All language subtitles for Murder.She.Wrote.S04E03.Witness.for.the.Defense.1080p.AMZN.DD2.0.x265.HEVC-Bearfish_track3_[eng]

Did the victim die from the fire,

or from the blow to the head?

[Jessica] Tonight on Murder, She Wrote.

Only a fool would think
that was an accident.

They seemed so happy.

We knew so little about her.

Oh, yes. She completely captivated Jim.

Oliver Quayle is a genius.

You know, he's never lost a murder trial.

I hadn't planned to leave.

I think it would be
best for Jim if you did.

Madam, it seems that one of New England's

most respected families

is a breeding ground
for homicidal maniacs.

[cheerful orchestral music]

-Good morning.
-I'm Jessica Fletcher.

I believe Mr. Quayle is expecting me.

Oh, yes, Mrs. Fletcher.

Indeed, yes. Please follow me.

Sir?

Oh!

Welcome to Quebec, Mrs. Fletcher.

Well, I've been traveling,
and I only just received

your letter yesterday, Mr. Quayle.

Oh, dear me, no. I'm not Oliver Quayle.

No, I'm merely his assistant,
Barnaby Friar.

Well, not merely, exactly.

[chuckles]

Can I get you something?

Well, thank you, Mr. Friar, I'm just fine,

but you could tell me
what this is all about.

The letter mentioned a trial...

The Crown versus James Harlan.

Why don't I let Mr. Quayle
fill you in himself?

Oh, no trouble at all, Sir Randolph.

I won't be needing it again
until next month.

You're most welcome. Don't mention it.

Have an absolutely splendid time.

Yes. Bye-bye.

I'm so sorry, Mrs. Fletcher.

Dear friend of mine
wanting to borrow my jet

for a couple of weeks.

It's so kind of you to come.

Please... Please sit down.

I don't imagine we'll have to
impose on your valuable time

for more than a few days.

Jim has told me
wonderful things about you.

Where is Jim?

I more or less expected him to be here.

Uh, Mrs. Fletcher, I preferred
to have our little chat alone.

Alone?

Oh, my tailor?

Oh, yes, I find, with
a schedule as busy as mine,

I sometimes have to accomplish
two things at the same time.

Yes, I would now like to hear
from your own lips

your best recollection of the events

that led up to that
fateful day his wife died.

You have my full attention.

Just a little more cuff showing,
don't you think?

Well, it was six months ago.

Jim was about to publish his second novel,

and he had invited me up to
Quebec for the weekend to, uh...

well, to have a look at the galleys.

I had shown encouragement
to him on his first book,

and, uh, well, we became friends.

Well?

Jim, I think you've got
a real page-turner here.

You're not just saying that?

Oh, no, no.

Your characters are richer,

you handle your narrative
with more authority,

and it has a real ring of truth about it.

Oh, thank you.

Would you be willing to write
the review for The Times?

I will if they ask me.

[horn honks]

-Patricia's back.
-Oh.

[shears snipping]

Shopping all day.

Did you get something nice? Let me see it.

Ooh, nothing that you'd be interested in.

It's for Monica.
A little going-away present.

I'm afraid I have to be getting back.

My wife's lovely ex-roommate
suddenly appears out of the blue

and then steals away
before I've had a chance

to pump her about old college romances.

He'd probably change the names
and put 'em in his book.

Well, I'm afraid writers
are accused of that, you know.

[clears throat] Yes, speaking of writers,

Jessica has pronounced my opus readable.

[chuckles] I'd tell you
what I really thought,

but he'd need a larger hat size.

Ooh.

Oh, my, Patricia.

What a lovely brooch.

A present from my thoughtful husband

on our first wedding anniversary.

It's a family heirloom.
It belonged to my grandmother.

Monica, I insist you stay for dinner.

Actually, I have a 7:40 flight.

I booked Maurice to do my hair at 6:00.

Jim, would you be a dear
and run Monica to the airport

on your way into the city?

Well, sure, we'll stop
and have a couple of drinks

and get better acquainted
before you slip away.

[chuckles]

That evening, we gathered for dinner

at the Harlan Townhouse
in the city at 8:30 precisely.

We sat down to eat,

even though Patricia
hadn't yet returned home.

As you must know, Jim's mother,
Judith, is a woman

who lets nothing
disrupt her daily routine.

Jim tells me that
you've been very flattering

about his book, Jessica.

I thought only mothers had
that kind of blind admiration.

It wasn't flattery.
And certainly not blind.

Well, I'm delighted, of course.

Not that I'm an expert,
or even much of a reader.

Jim, will you please
stop fiddling with that watch?

Patricia knows very well
we always dine at 8:30.

Well, no doubt she's been delayed

taking that friend of hers to the airport.

Actually, we took Monica to the airport.

At least, Jim did.

That was after he dropped me off here.

Mother, what's the matter?

There's been a fire at the country house.

Jim was devastated when he learned

that Patricia had died in that fire.

A tragic accident.

If it was an accident,

why is Jim on trial for her murder?

Have no fear, dear lady.

I, Oliver Quayle, will prove

that there is not a shred
of evidence against him.

Yes, but--

And you, madam, have a part
to play in this drama,

small but vital,

when I call you as a witness
to tell the jury

about the deep and abiding
affection that existed

between James Harlan
and his devoted young wife.

Yes, of course, but--

And you will testify
with clarity and conviction

to the fact that he was with you
and his devoted mother

at the time of the unfortunate accident.

Mr. Quayle, you keep
calling it an accident,

but surely the state,

uh, the Crown, must have
some evidence against him.

What an excellent witness
you're going to make.

Mrs. Fletcher, national reputation,

no notoriety, Cabot Cove, Maine.

The jury is going to love that rustic...

uh, do you have a hat?

An old straw with some violets?

I've never owned
a hat like that in my life.

Well, no, never mind.
Barnaby will get you one.

And an umbrella, yes,

an umbrella will be a nice touch.

Mr. Quayle, I'm sorry,

but I am not going to play
a countrified character

for you or for anyone else.

[knocks]

Your ex on line two, Mr. Q.

Oh, yes. Fine, fine, yes.

Dierdre.

Dierdre, my darling,
how lovely to hear your voice.

Uh, where are you?

Corfu?

Oh, that sounds absolutely splendid.

Yes. How much?

Not to worry, my dear.

I'll have Barnaby wire it to you.

Love you too, darling.

Love you. Bye-bye.

Oh, alas, Mrs. Fletcher,
we seem to have run out of time.

I'll rehearse your testimony later.

Barnaby will make an appointment for you.

But why were you charged
with murdering Patricia?

I couldn't get anything
but pompous platitudes

out of your attorney.

The authorities believe that
the fire was deliberately set.

Arson? Oh, my Lord.

Jessica, my dear.
How sweet of you to come.

Of course we knew we could rely on you.

Judith, I'm so terribly sorry it had to be

under these circumstances.

I would have come sooner,
but I had no idea.

What a travesty of justice.

[sighs] Poor boy.

Jim, you really should get some rest.

You can't look worried when you go

in front of that jury tomorrow.

You're right.

I'm, I am feeling a bit wrung out.

If you don't mind, Jessica,
I'm going to turn in.

Sure.

-Good night, mother.
-Good night.

Good night, Jessica.

Thank you. Thank you.

And now, Jessica

what did you think of Oliver Quayle?

Well, one word comes to mind:
overpowering.

Yes. He's the very best man in Canada.

Oh, Judith. This is such a shock.

I mean, it's hard to accept
that Patricia was murdered.

We knew so little about her.

-They seemed so happy.
-Oh, yes.

She completely captivated Jim.

He was such a serious, studious boy

that he really had had no experience

with that sort of person.

And after the completion of
your laboratory investigations,

what did you determine
was the cause of the fire?

The gas line to the hot water
heater in the basement

had been disconnected,
allowing gas to escape.

-Deliberately disconnected?
-Yes.

And what did you determine

was the actual cause of the fire?

Gas jet had been left burning
upstairs in the kitchen,

inevitably causing a gas explosion

that engulfed the whole house.

Then it would be your expert opinion

that the fire was deliberately set?

Yes.

The learned counsel for defense care

to cross-examine?

Indeed, I would.

A few simple questions

to clarify the excellent presentation

so competently elicited by Mrs. Pirage.

-Oh, or is it "miss?"
-Miss.

Thank you, Miss Pirage.

I'm a man who likes to be
precise about small things,

and I would hate to get off to a bad start

by giving you a husband
if you don't have one.

When I decide I want one,

I'll remember
your generous offer, Mr. Quayle.

[laughter]

Well, thank you, Miss Pirage.

Uh, Mr. Fouchet,

if you arrived home
from the police lab one evening

and you found that a water pipe had burst

and your whole house
was inundated by water,

what would you do?

Call a plumber.

And so would we all,

even queen's counsel, Miss Pirage.

[laughter]

You would not undertake
the repairs yourself?

No.

Then you do not feel yourself
to be a qualified plumber?

Well, no.

But you do feel qualified
to testify about matters

that in the normal course of events

would be dealt with
by a qualified plumber?

Well, I--

No, no, there's no need
to answer that, Mr. Fouchet.

There is one other simple point
that I would like to clarify.

You testified that a gas jet

had been left burning in the kitchen.

That's right.

But wasn't the central gas main turned off

by the fire brigade in the normal,

routine performance of their duties?

Yes, I suppose it was.

You suppose it was?

But you testified that
a jet had been left burning.

Did you see the jet burning
in the kitchen?

Well, no, of course not.

We found the valve on the range
open afterwards.

So your opinion as to
the actual cause of the fire

is merely conjecture, is it not?

Well, yeah, there's--

Quite right. You see?

It does pay to call in
a qualified plumber.

[laughter]

You are dismissed.

If the Crown would care
to call her next witness.

The Crown calls Clay McLeod.

Now, Mr. McLeod,

let me direct your attention

to the weekend of May 7th of last year.

That was the weekend before
the death of Patricia Harlan.

In the course of your duties,
did you observe any, uh,

exchange between the defendant
and his wife?

Yeah. I heard 'em fighting.

Fighting? Could you be more specific?

Yeah.

I mean, they were yelling at each other.

I see.

And what was the nature of their dispute?

She wanted a divorce.

And what was the defendant's response?

Oh, he got real hot...

You know, uh, mad.

Can you recall his specific words?

Oh, yeah. I remember 'em real clear.

He said,

"before I give you a divorce,
I'll see you dead."

[crowd murmuring]

Is it not true, Mr. McLeod,

that among your many occupations

you are also employed as an auto mechanic?

Yeah. I guess.

Oh, come now, Mr. McLeod.
Don't be so modest.

Did you not receive
a certificate of completion

for a course in auto mechanics

from the Commonwealth
Penitentiary in Calgary?

-Objection.
-Sustained.

Please, Mr. Quayle.
You know better than that.

My apologies, your Lordship.
An inadvertent slip.

The jury will disregard any reference

to the commonwealth penitentiary.

Would you say, Mr. McLeod,

that someone trained in auto mechanics

would know how to disconnect the gas line

to a hot water heater?

Anybody could do that
with a pair of pliers.

And is it not true that
the day after Mrs. Harlan's

unfortunate death, you were discharged?

Yeah, there wasn't a lot left
for me to look after, was there?

What was the reason given
for your dismissal?

They said that, uh,
some stuff was missing.

-It wasn't.
-You were discharged for theft?

That's a lie!

They were just trying
to make trouble for me.

I... I was about to ask

if you had any feelings
of bitterness or hostility

toward the Harlan family,

but it would appear that you have

told us about that already.

Uh, no further questions.

The almost total destruction
of the cadaver by fire

made the postmortem very difficult.

In fact, there wasn't
enough left of the body

to fill a large plastic bag.

Uh, as you know,
identification was only made

by the jewelry recovered.

Yes, Dr. Cornwall,

the engraved wedding band
and the engagement ring

have already been
introduced into evidence.

But to return to the postmortem.

Were you able to determine cause of death?

Clinically, there was very little

left to go on, other than--

But wasn't there something unusual

about the victim's skull?

Yes. Quite right.

The skull, or what remained of it,

Showed a massive fracture
of the frontal lobe.

Consistent with a blow
from a heavy instrument?

Yes.

Is it your opinion that
such a blow would be fatal?

Yes. Quite fatal.

Then what is your expert opinion?

Did the victim die from the fire...

or from the blow to the head?

No question about it.

She died from a blow to the head.

[crowd murmuring]

-Barnaby!
-Yes, Sir?

Get me that list of doctors!

Who was that fellow we used
in the rucklehouse murder?

Dr. Ashcroft.

But he's testifying in Vancouver.

What about Snidden?

His medical license
was revoked last month.

Well, don't just stand there.

Bring me the list!

Excuse me.

I do realize that

you probably have a great deal
on your mind, Mr. Quayle,

but it does seem to me

that Patricia was dead
before the fire started.

Do you have some medical qualifications

of which we are not aware, Mrs. Fletcher?

Oh, no, no, it's just
a matter of common sense.

I mean, it must have taken quite some time

for the escaping gas from the basement

to have reached the open flame
in the kitchen.

If Patricia were alive or conscious,

she would have smelled the gas,
don't you think?

The Crown must prove that
she didn't die in that fire.

It's not a matter of proof.
It's a matter of logic.

Madam, there are many ways
to defend a murder charge.

I happen to have chosen the one

that I deem most likely to succeed.

Your ex on line one, Mr. Quayle.

Oh, Dierdre.

Ruth! Ruth, my dear.

Yes, how lovely to hear your voice.

Where are you? Maui?

Quayle's pretty sharp, isn't he?

Oh, he is clever,

but I am not at all sure
that he is on the right track.

I mean, if Patricia did die
before the fire started...

well, you may need
to establish your whereabouts

between the time that you dropped me

and the time that you returned for dinner.

Well, you remember, Jessica.
I took Monica to the airport.

Exactly.

Monica Blane may be able to help establish

where you were before...

well, before the fire started.

Yes, but Monica seems to have disappeared.

Nobody has been able
to make contact with her

since I left her at the airport.

Mr. Quayle, the last thing in the world

that I would want to do
is to run your defense,

but have you made any attempt
to contact Monica Blane?

I shall not require
your assistance, madam.

In fact, I have decided

that your testimony will not be needed.

Barnaby here will reimburse you
for any expenses incurred.

Have a pleasant journey
back to Maine, Mrs. Fletcher.

Jessica, I have no idea
why he changed his mind.

Well, I'm very confused myself.

I mean, I was hustled up here
to appear on your behalf

and then summarily
given my walking papers.

I don't know.

Mother says that Quayle
knows what he's doing.

Well, I hope so. For your sake.

But he seems to be
hanging his entire defense

on the theory that
Patricia's death was accidental.

Don't you think that
the jury will buy that?

But the jury heard what I heard

the testimony of the gardener.

She had been going through a lot of money.

Mother tried to warn me
about it, of course.

Not that I really cared about the money,

but Patricia refused to account for it.

We both said some things
that we didn't mean.

I didn't threaten her.

I would never have hurt her. I loved her.

Well, in that case, the gardener is lying.

The question is, why?

Thank you.

[in a singsong voice] Hello, Mr. McLeod?

Hello there.

My name is Jessica Fletcher,
and I'm from Cabot Cove.

That's in Maine.

Oh, yeah. I remember you.

You were staying at the Harlans' place

a couple months back.

You're some sort of writer or something?

Oh, well, nothing important, really.

I mean, mostly things that
I type up at the kitchen table.

But the editor of The Cabot Cove Gazette

has promised to print something of mine

if it is interesting.

Uh-huh.

You mean, sort of like a reporter.

Well, not official, really.

I mean, I do know the family...
casually, of course.

Um, reporters call that "background."

But I thought I could start off
by taking a few notes.

You know, about the accident.

[chuckles]

Only a fool would think
that was an accident.

Oh? But the family says--

Yeah, well...

Look, I need a beer.
You want to come inside?

[sighs]

You want a beer?

Oh, thank you very much,
but I don't think I'd better.

I went out to the house.

I think it's so important
when you're writing

to establish the feel of a place...

Colors, textures, you know, set the scene.

There was nothing much left but ashes.

Lady, I'm sorry.
There's nothing I can tell you.

You know, I thought your testimony

was so interesting.

I got the impression
that more was going on

than what the family had told me.

[chuckles]

I mean, Jim Harlan
is such a refined young man.

But you know what they say
about still waters running deep.

He's one of those rich wimps.

Wimps?

Yeah, his wife was more woman
than he could handle.

Oh, well, I don't suppose

The Cabot Cove Gazette
would want to print that.

Do you think that he actually murdered her

and then set the fire to cover it up?

All I know is,

she was dead before the fire started.

Oh, but how do you know that?

Unless you actually saw him murder her.

I didn't see him do it,
but I'll tell you something.

I went back there to get
some wages that they owed me.

I looked in the window,

and I saw her laying on the floor.

Oh, my goodness.

You mean, you saw her dead on the floor?

Oh, I think I would have fainted.

But didn't you call the police?

Lady, I stay pretty clear of the police.

Matter of fact, if anybody asked me,

I'd deny what I just told you.

Oh, the girls in Cabot Cove
are never gonna believe

that I actually talked to the man

who actually saw a dead body.

Yes, doctor, I believe you testified

there is no clinical evidence
to determine the time of death.

Is that right?

Well, the fire had almost
totally consumed the remains--

Yes, so you said.

You also testified
that her skull was damaged.

That's correct.

Isn't it possible

that the skull could have been crushed

by a falling beam during the fire?

Oh, come now, doctor.

Isn't it most likely
that the skull was crushed

by the heavy beams in the roof
when they collapsed

during the conflagration?

Yes, I suppose it's possible.

Thank you, Dr. Cornwall. You are excused.

The Crown calls Nathan Klebber.

Now, Mr. Klebber,
you are the owner and operator

of the Blue Sky Motel

on Aviation Boulevard, near the airport?

I am.

On May 14 of last year,
did you rent a room

to an attractive blonde woman
in her early 30s?

I did.

I punched the card at 6:53 p.m.

with everybody traveling,
sometimes we, uh,

rent by the hour.

Mm-hmm. Yes.

And what name did she give
on the registration card?

Monica Blane from Phoenix, Arizona.

At least, that's the name she put down.

Was she alone?

She came into the office alone,

but there was a man with her.

I seen him.

And how long did Monica Blane
and her companion stay?

Don't rightly know.

She paid in advance. Cash.

This, uh, gentleman companion
of Monica Blane's...

did you get a good look at him?

Sure did.

Do you see him anywhere
here in the courtroom?

That's him sitting right there.

[crowd murmuring]

Let the record show the witness identified

the defendant, James Harlan.

Cross-examine, Mr. Quayle?

If your Lordship would permit me

to cross-examine at a later time.

I see no problem with that, Mr. Quayle.

Does the Crown wish to call
any further witnesses?

The Crown calls Jessica Fletcher.

Mrs. Fletcher, at what time did you,

the defendant, and Monica Blane
leave the country house?

It was just before 6:00 in the evening.

And the decedent, Patricia Harlan,

remained at the country house
when you left?

-She had a hair appointment.
-I see.

So you, the defendant, and Monica Blane

left her there and proceeded by car

to the Harlan Townhouse?

Yes, they dropped me there.

We were all having dinner together later.

Not Miss Blane, but Patricia
was planning to join us

after her hair appointment.

I see.

And what time did they drop you off?

Just after 6:30.

And the defendant
and Monica Blane proceeded on?

Yes, Jim took her to the airport.

So there was a period
of approximately two hours,

between 6:30 and 8:30,

when you have no knowledge
of James Harlan's movements?

Well, yes. Yes, that is true.

Two hours.

Plenty of time for the defendant
to return to the country house,

murder his wife, and get back
to the city for dinner.

Objection!

The question calls for a conclusion

and supposes facts
that are not in evidence.

Sustained.

No further questions.

Mrs. Fletcher,

have you ever used the alias
"J.B. Fletcher?"

Yes, on my books. They're my initials.

So you admit that you are a writer?

Well, I've never felt
any need to deny it,

at least, uh, not so far.

And it was in the guise of a writer

that you wheedled your way

into the confidence of the Harlan family?

Wheedled?

Do you deny that the plot
for your next book was stolen

from an unpublished manuscript
by James Harlan?

I certainly do.

That is a matter we will leave
for the civil courts to decide.

Mrs. J.B. Fletcher,

have you any recollection
of being committed

to the State of Maine Institute
for the Criminally Insane

between the months of May
and July in the year 1985?

-Objection!
-Sustained.

I was never committed anywhere.

I entered the institution voluntarily.

Under the care of Dr. Sidney Bachmann,

who is a specialist in the field
of Criminal Psychosis?

Yes. I was researching a book.

Indeed? What a perfect subterfuge.

The book was called Sanitarium of Death.

It was dedicated to Dr. Bachmann.

Out of gratitude, no doubt,

for the excellent care you received.

Your Lordship, I must protest.

Mr. Quayle is attempting
to smear with innuendo

a woman of impeccable
reputation and character

who comes from a respected
family in New England.

Mr. Quayle, I must admonish you

to refrain from vague
suggestions and innuendo.

My apologies, your Lordship,

if my line of questioning
was not quite clear.

I will now concentrate on the facts.

Is it not a fact, Mrs. Fletcher,

that a niece of yours, Victoria Griffin,

was arrested for murder last year?

Yes, but--

Is it not a fact that another niece,

Tracy McGill,
was also arrested for murder?

Yes, but I can explain.

And that your nephew, Grady Fletcher,

was arrested not once but twice.

Yes, I know how that must seem--

Also on a charge of homicide? "Seems?"

Madam, it seems

that one of New England's
most respected families

is a breeding ground
for homicidal maniacs!

The charges were dropped

in every single one of those cases.

"Dropped?"

Oh, yes, then indeed, you must also be

one of the most powerful
families in your country.

I have no further questions.

They were innocent.

Oh, I'm quite sure they were.
You are dismissed, madam.

Your Lordship--

You may step down, Mrs. Fletcher.

Judge Valentine,
please come to your chambers.

[speaking French]

Miss Doris Perry, please report

to the superior court number two.

[french]

Whew.

[chuckles]

I know.

It's like being mugged.

Is that kind of
character assassination legal?

Not very, but it's what
Oliver Quayle does best.

I'm no expert, but I thought
I noticed you landing

one or two low blows yourself.

When a girl steps into
the alley to Duke it out

with the great Oliver Quayle,

she better have a set of
brass knuckles in her glove.

Miss Pirage, maybe
I shouldn't even ask you this,

but do you really believe that
Jim Harlan murdered his wife?

I'll tell you what I intend to prove

that James Harlan
conspired with Monica Blane

to murder Patricia Harlan.

Then you think that Jim
went back, killed Patricia,

and Monica Blane set the fire later

so that he'd have an alibi?

[chuckles]

You'd make a good lawyer.

Well, out of curiosity,
where is Monica Blane?

Good question.

We've been trying to find her for months.

Jim, you asked for my help.

I want to help, but at every turn

something pops up
that you haven't told me.

What would you like to know?

The truth about you and Patricia.

All right.

We tried to keep up appearances,

but our marriage was sinking fast.

She went through money
like you wouldn't believe.

Even on the day she died,
she took out 20,000 cash.

Cash? Was it ever found?

No.

It must have gone up in smoke in the fire.

Tell me about this business

with you and Monica Blane at the motel.

Is that true?

It's not something that I'm very proud of,

but yes, it happened, okay?

And what time did you leave the motel?

8:00, just in time to get back
to the house for dinner.

Monica took a taxi to catch her flight.

I guess it's not a very pretty picture.

You can see why I didn't want
to tell anyone about it.

I agree.

It certainly won't endear you to the jury,

but at least Monica Blane
can give you an alibi.

If anybody can find her.

[knocking at door]

Judith.

Please forgive this late hour,

but I wonder if I could speak
to you for a few minutes.

-Yes, of course. Come on in.
-Thank you.

I always felt the mark of good breeding

was good manners,
so I simply must apologize

for the vicious way that
Jim's attorney attacked you.

I mean, it was unconscionable.

[chuckles] Well, I suppose
that's what he's paid to do,

and very handsomely, from what I can see.

I wouldn't want you to leave Quebec

harboring any ill feelings.

Well, I hadn't planned to leave.

I think it would be best
for Jim if you did--

Immediately.

Jim told you about our conversation today,

didn't he?

Of course he did,
otherwise you wouldn't be here.

I wonder why I get
the feeling, Judith, that...

That you're Pulling the strings.

Jim is... is all I have left, Jessica.

I would do anything to protect him.

This whole trial must be an agony for you.

I admit I was very upset
when Jim and Patricia eloped.

After all, he'd only known her
a few weeks.

Perhaps it was
mothers' instinct or whatever,

but I hired a private investigator.

I got my money's worth.

He found out that Patricia had
spent a year in jail in Arizona

for embezzling funds
from the bank where she worked.

I also learned that she was nothing more

than a common Las Vegas showgirl
when he met her.

And her friend, Monica Blane?

I can guess. They weren't schoolmates.

They were in jail together, right?

I see you have good instincts too.

So that's where all the money went.

-Monica was blackmailing her.
-Evidently.

At any rate, after all this happened,

I paid Monica a great deal
of money to disappear.

I didn't want any of this
sordid business to come out.

And you gave her the money yourself

after Patricia died?

No, no, it was through an intermediary,

the private investigator.

Judith,

has Jim ever admitted to you
that he murdered Patricia?

No. No, he denies it.

I am his mother,

and as long as he continues to deny it,

I'll continue to believe him.

Good morning, Barnaby.
I'd like to see Mr. Quayle.

Oh, Mrs. Fletcher, my goodness.

We all thought you'd gone back to Maine.

Well, there's a little matter

I'd like to discuss
with the great man first.

I do hope you realize
there was nothing personal

in Mr. Quayle's cross-examination.

On the contrary, I thought
it was all very personal.

Is he in there?

Uh, no, no. I'm afraid he's not here.

Really, Mrs. Fletcher, you must understand

it's all tactics.

Is there something I could do?

No, no, I don't think so.

I mean, I don't suppose that
you would have the authority

to show me the, uh, police report.

I have more authority
than most people suppose.

I am, after all, his assistant.

What were you curious about?

Well, I'm not exactly sure.

I guess that I'm not quite clear

as to how you identified the body.

I mean, uh, I wonder
if you checked that closely.

Let me assure you,

nothing escapes Mr. Quayle's attention,

or mine.

Her initials, and Mr. Harlan's,

were engraved on the inside
of the wedding ring

and the engagement ring.

Five karats.

That's funny.

Where's the diamond brooch
that she was wearing?

No mention of any brooch
in the police file.

Barnaby?

There's a man here to see Mr. Q.

Name's Rudy Plansky.

A private investigator.
Says it's very important.

I'm afraid he's not here at the moment.

Could I possibly help?

Yeah, tell him I'm waitin' for him

down the street at Marcel's.

May I tell him
what it's about, Mr. Plansky?

[snickers] Yeah, just mention
the name Monica Blane.

And tell him to bring along five large.

Five large what?

Uh, maybe Mr. Quayle will know.

Well, here I am going on and on,

and interfering with your valuable time.

I must get to the post office.

I wonder, could you lend me an envelope?

Oh, certainly.

Thank you.

[background chatter]

Don't you think it was a little careless,

walking into the office like that?

Where's Quayle?

Tied up. I came instead.

Oh, yeah? Who, exactly, are you?

The name I use in Quebec is Fletcher.

We want to be sure that
the information you're selling

is worth five large.

Well, I seen you up in his office,

but how do I know you're working with him?

Does the name Judith Harlan
ring a bell with you?

Quayle knows about that?

You think Mr. Quayle is stupid?

You think he'd take this case
if he didn't know all the facts?

And what, may I ask, are you
doing here, Mrs. Fletcher?

I thought I had made it clear,
Mrs. Fletcher,

that your interference
will no longer be tolerated.

Mr. Plansky has information
about Monica Blane.

I know where she is, Quayle,

and it's gonna cost you five grand.

And why would Miss Blane's whereabouts

be worth $5,000 to me?

Because Jim was with her

at the motel when Patricia was murdered.

If we can find Monica Blane,
and she'll testify,

Jim will have an alibi.

From a convicted felon?

That is not the thrust
of my defense, madam.

Well, maybe it should be.

She's staying at that address.
New York City.

Well, I must be running along.

Uh, just a minute. What's this?

-Oh, uh, that's mine.
-From my office?

Uh, it's just some recipes

I was clipping out of the local paper,

and Barnaby gave me one of your envelopes.

These, I'm afraid,
would give me indigestion.

I'm sure you're well
intentioned, Mrs. Fletcher,

but you're also a meddlesome busybody,

and you're sorely trying my patience.

And you, Mr. Quayle, are trying mine

by mangling Jim Harlan's defense

by not conceding
that his wife was murdered.

If we concede murder,
then we concede the case.

My client had both motive and opportunity.

And by ignoring the fact
that Patricia Harlan

withdrew $20,000 cash
the day that she was murdered.

Now, Monica Blane
may have been blackmailing her.

Blackmail?

And that Judith Harlan
paid Monica Blane to disappear.

And if I'm not mistaken,

that little man to whom
you just gave $5,000

delivered the payment.

Mrs. Fletcher!

We've had an enormous break in the case.

That's wonderful news, Barnaby.

Mr. Quayle got a tip,

and I flew to New York last night

and located Monica Blane.

She's here? And willing to testify?

I think you'll find that our client

has a very solid alibi, counselor.

Is the defense prepared
to proceed, Mr. Quayle?

We are, your Lordship.

If it pleases the court,

the Crown has one further witness to call.

Well, I was under the impression

that the prosecution had rested its case,

but very well.

The Crown calls Monica Blane.

No. I told you.

I never saw Jim Harlan
in my life before that weekend.

But you did go to the motel
with him, didn't you?

What's the big deal? We're both over 21.

At what time did you

and the defendant leave the motel?

I took a taxi.

I had a 7:40 flight.

So the defendant didn't
drive you to the airport?

No. He didn't have time.

He said he had to go back
to the country house

and, uh, straighten
something out with his wife.

No! That's not true.

-She's lying.
-Sit down, Mr. Harlan.

It's a lie.

Why would Monica say such a thing?

Well, if she was blackmailing Patricia,

maybe she was trying
to cover her own tracks

by incriminating you.

Maybe she never took that flight.

Maybe she went back to the country house.

Mrs. Fletcher.

It is you, Mrs. Fletcher,

who are responsible for this fiasco.

I will brook no further
interference from you, madam!

Mrs. Harlan, James, in here.

Jim.

Sometimes, when things aren't going well,

he forgets his manners.

Well, when the jury brings in a verdict,

you'd better have a muzzle handy.

There's a call
from his ex-wife on line two.

You think I should interrupt?

Uh, maybe I'd better talk to her.

Hello. Wilhelmina.

No, he's not in. Can I help?

-Wilhelmina?
-His second wife.

How many ex-wives does Mr. Quayle have?

Three.

All originally his secretaries.

Yes, Wilhelmina, I can see the problem.

How much do you think you'll need?

-Did you lose something?
-An earring.

Yes, I'll take care of that myself.

Oh, gee, thanks.

Well, I mean, it's not
really worth very much,

but for me it has a lot
of sentimental value.

Yes, Wilhelmina. I'll give him your love.

Bye.

Barnaby!

The diamond brooch.

What brooch?

The Diamond brooch that I told you

that Patricia was wearing.

It must have been very valuable,

and it was missing after the fire.

And you think the killer stole it?

That's very astute of you, Barnaby.

Sometimes I think that you ought
to be running the defense.

Actually, I make a bigger
contribution around here

than most people realize.

But I don't quite follow.

You know, Barnaby, I have an idea,

but if I try to explain it to Mr. Quayle,

I don't think he's gonna listen to me.

Suppose you bounce it off me.

Then, if it has merit...

Well, the handyman, Clay McLeod.

He more or less intimated to me

that he had gone back to the house

long after we had all left.

And if he went back,

he may have killed Patricia
and taken the brooch.

What are you talking about, Barnaby?

Oh, Mrs. Fletcher told me that Patricia

had been wearing
a distinctive antique brooch.

That's right. The one I gave to her.

I checked the police file.

It was never recovered after the fire.

We may be onto something here.

Patricia and the gardener?

Infidelity, theft, and murder.

McLeod will deny it, of course.

It would be stupid to sell
or pawn something like that,

at least for a while.

McLeod may be vicious,
but he's not stupid.

He probably still has
the brooch hidden somewhere.

Barnaby, find Judge Mansard.
Get a search warrant.

Mr. McLeod?

Mr. McLeod?

I would imagine that Mr. Quayle

is busily arranging for a search warrant?

Yes, that's the brooch
that Patricia was wearing.

How did you know?

When I admired it, Jim told me
that it was an heirloom,

that it had belonged to his grandmother.

My mother was very fond of it.

A present from my father.

I had to ask myself,

"who would take an antique brooch

and leave a five-karat diamond?"

Patricia's appointment
was not with her hairdresser.

It was with me.

I went out there to confront her privately

with what my investigator had turned up.

I offered her a handsome settlement

to divorce Jim quietly, without scandal.

But Patricia was not only greedy,

she was arrogant,
and she became very abusive.

She... she had the audacity to...

to hit me.

I grasped for whatever was near me,

and it was the poker in the fireplace.

And I,

I struck her down.

So you were the one
who disconnected the gas line

in the basement?

It wasn't difficult.

I calculated I had enough time
to get back to the city

before the fire consumed her.

And you couldn't bear to see
your mother's brooch destroyed,

so you removed it from the body.

I hope you realize

that I never would have
let Jim be convicted

for something I had done.

Yes, Jessica, our little ploy
worked brilliantly.

A clever piece of work,
if I say so myself.

Well, I do hope
that Mr. Quayle appreciates

what you did for him.

As of today, I have a new title.

"First assistant."

Oh, that has a good, solid sound.

That's very impressive.

Barnaby!

What did you put
in the coffee this morning?

It tastes like-- Mrs. Fletcher!

Oh, why didn't somebody tell me
you were here?

Well, I just popped in to say good-bye.

Oh, not good-bye, dear lady.

Au revoir?

Well, perhaps sometime.

Oh, you'll be back here
in a few months for the trial.

The trial?

Oh, yes. Didn't Barnaby tell you?

I'm defending Judith Harlan.

Even the guilty are entitled
to their day in court.

And what a glorious day it's going to be.

I'll get her off, you know.
I always get them off.

Well, if you don't mind,

this is one trial I would
just as soon skip.

Skip? Oh, no. No, no. You must appear.

I'm going to call you as a witness.

[cheerful orchestral music]