All language subtitles for MSW s06e18 O-Malleys Luck.eng

Oh, Uncle Jim!
Uncle Jim!

Now, here! Now, here!
Detectives don't kiss Detective Lieutenants!

FEMALE NARRATOR:
Tonight on Murder, She Wrote.

What's her name, Roland?
Do I know her?

Well, that's
hard to say, darling.

You have such
a wide circle of friends.

You...

You can kiss half of
everything you own goodbye.

He neglected her
shamelessly.

His wife was frigid.
She treated him like dirt.

First thing in the morning,
I want you to call this Captain Cohen.

About to get yourself
a one-way ticket off the force, for good.

Now, I've got you!

Oh.

"May your neighbors
respect you,

"trouble neglect you,
the angels protect you,

"and heaven accept you.

"As if there were any doubt.

"Happy birthday,
love O'Malley."

(LAUGHS)

That's Jim O'Malley for you.

You know, he never lets
a birthday go by unrecognized,

even if it is a month late.

Let's see
what he's been up to.

"Dear Jessica,
thought I would take a moment

"to give you
the details of my latest brush with dismissal.

"You may have read
about it in the papers.

"It was a case
involving Roland Trent, the real estate entrepreneur."

TRENT: I don't care
how you do it.

Condemn the damn building
if you have to.

Just make sure the property
is in my name by close of business on Friday. Period.

Damn.

Finished, darling?

Now maybe we can talk.

Gretchen, I'm sorry.
I'm working on something important now, all right?

Oh, of course. Silly me.
I should have phoned for an appointment.

If you're gonna play
the neglected wife,

you might start
by dressing down for the part.

Roland, please,
let's not fight, okay?

(SIGHING) Look,
why don't we take a trip

on our 10th anniversary
next month?

We can go to Paris.
We can go back to that little place...

Paris? What, are you
out of your mind? I told you I'm busy.

Look, if you wanna go, go.
Take one of your friends.

You just don't
get it, do you?

I don't care about Paris.

I just wanna be with you.
Just the two of us.

Anywhere but here.
Away from your office and your business.

(CELL PHONE RINGS)

(SIGHS)

And especially
your cellular phone.

Trent.

Yeah, Bert.

Roberts, let me out
at the next corner.

No! That's ridiculous.
Tell him, no.

Look, Bert, we both know
he's overextended.

I'll tell you what,

give him a few days
to stew and then come back with a new offer, 10% less.

(CHUCKLES)

Don't worry about City Hall.
I can handle them.

Taxi!

ABBOTT: Yes, sir.

I think we can
put this thing to bed by the weekend.

No, the councilman
was very cooperative,

especially after a few
martinis and a nudge from that stack of Ben Franklins.

(CHUCKLES)

Thank you, sir.

Always happy to help.

Please, call on me anytime.

Thank you.

Good morning, Mr. Abbott.
Brought the files you were asking about.

Doesn't a closed door
mean anything to you, Officer Rawley?

Oh, I'm really sorry.

Ruth wasn't at her desk,
and I thought you were waiting for me, but I can come back.

No, no, no!
Frances, I'm sorry.

It was my fault.
I asked you to rush over here,

and then I forgot
to warn Ruth you were coming.

Oh. Well,
they're all here.

Staten Island's crime stats
for the past 12 months, cross-indexed,

complete with graphics.

Good girl.

If you'd like me
to go over them with you...

Frances, I have
a confession to make.

Sir?

I asked you to bring
these statistics personally, because...

Well, frankly,
I wanted to see you again.

I have been thinking
about you ever since dinner the other night.

I enjoyed it, too, sir.

I was very flattered
to work with the Deputy Mayor.

And you, of course.

Work? Is that all
you ever think about?

Look, Mr. Abbott...

Paul. Please.

Look, I have a friend
who's got a great place in the Hamptons.

He's asked me down
for the weekend. I...

I hope you're free.

As a matter of fact,
I am tied up.

Nothing you can't
wiggle out of, I'm sure.

(EXCLAIMS)

(GROANS)

I said, no thanks, sir.

(SIGHS)

So, you wanna
get physical?

Sounds like fun.

You're quick.

(LAUGHING)

Ruth!

Get this little tramp
out of my office.

Little what?

She barged in here
and propositioned me.

She thought she could buy
a promotion with sex.

What?

Maybe you'd better leave.

I didn't do anything!

Don't make it
any worse, honey.

This is Paul Abbott. Get me
the Police Commissioner.

Don't let it get to you.
You're not the first. You sure won't be the last.

Am I supposed
to just ignore it?

I'd do my best,
if I were you.

I don't know what
went on in there before I showed up,

but I can tell you this,
he's got it on tape.

Tape? Are you kidding?

(LAUGHING)
Honey, the man tapes everything.

Loves to hear
the sound of his own voice.

Now, just go back to work
and try to forget you ever met this man.

Thanks.

O'MALLEY:
Frances Xavier Rawley.

And a good morning to you,
too, O'Malley.

I repeat, Captain,

Frances Xavier Rawley.

I heard, I heard.

Then perhaps
you'd be kind enough to explain

why, in the name
of all that's holy,

she went from
a liaison assignment with the Deputy Mayor's office,

to desk duty in
the South Bronx!

She got a poor rating.
It happens.

The daughter
of Mike Rawley,

the best partner
a man ever had?

BOTH: And the best officer
this city ever saw.

I know, I know.

Frances Rawley is
a chip off the old block, and always has been.

She has never had
a poor rating, not even at the Academy.

So, if she's got one now,
I intend to discover why.

Then go. Discover.
You have my blessing.

The man's a saint.

(SIGHS)

Roland, please,
don't do this to me.

Gretchen, I don't know
what you're getting yourself so worked up about.

I'm having dinner with
David Kingston, you're more than welcome to come along.

(SCOFFS) Doesn't that
sound like fun?

Spending an entire
evening listening to you and your lawyer

come up with
new ways to cheat the IRS.

If you'd rather
stay home alone, that's up to you.

What's her name, Roland?
Do I know her?

Well, that's
hard to say, darling.

You have such
a wide circle of friends.

You...

At least have
the decency to deny it.

I don't know
what time I'll be home,

so you don't have to
wait up for me.

Unless, of course,
it gives you some sort of perverse pleasure.

Don't be surprised
if I'm not here when you get back!

If I didn't know you so well,
I could almost take that seriously.

Roland!

Roland!

(DOOR CLOSES)

(KNOCK ON DOOR)

Come in.

Everything all right?

(SIGHS)

Yes, Alice,
everything is just dandy.

I was wondering,

maybe you'd like to go
to the office and finish off those letters.

I'll meet you
downstairs in 15.

All right.

Thanks.

TRENT: David, the woman is
a millstone around my neck. I've gotta get rid of her.

(HARP MUSIC PLAYING)

That would be simple,

if you hadn't made her
a full partner in your business as a wedding gift.

Yeah. Not the wisest move
I ever made, huh?

That was on your advice,
as I recall.

On the contrary,

I tried to talk you out of it,
but you were too starry-eyed to listen.

Yeah.

So, what can I do?

Well, you have two options.

You can crawl back to Gretchen
and beg her forgiveness...

Skip to number two, huh?

Or you can kiss
half of everything you own goodbye,

because that's
what she's gonna get if you leave her.

I don't suppose
there's a number three?

Looking beautiful.

Thank you, darling.

Hi.
Hi.

Oh, I've wanted to do
that all day.

(BOTH GIGGLING)

I'm glad you waited
to do it with me. Oh, hi, David.

Cindy.

Well, look
what time it's gotten. I must be on my way.

David, relax, relax.

Yeah, we're just having
dinner. We're not doing anything wicked. Yet.

I still have to go over
the papers for the Phillip's acquisition tonight.

The meeting's
at 9:30 tomorrow.

I left my briefcase
at the office.

O'MALLEY: Yeah, so, go on.

You and Mr. Abbott
were working late, and...

Mmm-hmm.
And he suggested that we get a bite to eat.

I was thinking
something casual, you know...

Take out. Like this.

Right, but instead
we ended up at Chez Marin.

My, my.

Mr. Abbott must have
a formidable expense account.

I guess.

You know,
he was very nice.

He was very much
the gentleman.

I was actually
beginning to like him.

Oh, I've heard
French wines can have that effect.

No kidding.

But then today came.
Broad daylight. No wine.

I guess he was kind of
surprised to find out

I didn't care for
his brand of office politics.

Which explains
how you ended up in the South Bronx.

Why didn't you
tell me about this when it happened?

Because I'm old enough
to fight my own battles.

If you get involved,
Abbott might cause trouble for you, too.

An errand boy
for the Deputy Mayor?

What the fellow needs is
a good spanking.

Don't give it
another thought.

Now, my darling,
do you remember Officer Quintero, my assistant?

Oh, sure.

Bright young lad.

He's got himself promoted
to the district public relations office, you see,

and I gotta replace him.

So, I thought maybe this time,
I'd break in someone of the female persuasion.

Are you kidding?
You'd do that for me?

Doing it for myself.

You come from fine stock,

South Bronx
will just have to get along without you.

Oh, Uncle Jim!

No, no! Now, now,
no kissing superiors there, while on duty.

Our shift was up
two hours ago.

Oh, well,
wee bit of a hug then.

(GIGGLES) So, what are
we gonna be working on?

To tell you the truth, girl,
things are a bit slow.

But I've got
an awful, itchy feeling in the back of my neck,

something's about to happen.

(SIGHS)

(SIREN WAILING)

(POLICE RADIO CHATTERING)

Well, now,
what's all this?

Still itching?

Like a case of the hives.

Evening, Billy.

What have we here?

Pretty cut and dried,
Lieutenant. Jumper.

O'MALLEY: That's fine, Billy.
Thank you.

Looks like
she took a swan dive from the penthouse office.

That's the only one
with a terrace.

How might we
get up there?

Well, you can go in here
and use the lobby elevator,

or go through the garage
to the private elevator.

Private elevator, you say?

I don't suppose
anyone was seen using it this evening?

No such luck.

No such luck.
Thank you, Billy.

Marvelous what
a man can do

if he has the money
and the inclination.

Oh, great, here
comes Gorilla Grillo.

Should've saved yourself
the trip, Lieutenant.

This is a suicide,
open and shut.

Or should I say,
over and down?

If it's as clear cut
as all that, Detective Grillo,

why are the lab boys
crawling all over the premises?

Procedure, sir.
Just going by the book.

Well, there's a note
here in the typewriter,

if you'd like
to see for yourself.

"Life has lost
its meaning for me.

"Forgive me, my darling.
Love, Gretchen."

GRILLO: This ought to stir up
some headlines tomorrow, boy.

You know, this isn't
just any office. This is Roland...

Roland Trent's office.
I know.

Did you also know
that the jumper was his wife?

Thank you for that
little tidbit of information.

I'd guess that the lady
was a secretary at one time.

Her? Nah.

She went right
from being Miss July to Mrs. Trent.

What's the matter?
You two ought to read The Enquirer,

you might learn something.

Weird.

What is it, Frances?

I don't know, but...

Wouldn't a woman
who's about to take a high dive

make at least one mistake
in the note?

Especially somebody with
acrylic nails at least an inch long?

You noticed that,
did you? Well done, Frances.

Well, let's locate Mr. Trent
and give him the sad news.

I already
took care of that, Lieutenant.

Oh, you did, did you?

Well, I figured
I should handle it right away, sir,

seeing as
it's Roland Trent.

You can save that
reverential tone for church, Vinnie.

(CAMERA CLICKS)

Where, by the way,
I haven't seen you lately.

So,
I hear congratulations are in order.

Well, congratulations.

Thanks.

Yeah, I kind of figured
O'Malley would tap me to be his assistant.

But then I don't have
your qualifications, sweetface.

Grillo,

just a couple things,
so we understand each other.

First of all,
my name isn't sweetface, it's Frances.

Only, you can call me
Officer Rawley.

And second,

if I hear you say
anything like that again, to me or anybody,

I will show you what
I just learned in my last self-defense class.

Oh, yeah? What's that?

Well, let's just say
it might seriously impair your social life for a few days.

Hope I'm getting
through to you.

Pardon me,
who's in charge here?

Detective Lieutenant
James Ignatius O'Malley.

And who might
you be, sir?

Oh, Lieutenant,
this is Roland Trent.

But of course it is.

Forgive me, sir,
I don't know where my mind is tonight.

My sincere
condolences to you.

I lost my own dear wife
a few years back...

Lieutenant,
I don't quite understand what you're doing here.

I'm sorry, sir,
I thought it was obvious.

We're investigating
the death of your late wife.

What is there to investigate?

Gretchen took her own life.

My, my,

you're a remarkably
perceptive man, Mr. Trent,

to walk in this room
and know at once it was suicide,

without so much
as a glance at the farewell note.

I knew it was suicide
because some insensitive clod of a sergeant

left a message
to that effect on my answering machine.

You've suffered
a dreadful shock this evening, sir,

but if you don't mind,
I have a few questions.

O'MALLEY: Could you tell me,
sir, when was it that you last saw Mrs. Trent?

Earlier this evening,
around 7:30.

I was getting ready
to go out for dinner.

Alone?

No, with my attorney.

I couldn't cancel.

I urged Gretchen
to come along, but as usual, she turned me down.

As usual?

She always felt inadequate
around my business associates,

even though most of them
would have preferred her company to mine.

Especially Kingston,
he adored her.

Kingston?

Yes, David Kingston,
my attorney.

O'MALLEY: Was there
anyone else at dinner with you, sir?

No, it was just the two of us.

How long have
you had this office, Mr. Trent?

As long as
I've owned this building, several years.

Well, sir, perhaps then
you need to have a few words with your cleaning crew.

I don't...
My cleaning crew?

I was noticing
these bookends over here on the side table here, sir.

Well, this one
is dull, sir, if you'II...

If you'll pardon me,
a bit grimy.

But this one,
bright as a new penny.

Isn't it odd that
only the one of them should be clean?

Yeah.
That was careless.

And this felt here
that's on the bottom, sir. That's wet.

That's very bad, sir.

Water can do
terrific damage to a fine wood finish.

Thanks for pointing
that out.

I'll speak to
my building manager about it.

Is there anything else?

Yes, there is just one thing.

And you know,

it is really strange, sir.

I mentioned
the farewell letter to you from your wife

that's on
the typewriter there.

You've not
asked to see it.

I know if my dear Jenny,
rest her soul,

had been able to
leave me a note,

I'd have snatched it
up straightaway, committed every blessed word to memory.

You want me to be honest
with you, Lieutenant?

I didn't ask to see it
because I'm afraid of what might be in it.

I loved my wife
very much,

but our marriage
was far from perfect.

(SIGHS)

I'm afraid
she may have blamed me.

Well, I can
put your mind at ease on that one, sir.

No blame is given.

(SIGHS)

I'd like to have this
when your people are through with it.

(PHONE RINGING)
Of course, sir.

Is it okay
to get this?

Yeah, it's been dusted.

Hello,
Officer Rawley speaking.

Oh, hold on.
Lieutenant?

There's a man downstairs
demanding to see Mr. Trent, says his name is Kingston.

Did you feel
you'd be needing your lawyer, sir?

Poor David,

he must have
heard about Gretchen.

I'll speak to him downstairs.

He'll be right down.

Lieutenant, do you think
it's possible that someone was up here, handled it,

and then wiped it
free of fingerprints?

That might be
a possibility, sir,

but the question
then is, who handled it

and why did they feel
the need to cover up the fact?

Just a thought.
Keep me posted.

I'll do that, sir.

What did you get from that?

I think Mr. Trent
is a cold fish.

That, too.

O'Malley's been around
since Wagner was mayor.

Dozens of citations, honors.

His arrest record is
the best in the department.

I sincerely hope
you're coming to a "but".

But he has a reputation
as a hard-nose under all that Irish malarkey.

Gotten him into
hot water with the brass from time to time.

Let this be
one of those times.

Here, here, what's this?

Oh, I'm sorry,
I thought you took it black.

I do,
but I'm perfectly capable of getting my own coffee.

You weren't hired
to fetch and carry, girl.

I know that.

See that you do.

Talking to your mother
last night.

She's upset
you've run away from home.

I am 26 years old.
I took my own apartment.

And praise be
that you did, girl.

Your mother's
a dear, sweet woman,

but she'd try
the patience of a saint.

(GIGGLES)

Still now, it wouldn't hurt
to go by of a Sunday,

maybe even
with a young man on your arm.

(SIGHS)
Now, don't you start.

I'm starting nothing, girl.

But a Smith & Wesson
police special's

poor company on
a cold winter's night, I can tell you.

COHEN: O'Malley.

Oh, the top of
the morning to you, Captain.

O'Malley, I need
six more years before I can collect my pension.

You seem hell-bent
on preventing that.

Do I understand
correctly

that you actually
interrogated Roland Trent about his wife's death?

Well, it wasn't exactly
an interrogation, sir, it was more of a...

Information gathering.

I don't care if
you call it Final Jeopardy, I want it stopped.

Captain,
are you ordering me to stop this investigation?

There is no investigation.
The woman's death was a suicide.

We haven't heard
from the coroner about that, yet.

Rawley, can you talk
some sense into him?

No, sir.

Sam, at the risk of spoiling
a perfectly lovely day,

I must tell you that
Gretchen Trent's death looks like a suicide

because someone went to
great pains to make it look like that.

She was murdered?

Very strong possibility, sir.
The very strongest.

I see.

And this "someone"
you just mentioned,

I mean, it wouldn't be...

It couldn't be...

Oh, but it would be, sir.
Mr. Roland Trent himself.

Be back here at 12:15.
I've got a 12:30 lunch at La Tiara.

Hey, darling.

La Tiara, 12:30.
Don't be late, huh?

I trust you were talking
to an answering machine, Mr. Trent?

Otherwise, that was something
of a chilly invitation.

Good morning, Lieutenant.
What are you doing here?

I was just about
to ask you that same thing, sir.

You seem to have avoided
that tape we had across the elevator door downstairs,

the one that says,
"New York crime scene, do not enter."

What crime are you
talking about, Lieutenant?

My wife killed herself.

Perhaps so.

Even then, suicide
is against the law.

What are you gonna do,
prosecute her?

It's obvious to me, sir,
that you don't appreciate the nature of police work.

Paper pushing, mostly.

Writing reports,
filing reports. A dreary business.

Although...

Although?

One thing,
very strange.

Your wife's fingerprints.

They didn't show up
on either the typewriter or the suicide note.

Now, how do you suppose
that happened?

I can only imagine that
one of your technicians bungled his job.

Oh, yes.
Well, that does happen from time to time.

But then there was
this other thing.

And what is the other thing?

The bookends, sir.

You recall
I pointed them out to you last night.

Where are they?

Not to worry, sir.
They're safe and sound, down in the police lab.

You gave me
the idea yourself, sir,

when you suggested last night
that perhaps somebody was up here that handled them.

I had them tested.

And this one was
covered with fingerprints:

Yours, Mrs. Trent's,
her secretary, your secretary,

just as you might expect.

But then this other one,
as clean as the day it came out of the mold.

Not a print on it.

That's very odd, isn't it?

And I can't imagine
how that happened, can you?

No, it's got me puzzled,

as well as the matter
of the scream.

Excuse me, the scream?
What scream?

That's just the point, sir.
There was none.

At least, according
to Mr. Donatelli.

Donatelli?

Oh, he's
an unfortunate case, sir.

I mean, it was sad.

Mr. Donatelli was
a former stockbroker, sir.

He's had to sleep in the alley
ever since the Dow Jones took its big plunge a while back.

Lieutenant,
about the scream...

Oh, yes.

Mr. Donatelli was
dozing in the doorway of the building next door

at the time of
your wife's unfortunate death,

and he heard no scream.

So what?
People scream from terror.

According to my wife's note,
she went to her death willingly.

You'd think that,
wouldn't you, sir?

But I've had to deal
with dozens of jumpers, if you'll pardon the term.

And as sure as God made
the blue lakes of Killarney,

when they take
that final step

and realize
the absolute certainty of death,

every blessed one
of them screams.

What is your point?

My point, sir,

is that either your wife

was a woman
of remarkable resolve,

or else she was
unconscious when she fell off that terrace

and therefore
was unable to scream.

Because even
if she'd fainted out there,

she couldn't get over
that rail without help.

Where the hell
is my staff?

Well, they're
not here today.

You remember, sir,
this is a crime scene.

But I've got to be
going on to my next appointment.

You'd best come
along with me, sir,

otherwise you're gonna
be late for your luncheon engagement.

Thank you.

Lieutenant.

MONTROSE: Milk and sugar?

Artificial sweetener,
please.

Miss Montrose, how long
were you Mrs. Trent's personal secretary?

For almost five years.

And did she spend
much time on company business?

No, hardly any.

Just signing papers and
the like, whenever her husband asked her to.

Mrs. Trent devoted
most of her time to charities.

In fact, I still have
some letters to type that she dictated that night.

She was
a very generous person.

And Mr. Trent?

Miss Rawley,
I'm not sure that I should comment.

Technically,
he is still my employer.

It's Officer Rawley,
and I'm not here digging up dirt for the tabloids.

I'm conducting
an investigation.

Of course.

What do you want to know?

Why don't you tell me
about the last time you saw Mrs. Trent?

Well, it was that night,

the night she died.

We frequently worked
evenings at the office.

Mr. Trent was hardly
ever there himself,

and it had typewriters,
computers,

and it was so much more
convenient than working here at the townhouse.

Was there anyone else
there that night?

No, it was after 8:00
and everybody had gone.

Mrs. Trent was dictating
the letters I mentioned.

She hated to type and
her writing was atrocious,

so she always
dictated to me or into a cassette recorder.

All of a sudden,
Mr. Trent was there.

He'd left his briefcase,
and he said he'd come back to get it.

And when he saw Mrs. Trent
sitting behind his desk, he got ugly.

He asked her
if she was planning to take over.

And she said, "Why not?"
Since she was already half-owner.

That look in his eye...

I thought he was
actually going to hit her.

(STAMMERING)

I told him that
we'd be finished with work

and out of the office
within an hour.

That seemed
to calm him down.

Then he left by the front,

instead of the private
elevator to the garage.

After he left, I...

I realized that
he'd forgotten his briefcase again.

And so, I offered to try
and catch up with him,

but Mrs. Trent said no.
If he really needed it, he'd come back and get it.

Well, we worked
for another hour or so,

but I hadn't slept
the night before, and I...

I was tired.
I could hardly keep my eyes open.

So, Mrs. Trent said that
I was to go home and go to bed,

she'd dictate
the rest on tape.

If only I hadn't gone...

Miss Montrose,

how would you describe
Mrs. Trent's state of mind

after the confrontation
with her husband?

Well, she was...
She was upset, of course, but...

Upset enough to
take her own life?

No.

No!

If I thought that, I'd
never have left her alone!

But I can tell you
one thing for certain, he is responsible.

Her husband?

He never knew what
a wonderful woman she was.

He was so mean and selfish.

He never gave her
any time or thought.

He neglected her
shamelessly.

Do you think
he neglected her because of another woman?

I wouldn't know
anything about that.

Something doesn't add up.

Alice Montrose obviously
hates Trent,

but the minute I suggested
that he may be involved with another woman,

she almost seemed insulted.

Reminds me of my dear old
Aunt Kate, rest her soul.

She was that way
about Uncle Jack.

Rest his soul.

Kate would call him
every name in the book,

and a few she
invented herself,

but you let
anyone else suggest he was a lazy bum,

she'd scratch
their eyes out.

So, what are
we talking about? Loyalty?

Protecting the memory
of someone we love?

I wasn't listening
to you, girl. What'd you say?

Well, is it loyalty?

Sure. I'd say...
I'd say that.

(HONKING)

Hey, Lieutenant,

Captain wants to
see you now.

From the smug expression
you're wearing, Sergeant Grillo, I'll bet you know why.

Sorry, it's confidential.

Grillo, grow up.

All right. Okay.

You're gonna be
the star attraction

at a press conference
this afternoon, Lieutenant.

You're gonna squelch
these rumors

about Mrs. Trent's death
being anything but suicide.

That's crazy.
I haven't finished my investigation yet.

That's not
what the Captain says.

(CLEARS THROAT)

Ladies and gentlemen
of the press,

Detective Lieutenant O'Malley
has a statement to make relating to a...

A certain ongoing news story.

Statement?
This is barely a sentence.

Watch it, O'Malley.

Good afternoon,
ladies and gentlemen.

I've been asked to
read you this statement.

"Following several days
of intense investigation,

"there is no clear evidence
that Gretchen Trent's death was anything but suicide."

At this point in time.

I'll take questions now.
Dave.

Lieutenant, what does
"at this point in time," mean?

It means "now."

FEMALE REPORTER:
Do you mean to suggest

that there could be
proof at some later time that this wasn't a suicide?

O'MALLEY:
I certainly hope so.

FEMALE REPORTER:
Are you saying you have a suspect in mind?

Oh, yes.

Lieutenant, can you reveal
that suspect's name?

It is my belief

that the late Mrs. Trent
was tossed from that penthouse terrace

by her husband,
Roland Trent.

You old fool!
Now, I've got you!

Uncle Jim,
what were you thinking?

Oh, Frances,

the way those reporters
were badgering me with their questions,

I had no choice
but to tell the truth, now did I?

Well, you just
couldn't let it go, could you?

Well, my old friend, this
time you have bitten off more than the brass can swallow.

You're about to get yourself
a one-way ticket off the force,

for good.

REPORTER 1: Here they come!
REPORTER 2: Here they are!

Gentlemen, ladies,
please!

Mr. Trent will have
no comment... David.

It's all right, David.

Mr. Trent,
what about Detective Lieutenant O'Malley's

claim that
you murdered your wife?

It's absolute nonsense.

Frankly, I'm really puzzled
as to why a veteran officer like O'Malley

should resort to
slander to try to build a case against me.

Are you saying that
he's deliberately lying?

What else can I say?

(REPORTERS CLAMORING)

Are you planning
to sue? Mr. Trent.

I'd rather not.
I'd rather not.

I just think it would
be best for everyone

if the Lieutenant simply
turned in his resignation.

Mr. Trent, are you able to
prove O'Malley's accusations are false?

Of course.
Roland, this is not...

I was nowhere near my office
the night of my wife's death,

and I have a witness
who'll swear to that.

And who is he?
It's a she.

And, for the moment,
I'd prefer

that she was not exposed
to this type of publicity.

I have to go now.
If you'll forgive me.

No more questions!

(REPORTERS CLAMORING)
No more questions! That's all.

FEMALE REPORTER: Mr. Trent!
No more questions.

MALE REPORTER: It's either
your side or O'Malley's, sir. Mr. Trent, sir?

(TIRES SCREECHING)

That should make
"Film At 11", don't you think?

Roland, what the hell
was that all about?

That, my dear David,
was the beginning of the end

for Detective Lieutenant
James I. O'Malley.

Tomorrow, you and I
will deliver our coup de grâce.

First thing in the morning,
I want you to call this Captain Cohen.

(WHOOPING)

(CHUCKLING)

Beetle Bailey.

What'll he get into next?

COHEN: Right this way,
Mr. Kingston.

Miss Marsh.

Sorry to make you come
all the way down here.

I hope it's not
too inconvenient.

We very much wanna
get this thing settled, Captain.

As quickly as possible.

Oh, of course.

(CHUCKLING)

That's funny.

Indeed, it is.
I love to start the day with a good laugh.

No, no, no.

I'm talking about
this man I just ran into in the hall.

He would visit
Paul Abbott several times

when I was working in
the Deputy Mayor's office.

I never caught his name.

What's funny, Uncle Jim,
is that it's David Kingston, Roland Trent's attorney.

Is that so?

Roland Trent's private
attorney, hobnobbing with an aide to the Deputy Mayor.

And what did Mr. Abbott
and Mr. Kingston talk about in these little meetings?

I don't know.
It was always behind closed doors.

But his visits
were pretty regular,

around the first
of the month.

When all the other bills
were paid.

Mmm.

Just thought
you'd like to know, Lieutenant,

Trent's witness is about
to give a statement in the Captain's office.

Have a nice day.

I'd like to give that clown
a nose transplant.

Excuse me, my darling,

there's a meeting
I have to barge into.

Cindy Marsh, M-A-R-S-H.

COHEN: And your occupation,
Miss Marsh?

Part-time model.

I was thinking about
what you said...

Oh, forgive me, Captain Cohen,

I had no idea you were busy.

O'Malley, come in.

You of all people
should hear this.

Oh? Well, if I wouldn't
be intruding, sir.

Thank you very much.

Go ahead, Miss Marsh.

It's like I told Mr. Kingston,
Roland couldn't possibly have killed his wife.

He was with me that night.

He came to my apartment
after he'd had the argument with his wife at his office,

and he stayed.
Well, that is, at least until he heard

the news bulletin about
the woman jumping from his office balcony,

then he immediately
called home.

There was some message
on his answering machine from some Police Sergeant

saying that Gretchen
had committed suicide.

And how did he react to that?

Oh, he was devastated.

It took him a few minutes to
get himself together, and then he went back to the office.

Miss Marsh, how long...

Oh, I'm sorry, sir,
is it all right if I...

Please, be my guest.

Miss Marsh, how long has
this relationship between you and Mr. Trent been going on?

You don't have
to answer that.

What's the difference?

We've known each other
for several months.

I assume you're speaking
in biblical terms?

So what?
Roland was trapped in a lousy marriage.

I mean, his wife was frigid.
She treated him like dirt.

Did he tell you that?

No, I was an eyewitness
in their bedroom.

Of course he told me that!

It was the truth.

Odd, Miss Marsh,
that neither Mrs. Trent's secretary, Alice Montrose,

or any other employee
of Roland Trent knew about you.

We didn't make
it a habit of meeting at his place of business.

In fact, I've never
even been in his office.

May I remind you,
Lieutenant, that Miss Marsh is not on trial here.

She's come of
her own free will to offer her statement.

And we appreciate
that, Mr. Kingston.

May I go now?

Oh, of course.

Thank you very much,
Miss Marsh.

I know it's been
difficult for you.

We'll be in touch
if we need you.

O'Malley.

Close the door.

Now, I'm telling you this
as a friend.

If you care about saving
what's left of your rear end,

not to mention your job,

swallow that Irish pride
and apologize to Roland Trent.

Oh, you don't need
to worry about me, Captain.

I'll do whatever it takes
to spare this department any further embarrassment.

You can take
my word for it, sir.

What the hell is all this?

Lieutenant O'Malley,
Mr. Abbott.

I have
a court order here, sir,

directing you to turn over
certain tapes you've made of some telephone calls.

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

Sure you do, Paul.
The tape recorder that's in your top drawer.

Obviously, the South Bronx
wasn't far enough for you, Officer Rawley.

This time,
I'm gonna have you shipped right off the force.

Ruth, get the Mayor's
office on the phone for me, would you?

Get it yourself, baby.

Yes, indeed, sir.
Call the Mayor. He's expecting you to phone.

I think he wants
to tell you you're fired.

ABBO TT: I had lunch with
the Commissioner today.

I think,
with a little enticement,

he'll be willing to
play ball on that Long Island City project.

TRENT ON TAPE: Do it.
Handle it the usual way.

ABBO TT: He said no cash.

TRENT: That's no problem.
Deposit the funds to his Geneva account.

ABBO TT: And what
do I get out of it?

Your usual cut, Paul.
Don't go greedy on me now.

I'd hate to spoil
a good arrangement.

(STOPS TAPE)

And it goes on like that.

These tapes will never see
the inside of a courtroom.

David, I don't think
the Lieutenant's here

to investigate
my business practices.

Just a way to get
my attention, right?

Actually, Mr. Trent, these
tapes indicate the motive for your wife's murder.

You see, sir,

if Mrs. Trent had
divorced you and demanded her share of the business,

the books would have
had to be opened.

And she knew far too much
about your affairs,

your business affairs,
that is,

to have let you off the hook
if you had divorced her.

So, a dilemma.

You couldn't leave
your wife, you couldn't let her leave you,

but that left Miss Marsh
there on rather shaky ground.

So,
that left one alternative, murder the wife.

That's very imaginative,
isn't it? Go on.

I was asking myself, sir,
was it possible

that you could have seen
your wife's secretary leave by the front entrance,

and then you come up on
that private elevator,

knowing that Gretchen
would be here alone?

You know something,
O'Malley? You really missed your calling.

You should be writing
murder mysteries.

I have here, sir,
a lab report on that bookend I took from your office.

The tests reveal that
microscopic traces of hair

were found caught up
in the crevices,

along with blood that was
on the felt pad on the bottom.

They match your wife's, sir.

Doesn't mean
anything to me.

I wasn't here, remember?
I was with Miss Marsh.

Maybe you were, sir,
and maybe you weren't.

But I have a statement
from Miss Montrose that says that you left your briefcase

right here in
the office on the night of your wife's death.

When I got here,
there was no briefcase.

But then, when you
arrived the next day,

you were carrying
that self-same briefcase.

I'm sure that Miss Montrose
will identify it.

Well, you can
see my point, sir.

The only time you could
have retrieved it was at the time of the murder.

Roland, don't say
another word.

Shh. Relax, David.

I have no intention
of answering this insane charge.

Well, if you'll
forgive me, Mr. Trent, I've made no charge.

The risk you'd have been
taking murdering your wife,

that's not the sort
of thing a shrewd businessman like yourself

would have been
willing to chance.

But you, Miss Marsh.

Now, you're
a different story.

You're the one that
stood to lose the most if you were sent packing.

You're the one most
likely to lose your temper,

strike out at your enemy
with the nearest heavy object.

That's a pack of lies!

And I'm not going to stand
around here and let you drag me through the mud.

Sorry, not going down.

Miss Marsh, I'm placing
you under arrest

for the murder
of Gretchen Trent.

Well, that's ridiculous.

I told you, I was
with Roland all evening.

You also told me
you'd never been in this office before.

If so, how did you know
which one of these doors led to the elevator?

They all look alike.

Well, I...

Roland.
Cindy, shut up!

Perhaps he's right,

just say nothing
till you've had a chance to talk to your attorney.

CIND Y ON TAPE: Roland came up
on the private elevator after I called him.

He told me just
to get out of there, that he'd take care of everything.

(SOBBING) I didn't mean to
hit her, I just wanted to have it out with her,

and when she said
she'd never leave Roland, I just freaked.

I just wanted to wipe
that smug smile off her face.

(STOPS TAPE)

Well done, Frances.
Your dad would have been proud of you.

Oh, what for?
You're the one who solved the case.

Wrong, girl.
I only picked up the trail

once you'd found out
about Miss Marsh.

Oh, by the way,

the Captain wanted
you to have this.

Now, normally
he'd present it himself,

but, in this case,
he made an exception.

Oh, my gosh.

Welcome to Homicide,
Detective Rawley.

Oh, Uncle Jim!
Uncle Jim!

Now, here! Now, here!
Detectives don't kiss Detective Lieutenants,

especially when on duty.

5:01.

Oh.

Well, do this side.

Oh, that's lovely.
Thank you, girl.

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