived.

I promise, I'll get to
them over the weekend.

All right. Goodbye, Arthur.

Was there something
else, Richie?

Well, it's really not your
problem, ma'am, but

there's this tenant up in one of

the singles on the
tenth floor, Alice.

Uh, Miss Morgan, I mean.

She moved in
about five years ago,

and she's never been
out of her apartment.

Never? Uh-uh.

Not once.

Come in, Richie.

Thank you, ma'am.

She's afraid, Mrs. Fletcher.

There's some sort of
name for what she's got.

Uh-huh. Yeah. I think
you mean agoraphobia.

There you go.

Well, anyway, I sort of keep
an eye on her, you know.

I deliver her groceries
and the paper,

and take away her trash.

She doesn't trust strangers.

Well, all of a sudden,
this last couple of days,

she's refused to open
the door to take the stuff.

She tells me to just leave it.

She hasn't even
hauled it inside.

She just yells that
I should go away.

Oh. Does she have any relatives?

A brother. And
there's a Dr. Holden

who comes to visit her.

I've called them both and left

messages on their machines, but

nobody's shown up.

I tell you what, why
don't the two of us

just run up there for a minute,

and maybe between the two of us,

we can find out whether
or not she needs help.

Go away!

Alice, I'm here
with Mrs. Fletcher

from 4B. She's
worried about you.

I'm fine. Go away.

Alice? I thought maybe

we could talk for a moment.

Otherwise, we're gonna
have to call for some help.

Just for a minute.

Please, sit down.

Thank you.

Would you, um, like some tea?

Oh, no, thank you.

Miss Morgan.

Alice.

I don't want to pry, but

Richie was very
concerned about you.

When I look through here,

I can see the brownstone,

the house I lived
in with my family.

Oh, that's lovely.

Do you ever have a dream where,

when you wake up,

you're not certain
if it was a dream

or if it was real?

Yes, I have.

I usually fall asleep
before this show is over,

so I tape it, just to be sure.

Five years ago, I saw a man...

I mean, I saw him in a dream.

But maybe...

He is back with a vengeance.

He is a leading contender

in the much-talked-about
design project,

the Lower Soho Museum of Arts.

Jordan Barnett.

Welcome back to the Big Apple.

Thanks, Jim. It's
nice to be back.

That's the man. From my dream.

From five years back? Yes.

No. A week ago,
and every night since.

I see the body of my
mother lying there,

and when I go to touch it,

this huge, vicious
bird comes right at me!

Her body? But your mother is...

For God's sake,
don't you understand?

She's dead! She was murdered!

Who are you?

And what are you doing here?

I'm sure that you
and the doorman

had the best of intentions,

but Miss Morgan is my patient,

and as you can see, her
condition is very precarious.

Yes. So you're going
to have to leave,

I'm afraid, right
now. Of course.

Excuse me, are
you the Dr. Holden

that Richie was trying to reach?

Yes, I am, and Alice
needs me right now,

so thank you very much.

Alice. Here,
let's turn this off.

Come on, you can
do it. Calm down.

Slowly. Slowly.

That's a girl. Slowly.

Barnett Design Studios.
Laura Martin speaking.

I'm afraid he's in a
meeting just now, Mr. Ferris.

All right.

We report back to the rest
of the committee tomorrow,

and, well, personally, I think

it's safe to say
you'll be our choice.

Thank you, Mrs. Eddington.

I'd be less than
honest if I didn't tell you

how much I appreciate

your personal
involvement. Thank you.

Thanks so much for coming by.

So? What's your reading?

Is the Museum Commission a go?

Well, Laura, let
me put it this way.

I hope I'm going to be
counting heavily on you

in the next few months.

Got a few phone calls,
and we're outta here. Dinner.

Oh, the TV station
faxed us some inquiries

that came in after the
show the other night.

Well, should I send the
usual bio and credits?

Jordan, is something wrong?

Uh, of course not.

What about dinner?

Later.

Jim, you want to
bring it around?

Right away, Mr. Barnett.

Barnett.

Ben. Ben Cutler.
How long has it been?

Forget the charm, will you?

You know how long it's been.

You got about 30 seconds.
Maybe you ought to get to it.

Yeah, but what it is, see,

I've seen your
specs and renderings

from the Museum project.

And?

You're incredible,
you know that?

When you can put two
sentences together, call me.

Thanks. Thank you, sir.

I'll give you a
couple right now.

Except for a few
details you added,

that entire package

is my old university
library project.

Ben, get a life.

And stay the hell
out of mine, all right?

Look, Jordan. I don't
want to make trouble.

I just want what's mine.

Time's up, Jennifer. Oh!

Thank you, Doctor.

See you on Tuesday.

Doctor, I need...
Tuesday, Jennifer.

Ellen, we've gotta talk.

Not now, Peter.
Now, let me through.

No, damn it. I am sick and tired

of you draining my
sister's bank account

and not making her any better,

and turning her against
me in the bargain.

And I'm also a little... Peter.

You are being tedious.

The only interest I have in you

and your financial problems

is how they affect Alice
and her mental health.

Now get out.

You'd better start
listening to me, Doctor,

because you know and I know,

there is not enough
malpractice insurance in the world

to cover what you've
been doing to her.

You want her permission
to sell the brownstone?

I'm not going to take
anything away from her, Ellen.

She'll get her half.

Every penny of it.

I'll see what I can do.

Okay. But fast.

I would've retired
six months ago,

but my wife said, "How
can you be a good grandpa,

"if you can't afford
all of this stuff?"

I know. When is it due?

Yesterday.

Kid's probably gonna
be a soccer star.

My daughter, Estelle, says
he's been trying to kick his way

outta there for months.

Did you find anything?

Well, yes, but I'm not
sure I know what it means.

Lillian Morgan, age 47,

murdered in her own
brownstone on West 61st Street

five years ago last month.

There's a statement in
there from her daughter, Alice,

and also her son, Peter.

Hmm. Carving knife
from the kitchen.

Possible robbery.

So, the case is still
open. No suspects.

How old would Alice
have been at that time?

Mmm, 18 years old. And her
brother was away at school.

Yeah, it's kind of
coming back to me.

The victim had a husband
who walked out on her

about three months
before she was ootzed.

That was Wallace Morgan.

Mmm-hmm. Yeah,
we tried tracing him.

Vanished into thin air.

Here.

Missing Persons figured
he died or left the country.

So, anyway,

the daughter, this
neighbor of yours,

she goes a little wingy,

holds up in her
apartment for five years,

suffers recurring nightmares
of her mother's murder,

then sees this architect?

Jordan Barnett.

Right. On the TV.

And her shrink
tells you to butt out.

Come on, Jessica,
there's nothing here.

They said this was gonna
be more complicated

than driving a patrol
car, but I had no idea.

Mrs. Fletcher. Detective Grady.

Here's what I tracked
down, Lieutenant.

Phone company records
show this guy Barnett

closing his account five
years ago, last month.

And there's no record
of him in New York since.

Hello, Alice.

Hello, Desk.

I'll be right there.

Come on, move it, move it!

Mrs. Fletcher, it's Alice.

Somebody's trying to
bust into her apartment.

Alice, let me in.

Go away.

Please! Leave me alone!

Come on, Alice. Open up.

Alice.

Alice, I'm not here to hurt you.

Alice!

Damn it, open it up! Alice!

Go away!

Hey!

Alice?

This is Jessica Fletcher.

He's gone now.

Would you please open the door?

Mrs. Fletcher,

it isn't just a dream.

That was Jordan Barnett.

The man who killed my mother.

Alice. There.

Don't leave me alone. Please.

Alice, you're a
big girl now, okay?

I, uh... I'll stay with you.

No, you won't, Mr. Phelps.

Alice needs her rest.

I'm gonna have
to ask you to leave.

Both of you.

It's okay, it's okay.

Put your head down. Come on.

There you go. Lie back.

That's a girl. I'll see
you tomorrow, hmm?

Look, I can understand
your concern, Doctor, but...

I don't think you do.

That young woman is
simply not strong enough

to withstand a barrage of people

and questions that could
send her right over the edge.

Dr. Holden, doesn't it alarm you

that the man that she
believes murdered her mother

is now trying to get into her
apartment to possibly harm her?

Given your profession,
Mrs. Fletcher,

I'm not surprised that,

like Alice, you have

a difficult time discerning that

fine line between
fantasy and reality.

Jordan Barnett is not a fantasy,

nor is the fact that he
happened to have left Manhattan

within hours of Lillian
Morgan's murder.

Life is full of coincidences.

Perhaps.

But as I believe
Dr. Freud suggested,

very few accidents.

Touche.

Pardon me, what did
you say your name was?

I'm sorry, Dr. Holden, but
he's with a client just now.

Would you care to
leave a message?

Oh, well, may I tell him
what this is regarding?

I'll give him the
message, Doctor,

but I happen to know
that he's busy tonight.

You're welcome.

I cannot account
for the fantasies

of a young woman
who's clearly deranged.

Following my recent
television appearance,

the station sent us a
list of inquiries, and I...

Yeah, about that.

I wasn't aware that architects
were making house calls

to prospective clients.

If you'd permit me to finish,

I was about to
say that I thought

she might be the
same Alice Morgan

that I dated many years ago,

and subsequently lost track of.

So instead of phoning her,

you simply showed
up at the door?

I wanted to surprise her.

Well, you certainly
seem to have succeeded.

Look...

This whole thing is a
total misunderstanding.

It's not at all what
it appears to be.

I was coming to that.

So why did you run?

Let me answer
that with a question,

for both of you.

Now, suppose you're
a prominent architect

for whom there's an important
high profile commission

hanging on a precarious balance.

The Lower Soho Museum?

Precisely. And you
make the mistake

of knocking on the
door of a young woman,

unaware that she happens to
be severely emotionally disturbed,

and who turns your innocent
visit into a public scene,

a scene which neither you
nor your career can afford.

Now, my question is this,
"What would you have done?"

If an overprotective doorman

and several irate neighbors

converged upon you,

making the same
assumptions that brought

the two of you to this office?

He's got a point, Mrs. Fletcher.

I make no claim that I
made the wisest decision

by leaving when I did.

But now, if you'll excuse me,

I'm already late for
an important meeting.

Thank you for your
time, Mr. Barnett.

I can't believe you're
pulling this on me again.

This is business,
Laura. Oh, yeah, right.

Yours and this Dr. Holden's.

I got that part, Jordan.

What I want to know
is, should I pack my bags

and head back
to... Laura. Laura.

I promise I'll explain
everything to you.

Now, if I can get
away early enough,

we'll grab some dinner, huh?

I'm actually her stepbrother.

Alice's father died
when she was young,

as did my mother.

Uh, my dad married Lillian
Morgan when I was about three.

And your father, Wallace Morgan,

you never heard from
him after he vanished?

No.

Peter, do you have any inkling

of why he suddenly left

Alice and your
stepmother, what was it,

three months before
she was murdered?

Wait. Is this why you
asked me over here,

to get something on
my father? To try and...

No, no, not at all,
Peter. No, believe me.

I didn't mean to pry.

I suppose, knowing Alice,
I was just naturally curious

about her background.

Actually, what I am
trying to determine

is whether a Mr. Jordan Barnett

was involved with
you or your family

at the time that Lillian
Morgan was murdered.

Barnett?

Yes, he's an architect.

Now, he disappeared
five years ago,

just around the
time of the murder.

Jordan Barnett.

I recognize him.

This is a two-way
street, Mrs. Fletcher.

I want quid pro quo.

Well, I'm not sure I understand.

I mean, what do I
have that you want?

Well, at the moment,
access to my stepsister.

I understand you and she
have gotten kind of tight

in the past couple of days.

Much to the
annoyance of that quack

who's been treating her.

Look, Alice and I inherited

a couple of individual
trusts which keep us alive

and well, and one old
brownstone, period.

The one in which Lillian
Morgan was murdered.

Uh-huh. Now, I have a
chance to sell it for more

than that old dump's worth,

but I can't do it unilaterally.

I need Alice's consent.

And you want me to intercede?

For whatever
reason, Dr. Holden's

turned her against me.

I mean, Alice won't even
take any of my phone calls.

And, quite frankly,
I need the cash.

Look, Peter, I'll tell her
all that you've told me,

and I won't advise her
one way or the other.

Hey, I can live with that.

I can't be in a worse
place than I am now,

which is nowhere.

So, what can I tell you
about Jordan Barnett?

The truth, Peter.

Did you or your family know him?

I think my dad was considering

hiring him to remodel
the brownstone.

You know that little witch
who's working for you?

Hmm? She goes.

Oh, Ellen, be reasonable.

I mean, she spent
almost all the time with me

when I was out
on the West Coast.

I don't care, Jordan.

That's how long I
went without you.

No, Ellen. Hmm?

Come on.

Uh-uh, she's history,
as of tomorrow.

Come on. Come
on. As of tomorrow.

Or would you
rather that I had Alice

start to believe all of that
stuff her subconscious

is just trying so
hard to tell her, huh?

Ah.

Hey, taxi! Hey, hey!

New York.

Where's a cab when you need one?

The decedent was a white male,

approximately 45.

All of his jewelry
and wallet were taken,

suggesting a robbery motive.

I personally knew him

as a Jordan
Barnett, an architect.

Freddie! A minute.
You got anything?

Uh, nothing that you
couldn't see for yourself.

Cause of death, a
single knife wound

inflicted by a
broad-bladed instrument

of some kind.

The wound aperture
shows bruising,

suggesting a very
powerful thrust.

You going anywhere
for breakfast, Artie?

No. Thanks anyway, Freddie.

Grady!

What is this?
Pick it up. My back.

Oh. Bag it. Have Forensics
chase down any prints.

Right, Lieutenant. Uh,
listen, should I take this...

Grady, just do it, all right?

Look, I may have lost the stub,

but I was there.

I can describe the movie to you.

It was a revival of
Casablanca, and...

Casablanca?

Who can't describe Casablanca?

I don't even like it,
and I know it by heart.

It's the best I can do.

Yeah, well, there is a
lady and a parking valet

who will testify to an incident
outside of Barnett's office

last Thursday at 5:00 p.m.

All right, look...

Look, five years ago,
we were partners.

We had a worthwhile
thing going, you know.

We had a
five-story for the city,

a couple of big
commissions pending.

Then, he walked out.

Just like that?

Just like that.

And your career?

I had a little
regrouping to do, is all.

But I didn't kill
him, Lieutenant.

I had no reason to.

That isn't what I
heard, Mr. Gotler.

According to our information,

your career went in
the dumper the day

Jordan Barnett left town.

Okay, we know Barnett
snuck into your building

to find out what
Alice remembered

about when he killed her mother.

Now, if she'd only
give us a statement

that corresponds
with what she told you.

You mean, about
her dream of seeing

Jordan Barnett standing
over her mother's body?

Yeah. Then I figure

we can close the file on
the Lillian Morgan homicide.

And it takes your friend
Alice out of danger.

Perhaps.

What "perhaps," Jessica?

Well, several things.

First, you said you
didn't know what

Jordan Barnett was doing
over on East 67th Street.

Well, it happens that the
spot where you found his body

is just around the
corner from the office

of Alice's psychiatrist,
Dr. Ellen Holden.

That's good. Next?

Well, the similarity
between the way

in which both Mrs. Morgan
and Mr. Barnett were killed.

I mean, you indicated that

it could have been
done by the same person.

Yeah, yeah. But
not necessarily so.

Your table is ready.

Right over here, Jessica.

Thanks.

Artie, suppose Jordan Barnett

didn't kill Lillian Morgan,

but was the one
who found her body.

Now, it's conceivable
that he was killed

because he was getting
too close to the truth.

Okay, that tracks. Sort of.

What are you saying?

Well, what I'm
suggesting is that Alice

may have seen something

that incriminates someone else.

And if the killer realizes it...

Alice.

I don't want to talk
to you right now.

Damn it, Alice, open the door.

Look, Mrs. Fletcher
told me what you want,

and I can't.

Not just yet.

Oh, for God's sake,
give me a break.

You're never gonna set
foot in that old rat-trap again.

Barnett's gone, Alice.

There's nothing to be
frightened of anymore.

Alice, it's time you and I
went back to the way we were,

brother and sister.

We were never
anything like that, Peter.

You know we weren't.

Please, leave me alone!

Alice, it's Henry.

Peter's gone.

You okay?

I know what the
problem is, Alice.

Richie told me all about it.

Very protectively.

I mean, Richie
would throw himself

in front of a truck for you.

Did you ever get
a chance to listen

to the record I found for you?

The Chopin? No.

Maybe you'd like to
listen to it with me?

I don't know if you realize, but

I've been your
neighbor for as long as

you've lived here.

No.

I didn't know that.

And, I saw the same
TV show you saw.

The one Barnett was on.

I recognized him
when he tried to

break into your apartment.

I'm almost glad he's dead.

Not that anyone should rejoice

in somebody else's
misfortune, but

with only the thickness
of a wall between us,

well,

it's almost like
we're family, and

I watch out for you.

Family.

That's a very nice
way to put it, Henry.

Actually, I'm kind of
glad we're not related.

I mean...

I'd like to be your friend.

I think you already are.

Well,

can't keep the boss
waiting for too long.

Thank you for coming by.

You never have
to be alone, Alice.

You know that, don't you?

Holy magoly! When?

Grady!

What is it, Lieutenant?
That was my son-in-law.

Estelle and my wife
left for the hospital

15 minutes ago.
They think it's time.

Well, listen, I was
gonna ask you...

The case is yours,
Grady. Don't screw it up!

My father, Mrs. Fletcher.

Peter.

Doesn't do him justice, really.

May I ask what
you're doing here?

Well, I was curious
to see the place

that had given Alice
so many sad memories.

She let me have the key. Oh.

Why did you cover it? Oh,

I loved him too
much to be reminded

of him the whole time.

He was kind of a hero to me.

Do you know where
your father is now, Peter?

Or why he left
several months before

Lillian was murdered?

No to both questions.

He simply ran away from it all.

From Lillian and
her money. From me.

Alice told me that you
were away at school

when your stepmother
was murdered.

Right. Slogging away
at those winter finals.

Well, thank you for
sharing this with me, Peter.

Hey, listen,

I appreciate you going
to bat for me with Alice.

I'm sorry it wasn't
more effective.

You held up your
end of the bargain.

Richie, what's all
the commotion about?

Looks like half the police
department is parked outside.

I couldn't stop
them, Mrs. Fletcher.

I phoned Dr. Holden 'cause
I didn't know what to do.

What are you talking about?

The police have come for Alice.

Please. Please.

Oh, good heavens!

The condition is
agoraphobia, Grady.

Remember it the next
time you try strong-arming

some young lady who's suffering

obviously from a
severe emotional trauma.

Hey, what did I
know, Lieutenant?

By the time I got
her to open the door,

she was like hysterical,
and started hitting me.

And then this guy...

There seems to have been a very

unfortunate breakdown in
communications, Lieutenant.

Yeah. Guilty as charged.

I haven't exactly
been on my game.

Anyway, I gave that piece
of jewelry to Forensics

like you told me to,
and they came back

with a match on
Miss Morgan's prints

from her school ID
card from six years ago.

Has she got any
idea how her locket

ended up at the murder site?

Who got a chance to ask?

Listen, I'm really
sorry, Lieutenant.

It's all right, Grady.

Go down to the station
and make out the report.

And release Mr. Phelps.

Have to tell you, Jessica,

psychosis or no psychosis,

I'm still not convinced
that Alice Morgan

didn't kill Barnett.

Well, at this point, I've
got nothing more than

my instinct to
go on, but, Artie,

it seems just as plausible to me

that somebody else
planted that locket.

Yeah, someone close to her.

Someone who had
access to her apartment

or to her.

Let's see, we've
got the doorman,

her stepbrother,

Dr. Holden.

I think maybe I'd better
get back to my apartment.

I've got some work
to do before I turn in.

You'll be around,
won't you, Mr. Phelps?

Of course, Lieutenant.

I have to keep an
eye on Alice, don't I?

She's calm now,
Lieutenant, no thanks to your

Neanderthal associates.

If you must talk to her,

and I urge you to
keep it to a minimum,

you're going to have
to do so in the morning.

Uh, Dr. Holden, I'd like
to ask you a question.

Did Jordan Barnett visit
your office last night?

Why would he? I've
never met the man.

Excuse me. Really?

Well, Mr. Barnett's
phone records

indicate a call from your number

around three hours
before he was killed.

Well, I tried to talk
to him, Lieutenant,

because he had
frightened my patient,

and because he'd been
playing such a large part

in her nightmares,
and I wanted to find out

whether there was
any truth to her dreams.

Unfortunately, the young
woman who answered the phone

wouldn't put him on the line.

Now, I suggest we give Alice

some much needed
peace and quiet.

Who is it?

It's me, Mrs.
Fletcher. Alice Morgan.

Alice?

I'm sorry to bother you so late.

May I come in? Of course.

Of course.

Oh, Alice, you're
looking so much better.

I'm so sorry about
what happened.

Detective Grady
just had no idea.

Sit down. It was okay.

No, I take it back.
It was horrible.

But, you know,

I actually found out
something about myself.

That what you feared

had very little
basis in reality?

Something like that.

I started thinking about
what actually did happen,

and I remember, I was
out of the apartment

and in the elevator
with those police

all the way to the ground floor.

The door opened,

and there was the lobby,
and Richie at his desk.

It had been so long, I'd
forgotten what it looked like.

I was terrified, all right,
but nothing happened.

I mean, I was alive
and in one piece,

and whatever I
thought would happen

was all in my head.

Not nearly as bad as what

Dr. Holden had
led you to believe.

That's right. Mrs. Fletcher,

if I could do that again,
with nobody forcing me,

only this time try to
go to the brownstone.

To separate the
nightmare from the reality.

Yes.

Would you help me?

Alice, I'd be proud to.

Hello, Richie.

Alice. Hi.

You need any
help, Mrs. Fletcher?

Thanks, but I think not, Richie.

Don't you worry about us.

We're taking it
one step at a time.

All right.

Makes you feel pretty
good, huh, Mr. Phelps?

Okay so far? Yes.

Thanks.

I never thought I'd ever be

back inside this old thing.

It used to seem warmer.

Friendlier.

It began up there,

in my bedroom.

I'd come home from
school that night.

I was tired.

I went right to bed.

About 2:00 in the morning,

voices downstairs woke me.

Angry voices.

An argument of some
kind, my mother's...

But I couldn't
recognize the other.

A man and a woman
were fighting...

terribly.

Then, there was a scream.

I went downstairs.

There was my mother's
body, lying there,

a hunting knife next to it.

And...

And there was that man, Barnett,

standing over her.

He looked up, and he saw me.

He turned and he ran.

What about the hawk?

The front door.

As he runs out, it attacks me.

Alice. Alice. Listen
to me, listen to me.

Despite what you
think you heard,

I don't believe
that Jordan Barnett

murdered your mother.

Then who did? I think...

We'll talk it over later.

Right now, it's time to leave.

The quicker, the better.

Where did you say we're
supposed to be today?

It's at 34th between
Fifth and Sixth.

We got enough time to get there?

Mrs. Fletcher?

Hello, Alice. Peter.

I know, I know.

It seems odd, inviting
myself in like this.

I borrowed the key
from Dr. Holden.

You've been here.

Of course.

Once I heard that Jordan
Barnett was in town,

I had to lift that
locket of yours.

To blame me for
Jordan Barnett's murder.

Why not?

You haven't got a clue, do you?

Five years ago, what
was really going on?

My father loved your
mother very much.

God only knows why,
because all it took

was that simpering,

phony Barnett to
take her from him.

Do you have... Do
you have any idea

what that did to my dad?

Suddenly, everything
was lost for him.

His self-respect.

Everything.

He had to bail out.

Run away.

Do you blame him?

Only thing was,

I lost the only person that I

ever really wanted to be with.

The only person
that I ever loved.

You and Mrs. Fletcher left
the brownstone in a hurry.

It would have been a lot easier

to finish our business there.

Did she fill in all
the gaps for you?

Not quite all, Peter.

Don't move, Morgan.

Drop it.

You okay, Alice?

Just fine, Detective Grady.

Alice's memory of the murder

was more accurate than
she gave herself credit for.

She thought it was a nightmare.

But you must have been watching

as Jordan Barnett
came in that night,

and found Lillian on the floor,

just after you'd murdered her.

The police report indicated

that the weapon
was a carving knife,

but what Alice remembers seeing

was a hunting knife.

It was your
father's Bowie knife,

the knife that was your symbol
of retribution in two murders.

The one that you
were holding just now.

This is your fantasy,
Mrs. Fletcher.

It was a kitchen knife
that killed my stepmother.

I don't think so, Peter.

You hid and waited.

Lillian. It was certainly

a curious twist of fate

that brought Jordan Barnett
to the brownstone that night.

The very night you chose
to kill your stepmother.

You saw Barnett come in,

to find his lover
dead on the floor.

You saw Alice become hysterical.

Then when it was safe,

you substituted that Bowie knife

with a knife from the kitchen,

which became the
weapon of record.

This...

This is all totally ridiculous.

When Alice's mother was killed,

I was miles away at school.

Wellington College, wasn't it?

I noticed the jacket that you
were wearing in the photograph

of you and your father.

I called the school tonight.

Peter, your finals that year

ended the day before
Lillian was killed.

I always dreamed
of an attacking hawk.

Mrs. Fletcher showed
me how I had it

mixed up with the
emblem on your helmet.

The one you left
on the hall table.

I never saw you in the
brownstone that night,

only your helmet.

But, subconsciously, I
must have known that

you were there, that
you killed my mother.

But I could never
let myself believe it.

When I heard Barnett
was back in New York,

I was afraid he
might talk to you

and you would remember.

Alice,

when my dad and
your mom got together,

married...

Alice, I've always
wanted a sister.

I wanted a brother, too, Peter.

I think I finally got
the mobile working,

but at 11 pounds, four ounces,

he may be too
mature for it. I mean,

you should see
him, Mrs. Fletcher.

He's practically
ready to walk and talk.

Oh, Artie, he's beautiful!

Oh, I didn't tell you.

Dr. Holden's license
has been pulled,

and all of a sudden,
other clients of hers

are coming out of the woodwork
to file formal complaints.

Oh, thank heavens.

So, it's a fair guess

that she won't be
manipulating other patients

the way she did Alice.

Ready, Mrs. Fletcher? Mmm-hmm.

Oh, hi, Lieutenant.

Ready? Ready for what?

Alice and Henry are taking
me to the Philharmonic.

To... Wait a minute.

What about all those people?

What do you think, Henry?

Will Mrs. Fletcher
be able to stand it?