All language subtitles for Remington Steele s03e11 Lets Steele a Plot.eng

Right.

Twelve minutes to midnight?

Twelve minutes to midnight.

One if by land.

I see.

Midtown Park.

Midtown Park?

416 Commerce Street.

I'm beginning to wonder, is this gonna
be a case or a scavenger hunt?

You promised Mr. "X"
we'd meet with him.

Yes. Well, any man who calls himself
Mr. "X" deserves to be stood up.

All very mysterious.

My stock in trade, Miss Holt.

Mr. "X", I presume?

Well, yes.

I was certain, once I had made those credit card
commercials, everyone would recognize me.

Of course!
Richard Laidlaw.

Three-inch mystery novels
with three-word titles.

The Laidlaw logo.

Once around the slum,
Mr. Steele?

I'm the president of
the American Mystery Writers Guild.

I don't mean to spoil
your ending, Mr. Laidlaw...

but why all
the mystery tonight?

Someone's embezzled
our guild treasury.

Nearly a million dollars!

- Have you called the police?
- No police.

- Laidlaw's law.
- Embarrassed?

A group of mystery writers,
and they can't solve the crime.

Scratch "embarrassed. "
Try "discouraged. "

A million dollars is quite a treasury
for a guild of mystery writers.

- Last year it was 312 dollars and 43 cents.
- Mmm.

A few months ago,
an old-timer, Gil Fox-

hadn't sold a book in years-

suddenly got a seven-figure
offer for film rights...

to a series of sci-fi novels...

about a Martian who works
for a small-town police force.

Mmm, the stuff of epics,
isn't it?

The night Gil Fox
signed his contract, he died.

- How?
- A heart attack.

Fox willed his money
to the guild...

to tear down our old Victorian,
buy the lot next door...

and build a proper headquarters
for our organization.

Now, the will was probated,
the money paid into the treasury.

A day later,
it was taken out again.

Six separate checks...

each one signed by one of the members
of the board of directors.

Forgeries? No, I mean...

if you were all in on the embezzlement,
you wouldn't be hiring us, would you?

Good point, Mr. Steele.

The checks were all made out to cash
and deposited in a Swiss bank account.

- Untraceable?
- What else?

- Imaginative.
- You know...

all the board members
are best-selling authors.

You'd think they'd be
too well-heeled to embezzle.

They're the only ones who
knew about the million dollars.

It hadn't been announced
to the general membership yet.

So, if we're going
to catch the forger...

we have to get samples
of each one's handwriting.

Mm-hmm. And we have to do it
in a cunning, imaginative way.

Oh, yes, this is our chance
for immortality.

We solve the case by a bold, brilliant
ploy, and they all write books about us.

There's only one problem,
Mr. Steele.

We don't have a bold,
brilliant ploy.

You've got 30 minutes, Laura.

The Remington Steele Agency,
fully conscious...

of the unique honor
you've bestowed upon us...

will devote its fullest energies
to your every need.

Thank you very much.
Oh, and finally...

we at the Steele Agency
are your avid fans.

So, if you don't mind,
during the social hour...

my staff will pass among you
with copies of your books.

Thank you very much.

Most people say I look
much younger than this picture.

Yes, yes, yes.
Ages, ages.

- What do you call that?
- Do-it-yourself orthodontia?

That's Butch Bemis.
The Chip Sledge series?

Trash! Illiterate,
chauvinist trash!

Degrading to women,
degrading to the human race.

- Eighteen million copies, worldwide.
- That's a lot of degradation.

But some time ago,
before the embezzlement...

he was trying to float
a loan on his bull ranch.

- Ah, raises bulls, does he?
- Wrestles them.

All right.
Walk me through this again.

You used to be
an F.B.I. agent, Mr. Grimm?

Thank you. And he put you
in Leavenworth, Mr. Nussman?

Call me Alfie.
Call him plagiarist.

- Frankly, Miss Crabs, your agency-
- Krebs!

Thank goodness. Your agency's
going about this all wrong, Miss Krebs.

- There's your culprit. That man has a history of theft.
- Ooh!

I stole money.
He steals ideas, usually mine...

but he writes them up so badly,
he probably needs to steal money too.

- How are sales, Grimm?
- Don't worry about me, Miss Crabs- Krebs.

But the only top-10 list
Nussman ever made was labeled "Wanted. "

Had I but known, Mr. Steele,
that on this fair autumn morn...

destiny would
bring us together.

I was very distressed to hear,
Miss Cooper, that-

Columbine.

I was very distressed to hear about
your problems with the tax people.

How much do they claim
you owe them?

- You're going about this all wrong, Mr. Steele.
- Oh, really?

If you suspect me
of nefarious deeds...

I suggest you take a leaf
from Rodney Van Dyke.

- Rodney Van Dyke?
- The dark, brooding...

but, beneath it all,
tender hero of my latest gothic...

Lust's Lovely Lassitude.

You must pull me
to your manly chest...

stare deeply
into my lambent eyes...

and then probe me
and probe me...

and probe me relentlessly.

Ah, uh, very busy,
Miss Cooper.

You know, hours to go
before one sleeps and all that.

Had I but known.

If I were you,
I'd question Pamela Johns.

She may write those
dry English mysteries...

but they do say that, for years,
she had a secret affair with Gil Fox.

- Butch Bemis.
- Kiss Me to a Pulp.

Sounds right. Trade?

You bet.

Myself and Gil Fox.

Not that I can remember.

- And I do try to remember all my lovers.
- Mmm.

Gives a bit more meaning
to the experience, does it?

I was frightfully sorry to read about you
in the Crime of the Month Club.

- What was that?
- They turned down your latest novel...

in favor of the memoirs
of that Hollywood mogul.

If you're trying
to find the embezzler...

and I assume you are,
you're going about it all wrong.

I am?

You should be questioning
the other beneficiary of Fox's will.

I didn't know there was
another beneficiary.

Oh, sloppy work, Steele.

I'd never let one of my detectives
overlook something like that.

Reality can be
a dreadful letdown.

Who is the other beneficiary?

A neighbor of Fox's,
Maxie Delano.

He was meant to get 100,000,
the guild the other nine.

I suspect he felt shortchanged.

If I let my private eye do what you're
doing, my readers would barf.

I beg your pardon?

Eavesdropping on the extension?
Amateur night, baby.

Might I remind you, Mr. Bemis...

that you people
are under scrutiny, not I.

And I got the distinct impression
from that phone call...

that you've lost a lot of money financing
a television series based on your books.

Well?

You wouldn't be such
a bad-looking broad...

if you did something with
your hair, a little makeup.

Why don't you stick to
what broads are good for?

You not only look
like a Neanderthal...

you think like one.

Right.

Well?

May I have your autograph?

- Chief?
- Yep.

I finally got an answer
from the coroner's office.

They never did
an autopsy on Gil Fox.

I wanna talk to that doctor
who signed the death certificate.

- What time's our appointment with the handwriting experts?
- Oh, not till 2:30.

Laura, you can drop me off
at Fox's old building.

I wanna talk
to his neighbors.

Laura?

I'll grab a cab
back to the office.

Laura, have you just
discovered you have hair?

- Yeah?
- I'm looking for Maxie Delano.

- Not anymore, you're not.
- Maxine?

Good for you, handsome.

The name's Steele.
I'm a private investigator.

I believe you and Gilbert Fox
were neighbors.

Yeah, he lived right over there
when he didn't live here.

Mmm. And you inherited a hundred
thousand dollars from his estate.

- Supposed to inherit it.
- What happened?

My money was lumped in with what
he gave the Mystery Writers.

He made those birdbrains
trustees of my legacy.

- May I ask why?
- You could ask.

I can't tell you.
Writers are odd ducks.

You don't trust me,
do you, Maxie?

Why should I? You shamuses
keep knocking at my door...

like you're gonna
make everything all right.

- We do?
- There was one here last week.

Oh, he was gonna get
to the bottom of things.

- Never heard from him again.
- What's the name of this, uh, shamus?

I got his card
around here somewhere. Uh-

Excuse me.

Hmm.

"Melvin Gamble. "

- Hmm?
- The shamus's name. Melvin Gamble.

You've got a hundred thousand
dollars coming to you, Maxie.

- You will be hearing from me.
- That's what they all say, handsome.

Why didn't you perform
an autopsy on Gil Fox?

- Who?
- Gil Fox, the writer?

He'd just signed
a million-dollar movie contract.

Oh, yeah.
Nobody asked for an autopsy.

There was no family,
as I recall, no survivors...

and there was nothing
suspicious about his death.

A man with no history of heart trouble
suddenly drops dead?

Look, it's a tense world.
A couple of bombs and we're all gone.

Could Fox's heart attack
have been induced intentionally?

You can induce a lot of things
if you know the right recipe.

Don't those recipes leave traces?
Why didn't you check?

- Look, Miss-
- Holt.

Miss Holt,
the man was 58 years old...

and 30 pounds overweight.

He had a heart attack.

In my judgment,
that is hardly suspicious.

In yourjudgment,
what would you call that, Doctor?

This will identify the forger,
hmm, without question?

The results are indisputable.

- I have never been wrong.
- It is, after all, a science.

Good heavens, Laura.

I thought you went to the hospital
for information, not surgery.

We must be getting close.

Somebody tried to kill me in
a highly melodramatic fashion.

- Are you all right?
- Except for a few bruises in some embarrassing places.

Our handwriting experts?

Dr. Mikhail Chernikoff...

professor of graphology
at the Toledo Museum of Criminology.

He's here on a lecture tour.
Miss Alma Torrance...

paleographer and author of
Your Handwriting and Your Soul.

And Mr. Victor Beldown...

associate dean of the Graduate School
of Criminal Investigation...

at the University of Landsdowne.

Impressive group.

Laura, I'm afraid I've come
upon some disturbing news.

Someone else
has been assigned to this case-

an investigator
named Melvin Gamble.

- Why weren't we told?
- Exactly the question I'm gonna put to Laidlaw.

The matter is resolved.

- Unquestionably.
- There's no room for doubt.

Excellent! And who is our culprit,
our master forger?

Richard Laidlaw.

Ridiculous!
It's Alf Nussman.

Absurd!
It's Columbine Cooper.

Why did we
get three experts?

- So there'd be no doubt.
- Mmm.

Pay them off, Mildred,
with our heartfelt thanks.

Yeah.

Hello?

Out to lunch?

- Anyone?
- Take that.!

And that,
degenerate hooligan.!

Unfeeling thug.!

Intellectual mendicant.!

Deranged dilettante.!

Take that.!

And that, you fascist swine.!

How does it feel to be on
the receiving end, you illiterate thug?

Oh, Steele!

You ever see such viciousness?

A few darts, Mr. Laidlaw?

Oh, not me.
That alleged critic.

Syndicated in 200 papers.

Every other critic in the country
loved my new book.

He gave it four yawns.
Four yawns!

Mr. Laidlaw, why didn't you tell me that
there's another detective on this case?

- Another detective?
- Melvin Gamble.

Oh! Uh-

Well, we were afraid
your ego might be bruised.

- Second choice and all that.
- Did Gamble quit?

- After a fashion.
- Well, perhaps he and I should compare notes.

Well, that might be difficult.

- Temperamental?
- Not exactly. Uh-

Hard to get hold of?
Bit of a loner?

These days. He's dead.

- Dead? How?
- Poisoned.

Well, why didn't you tell me?

And alarm you unnecessarily?

You know, for private tin,
you got lousy hardware on the door.

Finding everything you need?

It's not my brand,
but it'll do.

So will you,
if you get my drift.

- Don't you ever think of anything but sex?
- Not if I can help it.

Give me one good reason why I
shouldn't throw you out of here.

You're arrogant,
crude, retrogressive.

You're everything
I hold in contempt about men!

I'd never let
my sister marry you!

I'll get it.

- Mr. Bemis.
- Call me Butch.

Do I have to?

Ah.

- Freshened up, I see.
- Hoist one?

A beer? No, thanks. Do you mind
if I speak with my associate?

- Hey, be my guest.
- Apparently I am.

- No explanation required, Miss Holt.
- None offered, Mr. Steele.

Well, I hate to tear you
away from Jaws IV...

but I think we should take a look
at the late Melvin Gamble's office.

- The late Melvin Gamble?
- Mmm, murdered.

- Was he onto something?
- If he was, he kept it to himself.

Laidlaw said he hadn't
filed a single report.

Gamble wasn't smart enough to
find an elephant in an outhouse.

- Air between the ears.
- Yes, well, I'm sure we can...

stumble along on our
own instincts, you know.

I know.
Be your guest.

- Sorry, Butch. Work calls, you know.
- Hmm.

- You're awfully silent, Mr. Steele.
- Mmm.

We're bound to run out
of conversation from time to time.

I mean,
we're together so much.

And I've never thought
of myself as work, Laura.

Not you! This!

Going to Gamble's office
when the day is almost over.

Yes, but no need
to put it so bluntly.

Plain speaking.
I've learned that.

From Butch? Quick study.

Really, Laura. I mean,
if anybody ever told me...

that you were gonna be attracted
to a man like Butch Bemis-

Oh, I'm rather
surprised myself.

Yes, but you're so cultivated,
so refined, so- so rational.

And he's so crude...

so demanding, so visceral.

- Is that the attraction?
- I don't know.

I really don't know.

Has it occurred to you
that Butch's interest in you...

may have to do with his possible
complicity in this case?

Has it occurred to you that he
just might be interested in me?

Mm-hmm.

New hardware in a building
that's up for sale?

Good thinking, Laura.

I must
have been preoccupied.

I can't imagine with what.

Laura, do you get the feeling
someone's one chapter ahead of us?

Have you thoroughly
lost your objectivity?

Who else but Butch
knew we were coming here?

He found out
a fast 20 minutes ago.

Any one of the Writers could have
anticipated we'd end up here.

Come on! If we're gonna toss the joint, let's toss it.

What has that man done
to your vocabulary?

You know, that particular
booby trap's familiar.

- I'm sure I've read it somewhere.
- Yes.

I'd feel a lot more comfortable
working on this case...

if our suspects
wrote children's books.

You and Mildred and I have our fair share
of a crash course of reading tonight.

Oh, can you find the time?

I'll do my best.

Mr. Steele, you think
you might forego fantasyland...

long enough to pursue our case?

I am pursuing it, Laura.

These are the only
orderly things in the room.

Ergo, our killer
didn't go through them.

Oh, and look what he missed.

I'm sure he's
seen it all before.

Not that.

This.

It's a letter from Gil Fox to his agent
describing his next novel.

"A veteran writer teaches
a newcomer how to write.

Once the job is done,
the prot�g� kills the mentor. "

You think Fox may have been
writing about his own future?

And somebody stole his plot?
Well, possibly.

Melvin Gamble was hired by
the Board of Mystery Writers...

to investigate the embezzlement
of Gil Fox's bequest.

He finds this letter...

and soon after,
he unexpectedly dies.

Perhaps Gamble discovered
who killed Fox.

And instead of reporting it, he tries
to blackmail the embezzler/murderer.

- Gamble definitely wasn't a credit to his profession.
- He paid for it with his life.

- Midnight oil?
- I stayed up reading the collected works of Alf Nussman.

What prison does
to the human mind.

- Oh, but I did find a wheelchair attack.
- You did?

In the very last one-
Hell on a Two-Wheeler.

What's wrong?

I found the idea of the booby-trapped
office in one ofJackson Grimm's books.

Save-the-World Bureau.

What about Melvin Gamble?
How did he go?

Poison.

Pamela Johns devoted
a whole book on the subject.

The Case of
the Poisonous Parson.

- That doesn't exactly narrow down the suspects.
- No.

- Oh, you too, boss?
- Mm-hmm.

I spent a long, steamy night
with the complete oeuvre of Butch Bemis.

- Find anything?
- I certainly did.

- Oh?
- The man makes the Marquis de Sade look like Captain Kangaroo.

Really?

Remington Steele Investigations.

Find anything to confirm
your suspicions of Butch?

Well, actually, Laura,
if you read between the lines...

look at the work analytically
and contemplate the nuances, no.

Well, then I suggest we try to find out
who Gil Fox's prot�g� was.

- Ah, yes, his prot�g�.
- Thank you. I'll take care of it.

That was Gourmet Galley, boss.
They weren't able to deliver...

that basket of goodies
to Maxie Delano yesterday.

- Why not?
- They tried three times. No one answered the door.

Call the paramedics and tell them
to get over there right away.

- What happened?
- She passed out.

She's not in the best of health
to begin with, and she's undernourished.

What's all the fuss, Steele?

I didn't feel like
answering the door.

Mmm. I know the feeling.

You'll be fine, Maxie.
You'll be just fine.

Is this why Gil Fox put your money
in trust with the Writers?

Because he thought you, uh, might
not feel like answering the door?

My daughter and her husband
wanna put me in an old folks' home.

- Do you see me in one of those places?
- No, not really.

Gil didn't want the little darlings
to get their hands on the money.

Maxie, I need your help
with something.

As long as it don't require
heavy lifting.

Did Gil Fox have a prot�g�,
I mean, someone he helped get started?

Yeah, that he did.
Broad never let go.

- Who was she?
- Some English dame.

After Gil made
that big movie sale...

suddenly she's back.

I heard 'em every day across the courtyard
hollerin' about money.

She did most of the hollerin'.

Fortunately,
Gil was deaf in one ear.

Miss Holt.
What a nice surprise.

Come in.

I, uh, love what you've...
done with the place.

Probably seems a little weird,
doesn't it?

No.
No.

You see, I learned to write
in the slammer.

When I got out, I bought this place
with the take from my novels.

Big mistake.
Couldn't write word one.

Almost had to knock off a bank just to,
uh, get back into the right atmosphere.

So, instead,
you brought prison here.

Yeah, it cost me a bundle,
but it was worth it.

I look at those bars,
I do almost 5,000 words a day.

Tell me,
who taught you how to write?

- Gladys A. Shutke.
- Gladys A. Shutke?

Creative writing teacher
up at the joint.

Wonderful woman, Gladys.
Big talent.

She'd be publishing today
if she had more... raunch in her work.

Now, my work- lots of raunch.

So I hear.

Mr. Nussman, while I was investigating
the death of Gil Fox yesterday...

I was almost killed
by a flying wheelchair.

Ring any bells?

Can't say that it does.

The same thing happened
in one of your books.

Lots of things happen
in my books.

Apparently not enough.

You've had four different publishers
since you were paroled.

That's either a sign that a writer
is on his way up or on his way down.

Visiting hours are over, Miss Holt.

I got another
2,000 words to do.

If there are any more attempts
on my life, Mr. Nussman...

I hope for your sake
they're completely original.

This area is filled
with poisonous plants.

The physic nut, the castor plant,
the common tree nettle.

Mmm. You're quite an expert
with poisons, Miss Johns.

I base my novels
on research.

My murders and my love scenes.

Gil Fox's neighbor tells me that you
visited him frequently prior to his death.

Still at it, Steele?

Why did you deny that you'd been lovers, eh?

You know the English.

If one can talk publicly about what
one does, why bother doing it at all?

I'm told you and Fox
argued about money.

Were you angry that he willed
his fortunes to the Writers?

That came as a complete shock
to the entire board.

Then why the bone of contention
between you and Fox?

Look, I may be going about this
all the wrong way...

but I'm gonna get to it
in the end, okay?

I was trying to collect a debt.

I supported Gil Fox
through his long, lean years.

I paid his rent.
I paid for his car.

I paid for his whiskey.

He'd made a movie sale.
I wanted the money back.

If you're trying to find the woman
in the case, Mr. Steele...

I suggest you look under
a big, romantic picture hat.

Plagiarist!

- Felon!
- No-talent!

Undesirable.!

You've always stolen
my best ideas for your books!

Now you're trying to steal them
from the Holt dame!

If I wanted to kill somebody, I wouldn't
have to stoop to borrowing from you!

I have ideas of my own.!

Like booby-trapping an office,
Mr. Grimm?

Mr. Steele and I were almost
blown to kingdom come yesterday...

like the detectives
in your Save-the-World Bureau.

She's gotcha, Grimm.
You're gonna like the slammer.

I might even give you letters
for the right people.

I want my lawyer.
I want my lawyer.

Somebody's plagiarizing me!

If you're so successful,
Mr. Grimm...

why are you writing
in a bookstore window?

If you must know,
it inspires me.

Or is it a desperate attempt to drum up
interest in a flagging career?

"Now is the time for all good men
to come to the aid of their country. "

Writer's block?

Mr. Steele!
Had I but known.

Do you have a moment,
uh, Miss Cooper?

Oh, I hope my, uh, working clothes
don't offend you.

Ah. Gets you in
the proper mood, does it?

Atmosphere is everything.

If I wrote war novels,
I'd wear a uniform.

This is the uniform
of... love.

Yes, and this is the uniform
of a private investigator.

Oh, a business call.
How disappointing.

Uh- Um-

Tell me, Miss Cooper,
who taught you to write?

I taught myself.

Your first book was a worldwide
best seller, wasn't it?

I immersed myself
in the greats-

Barbara Cartland,
Rosemary Rogers, Helen Gurley Brown.

I learned the potent power
of printed passion, and then I pounced.

I understand the late Gil Fox
had more than a casual interest in you.

Why not?
I am but a blossom...

only now coming to full flower.

Yes, I know,
but what about Gil Fox?

Disgusting old man.

Always watching me
with those rheumy eyes...

stalking me
with those spindly legs.

Heaven knows what he imagined
in that gin-soaked mind.

That's quite good.
Let me write that down.

I, uh- I trust you
and Gil Fox weren't...

"ensnared in rapturous
tentacles of molten desire"?

Mr. Steele...

what do you think I am, easy?

They all needed money.
Nussman's had four publishers.

Pamela Johns badgered Fox
so he'd pay her.

- Jackson has writer's block.
- Laidlaw's book's on the critical list.

Miss Cooper has tax problems,
among other problems.

- And Butch?
- You told me yourself.

He lost a whole bundle on
that television series based on his books.

- Notice I didn't call them novels. Hoh.
- Hoh.

Ah, Mr. Laidlaw, we were just
narrowing down the suspects.

I think we can say that we're a mere
tad away from closing this case.

Oh, it is closed, Mr. Steele.

The money's been returned.

It doesn't make any sense.

The embezzler tries to kill us,
then he returns the money?

Mmm. Well, perhaps it's
simply, uh, our charisma.

The Steele Agency enters a case,
and the cunning felon quakes in terror.

Oh, please.

Remington Steele Investigations.

Just a minute.
It's for you, Miss Holt.

Thanks. Hello?

Yes, Doctor.

I appreciate
your follow-through.

Well, if we ever had any doubts,
they've been removed.

- Gil Fox's heart attack was induced.
- Why?

There must be something about Fox
we've been overlooking.

Fox willed his personal papers
to the Mystery Writers.

Care to do a little
midnight reading, hmm?

Fox's will specifies that
this building be torn down...

that the new headquarters be built
on this lot and the one next door.

"In memory of my dear departed friend,
B. Craven. "

Miss Holt, come here.

The option on that lot next door
expired at noon today.

And the money was returned
a few hours later.

Maybe somebody doesn't want
the new building built.

- Or the old building torn down.
- Why not?

Arsenic and Old Lace.

Cary Grant, Raymond Massey.
Warner Bros., 1944.

Huh. A couple
of lovable old biddies...

poison homeless gentlemen
and then bury them in the basement.

Are you suggesting there's a dead body
somewhere in this building?

Well, it appears the only reason
the money was embezzled...

was to stop this building
from being torn down.

But we don't have any unaccounted corpses.
Whose body?

Laura, I can only
lead you so far.

I'm going to have to get
a new set of locks.

- Forced entry is my specialty.
- Mm-hmm.

Well, now that you're here...

what do you know about
someone named B. Craven?

What's to know? He was nobody,
he disappeared, then he was somebody.

Disappeared?

Not dead?

Listen, why don't you...

slip into something a little
more comfortable, like your skin?

What do you mean,
"nobody, somebody"?

Craven was
an old-time pulp writer.

Sold a few thousand
copies a year.

One day, he disappeared without a trace.
Suddenly, he was a cult figure.

Best career move
he ever made.

- Disappeared?
- Mm-hmm.

- Without a trace?
- Mm-hmm.

Mmm.

What are you doing?

Mr. Steele, I have a funny
feeling we've been looking...

for the prot�g�
of the wrong writer.

I may hate myself for days,
but Arsenic and Old Lace...

is beginning to look
better and better.

- What are you doing?
- I didn't come over here to watch you make phone calls.

- I'm working!
- My broads don't work on anything but me.

- Really?
- You don't understand. I'm Butch.

You don't understand.
I'm Laura.

- Come on, Steele.
- You can't be serious.

Gathering the suspects?

Trite. Frightfully old hat.

It does lack a certain...
je ne sais quoi.

- I've written this scene.
- Bear with us.

At first, Mr. Steele suspected that
Gil Fox was murdered by his prot�g�.

But after painstaking
detective work on his part...

he realized that Fox was killed
because he was about to write a book...

exposing the murder
of his friend, B. Craven...

the murderer being
Craven's prot�g�.

Little did the killer know that
by committing this second crime...

Fox's murder, he or she...

was triggering
his or her own undoing.

By activating Fox's will...

which mandated the tearing down
of this building.

And the inevitable discovery
of Craven's buried remains.

Bodies buried
in buildings?

That went out with secret passages
and baying hounds.

So where's the body?

Perhaps the attic?

- No one's cracking.
- Forge ahead.

At the time of Craven's disappearance,
seven years ago...

any one of you could have
been Craven's prot�g�.

I was in maximum security
at Leavenworth.

Put a pin in Nussman.

I was with the bureau.
We never killed people.

- You had nights off, didn't you?
- I was in the marines.

Stationed a scant
50 miles from here.

And you, Miss Cooper-
You were Craven's typist.

Well, I cannot but admit it.

I typed my fingers
to the bone for him.

That's why I use a pen.

And you, Mr. Laidlaw,
collaborated on a book with Craven-

a book to which your favorite
critic gave six yawns.

He'd give this one a 12.

And you, Miss Johns,
you were the star pupil...

of Craven's writing class
at UCLA.

So where's the body?

Somewhere in the walls?

Really.

Maybe we should forget
about the body and try something else.

Yes, well, too late to
change course now, isn't it?

What we have here
is a killer-

a killer who will stop at nothing
to conceal his or her original crime...

a killer who has already snuffed out
two additional lives...

Gil Fox and Melvin Gamble...

in order to keep buried
the secret of B. Craven's disappearance.

So where's the body?

The cellar?
Hack city.

Really, Steele,
you are going about it all wrong.

- Nervous, Miss Cooper?
- I?

Tell me again, Miss Cooper,
why Gil Fox was so obsessed with you.

Why did he watch you,
stalk you so relentlessly?

Was it because he discovered that you were
the late B. Craven- his friend's prot�g�?

Heavens, no!
I told Mr. Steele.

Fox coveted my person.

Does that powerful jackhammer
bother you, Miss Cooper?

Shall we tell the husky man with
the powerful jackhammer to stop digging?

Have you no shame?
Have you no scruples?

Deep dark secrets
are meant to be deep and dark!

- Good Lord, there is a body!
- When will you learn to trust me, Laura?

Where are you?
Where the hell are you?

I think we can call that
a confession.

Yes, a little over the top,
but never mind.

Oh, thank goodness!

It's stifling in here,
and the tape's running out.

Had I but known.

- Dig in, Maxie. Dig in. Please, be my guest.
- Thank you.

Craven was giving Miss Cooper writing
lessons in exchange for her typing.

But she liked what
she was typing so much...

that she decided to steal it
and publish it as her first novel.

The only way she could have managed that
was to, uh, kill him.

Oh, writers.

- You expecting anyone?
- Maybe it's the paramedics again.

Maybe. Let me get it.

Laura.

Room for one more?
How are you feeling?

Oh, a hundred G's
is terrific medicine.

Excuse me just a moment,
Maxie, please.

Come here. Uh, I thought you
were out with our Butch.

- That's over.
- Over?

- Just like that?
- Just like that.

- A momentary aberration.
- Oh, I see.

I'm glad to see you've returned
to the world of the sane.

Not a moment too soon,
I can say.

- Is this going to be a lecture?
- No.

Hey, you guys, stop sparring.
Go into a clinch.

Oh, you don't understand,
Maxie.

I like a moving target.
Come here.

Mmm! See?

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