All language subtitles for MrSWr1020

Tonight on Murder, She Wrote.

She left my apartment
in a state close to hysteria.

I'm here to be part
of her life again.

She loathes you.

- Am I supposed to know you?
- No.

But I'd like to buy you a drink.

Is that ever gonna do
a number on her head.

The window was open.

If it were closed,
the bullet would've shattered it.

- That's reverse logic.
- Or intuition.

I needed you so much.

I don't expect you
to forgive me, honey.

I want to make you a woman.

In the murderer's
view of things,

it didn't have to make
musical sense.

You should be asleep by now.

You record tomorrow at 9:00.

It's him, isn't it?

Your imagination, Leslie.

Go to bed.

All right, here's what it'll be.

Artichokes vinaigrette to start,

osso buco with zucchini
stuffed with mushrooms.

Mrs. Fletcher, cease and desist!

You're making me hungry!

Have you found out
what's wrong, Richie?

I think so, yeah.

You know, this man
out here, whoever he is,

he plays beautifully.

The trap was plugged,
that's all it was.

Oh, that's great.
Thank you, Richie.

I've got six people coming for
dinner this weekend.

My pleasure, Mrs. Fletcher.

You know about that guy
down there--

Would you believe that
Maestro Tokofsky in the penthouse

put in a complaint
to the police?

Oh? I wonder why.

Heh. I understood
that Mr. Tokofsky

was moving out
at the end of the week.

Don't ask. Between you and me,

he is one tenant
I will not miss.

He's a constant complainer.

"This ain't right,
that ain't right."

Oh, so I've heard.

You know, Leslie promised us

a benefit recital
for the museum,

but it's gonna come down
to whether he's in the mood

to give it his blessing.

That Leslie, that's
someone I will miss.

But it's weird, isn't it,

how any father would let
somebody like Mr. Tokofsky

be her guardian.

Yes, I've wondered
about that, too.

Listen, in a week, she'll be 18
and out on her own.

And then boom-- watch out.

See ya, Mrs. Fletcher.
Thanks, Richie.

It'll probably be
a little while.

Can I get you some more coffee?

No, thank you, Vanessa.
I'll wait here.

Okay.

God, girl, what were you
doing with the pedal?

The fortissimo? It was
just as you wrote it, Byron.

An elephant could've
played it better.

Byron, ease up. She played it

just like she did
on the other tracks,

only it was better,
if you ask me.

Well, I did not ask you!

The whole suite will
have to be rerecorded

when Miss Walden has
sufficiently practiced.

You call yourself
a manager, Owen?

I can't understand how
you allow these people

to go ahead with
rubbish like this!

You okayed the sketches.

The sketches! We're selling
the top artist of a generation.

None of this says
anything about that!

There is no excitement!

God knows how many thousands
for Aldous Reynolds,

the top portrait photographer
in New York.

Two million guaranteed
for the cosmetics endorsement.

Big advance against the tour.

To say nothing of
the bucks I put on the table

to make Leslie exclusive to
Paradigm Records,

and he still won't let
the pros do their thing!

Quite the perfectionist.

No, just one of your
ultimate control freaks.

You seem to be something
of a one-man band yourself.

I mean, isn't it rare
for the head of a label

to be the producer and the engineer
of his company's recordings?

Four years at M.I.T.
studying sound wave theory,

but I dug music more.

If it means overtime to get
everything just right for Leslie,

so be it.

Ah-ah-ah. Life is too short.

A week ago, I was
up at the penthouse,

fixing that mega
sound system of his.

Some kid wanted to buy
Leslie a cup of coffee.

You should've seen
the way Tokofsky

came down on this poor guy.

Just give me some time, Byron.

We'll make it better.

Time is what I don't have.

And neither do you!

Mr. Tokofsky?

Sorry to keep you waiting,
Mrs. Fletcher.

I understand Leslie made
a commitment to you

without consulting me.

Unfortunately,
our tour preparations

allow for a very tight schedule.

I understand.
I'm certainly prepared

to work around your schedule.

All I really need now is to know

what Leslie's
going to be playing

at the museum benefit.

I don't think you understand.

It would only be
an afternoon, Byron.

I'm really sorry
to be so persistent,

but I have a deadline with
the printer who's doing the programs,

and I would appreciate
hearing something by Friday.

Leslie?

Hello, angel.

Uh, if that's all,
Byron, then...

Jessica and I can share a cab
back to the apartment.

I tried to follow what
career you had, Walden.

It seemed to vanish somewhere
between the drugs and the booze.

I noticed that lately
it's come down

to one-nighters on sidewalks.

Well, there's no cover
charge on the street.

People appreciate that.

And bar gigs are not
exactly the best incentive

to stop drinking.

You're telling me
you're reformed?

Yeah.

You're not the same musical fraud
you were ten years ago?

Come on, Byron. Ease off.

I came to make peace.

And your timing
is purely accidental?

You're looking for a free ride
on Leslie's career.

No, I'm not.

In case you
misread her just now,

let me assure you of something,
she loathes you.

Whatever demons
were driving you,

whatever excuses you had,
the loss of your wife, the booze,

all Leslie remembers
is that you walked out of her life.

I still can't understand
how you could've done that.

But remember something,
both you and her begged me

to help her realize her talent,

and I've fulfilled
my side of the bargain.

And I'm here to be part
of her life, one way or another.

Anything that I can
do to help her.

Maybe that way, I can make up

for the missing years.

- If you can't handle--
- Just get out.

Stay away from her.
You'll destroy her.

- Hello, Jessica.
- Hello, Solly.

Do you two know each other?

This is Solly Prinze,
Leslie Walden.

Solly's my new neighbor.

Leslie and I aren't
exactly strangers.

We've shared the same
elevator several times.

Solly's helping me
with the piano

for a book I'm prepping.

It's good to meet you.

Seeing as we're neighbors,

- maybe you'd like to come to dinner?
- Maybe.

Good. I'll take that maybe
as a yes.

- Bye, Jessica.
- Bye.

She's kind of shy.

I think she likes you.

So our lesson's still on?

Oh, definitely.
9 o'clock tomorrow. Thanks.

The caterers called to say
they'd be here at 7 o'clock sharp.

Which usually means 7:30.

I'm relying on you
to supervise them, Bok.

Yes, Mr. Tokofsky.

Oh, Leslie... share
a toast with me.

With all the hard work,

you haven't the faintest idea

of the incredible rewards
that await in Europe.

To Leslie Walden, the brightest light
since Van Cliburn.

There's something
that I've been trying

to find the right moment
to express to you, Leslie.

Up to now, I've been
your teacher,

I've tried to take
your father's place--

And you have. You've been
everything to me,

a marvelous teacher,
wonderful father--

But I can no longer
just play these roles.

You're not a child
anymore. You're--

I think I should
get dressed now.

I think it's time.

Please, hear me out.

- It's just that--
- Just what? Or whom?

Those mindless boys
I keep protecting you from?

- Your father?
- My father can go to blazes!

I think it's high time you
allowed the girl to breathe.

Kindly mind your
own business, Vanessa.

I have... for five years.

I've been waiting
for the Princess

to take some young man,
turn him into a toad,

or whatever the fairy tale is.

And now I find,
to my utter humiliation,

you're the toad.

I'll take that as a compliment.

You're not really serious
about her, are you?

Let me talk to Albertson.

You have your apartment,

a generous allowance.

If that's not enough...

Hi.

Yeah, it's Leslie.
I'm glad I caught you.

I just needed
to talk to somebody.

Of course you did. Of course.

Yes. Believe me, I understand.

Now, listen,
you gift of the Gods,

just hang in there another week

and you'll be out of there.

You'll be your own person.

Yeah, my own person.
But who's that?

I don't even know, Owen.

Just hang in there, okay?

Please find out
what's keeping Leslie.

I have to speak to the caterers.

I read one of your books,
Mrs. Fletcher,

and if you'll suffer a poor
music critic a bold opinion,

one finds the woman
behind the pen

so much more intriguing
than the written word.

Have you seen Leslie
around, Mr. Trilby?

Byron...

I know this morning
was disappointing,

but there'll be a bunch of new
layouts for you tomorrow.

Since you're bringing it up,
I fired them all.

What?

You could've given me
the courtesy of--

Courtesy is not
exactly my forte.

You forced me to reevaluate

our relationship, too, Owen...

and it's over.

Mrs. Laszko, while you're here,

let me try to find that
concert program for you.

One wonders if
the primal female in you

is not waging some
desperate struggle

to break the bonds
of paper and ink.

I detected a counterpoint
of passion,

an echo of the romantics--
Brahms, Rachmaninoff.

Would you excuse me, please?

So he let you out of your cage.

The usual, Izzy, please.

And what would you like?

Uh, orange juice, thank you.

So I, uh... I found out...

if you want the scoop
on anybody in the building,

ask Richie the doorman.

He said you're gonna
turn 18 next week.

Heh! That's a biggie.

Me, I fired everybody,

my mother, my father,
this flaky manager

who wanted to put me
on the stairway to stardom.

I always had this place
inside me

that had to be mine alone.

I had to clear everybody
else out of there

to let it grow on its own.

- Careful, it's hot.
- Thanks.

- Live a little.
- Okay.

Mmm! These are pretty good.

I'm a big fan of your dad's,
by the way.

Hank Walden, right?

If you know anything about jazz,

he's like this underground icon.

The top guys collect his stuff
when they can find it.

So, um...

let's talk about you.

People were saying, "Solly,
you gotta hear this girl."

So I went to your Carnegie
debut two years ago.

You played The Emperor. After that,
I kind of kept track of you.

An anonymous admirer.

You're not anonymous, Solly.

Studio musicians are anonymous,
believe me.

We don't even have faces.

That's not true. I have
your C.D., you know,

Wallflowers.

How'd you get it past him?

I snuck it in.

There's hope yet.

The party was yours,
and yours alone.

You insulted my guests,
your friends and supporters.

They were here only for you.

And you chose
to act like a child.

Listen to me.

You're a little girl again, huh?

You remember what we did
the first time

you came to me as a little girl?

Begging me to take over
your training?

We'll do it now... again...

just as we did then.

No, please, I don't
want to do that.

Renew your commitment, Leslie.

Look into my eyes.

Do it.

Ten years ago,
your father abandoned you,

and there was no one left
in your world but Byron Tokofsky

and that dream of yours,

to be a great
concert pianist. True?

You asked me to take your hands
and make them mine.

I have done that.

And today you have your dream.

I have given you my life

and asked nothing in return...

until now.

Now... I want to
make you a woman.

Munich is on our schedule.

It's a beautiful, romantic city.

I have made arrangements
for us to be married there

during the Oktoberfest.

Henry Walden? Yeah.

I'm Vanessa Cross.

Congratulations.

Am I supposed
to know you, Vanessa?

No. But I'd like
to buy you a drink.

Oh, yeah?

Well, the last woman who
bought me a drink, I married.

She died, and it damn near
cost me my sanity,

so... no, thanks.

You lost a lot more
than your wife, Mr. Walden.

I'm talking about someone

we both have a great
deal of affection for.

- Who's that?
- Your daughter Leslie.

What about her?

Byron Tokofsky thinks that
he's in love with her.

He intends to marry her,

and he's got her so mixed up

that it might happen.

Why do I get the feeling

that you have some
kind of agenda here?

Well, Byron and I have been
together for about five years,

and Leslie was
just a child then.

Quite obviously,
she's a woman now.

But if Byron's ring
goes on anybody's finger,

I want it to be mine.

Thanks for coming.

I want you to
understand something.

What I was into before...
that's over.

When your mother died
the way she did...

I loved her so much, Leslie.

More than you could've known
or understood at the time.

I was angry, afraid.

I was full of self-pity.

You were full of drugs.

You were full of alcohol.

It weren't a whole lot better than
shooting myself in the head.

And I thought of that, too.

I want to tell you I'm sorry.

I... I don't want
anything from you.

And to deal with the resentment

and the pain I know I've caused.

God, I wish I could
believe that.

Then I could almost forgive you.

But...

the truth is, I don't even know

why we're sitting here talking.

Ten years is such
a long time. Byron's right.

You're ten years too late.

Just give me a chance, Leslie.

You're not on
my schedule anymore, dad!

I have my music,
and I have Byron.

We couldn't help but grow
very fond of each other

in that time.

I thought you might have heard.

We're gonna marry in the Fall.

Leslie... Leslie, no.
Listen to me.

I know what Byron
has done for you,

but you don't owe him a thing.

Your only obligation
is to yourself, honey,

and to your talent.

There's nothing he can do
for you anymore.

From now on, he'll just
be taking and taking.

Believe me, I know him.

Damn you! Just go away, okay?

As far as I'm concerned,

my father does not
exist anymore!

- Leslie...
- No! Does not exist!

Hey, you've been practicing!

Don't con me, Solly.

That's what piano teachers say

to restore hope in students
they know are hopeless.

The better news is,

you've helped me to find
a musical oddity

that I can use in my book.

It's got to do
with the difference

between C Sharp and D Flat.

- They're the same note.
- Exactly.

There's something
very suspicious about that.

Excuse me.

- Oh, I'm sorry.
- It's all right, Leslie.

We just finished.
Please come in.

I didn't want to go upstairs,

so I thought that
maybe I could come...

Remember what I said...

4H, just down the hall.

I still owe you that dinner.

Please, have a seat.

He's nice, but he just
doesn't understand.

I'm not sure that
I understand, either, Leslie.

I'm so sorry about
the museum program.

I know Byron's been
really difficult about it.

Look, dear,
if it doesn't happen,

it's not the end of the world.

But that's not what's
on your mind, surely.

I don't know.

All of a sudden, my father
wants his daughter back.

Can you imagine that?

This mysterious piece of information
you got for me, Owen,

better be worth the hour
it took to get across town.

Key question, Steve... what would
it do to your record company

if Tokofsky reneged on your
exclusive deal with Leslie?

In a word, disaster. What
the hell is this about?

You hocked your socks to put up
a million in guarantees, right?

If you recall, the deal
was never signed.

Go on.

Bodie records came in last month

with a contract for
twice what you put up.

He can't do that. We got
a letter of agreement.

Trust me, short of Tokofsky
getting hit by a truck,

it's a done deal.

He tried to keep a lid on it,

but Bodie's attorney
is a friend of mine.

I can't believe it. The creep's
doing me just like he did you.

But there's a window, buddy.

Bodie stipulated that Leslie
sign in her own right.

Meaning it's her decision.

We have a good relationship,
she and I.

She likes, trusts me.

I can get to her. It's a cinch
I'll be back as her manager.

But you, Steve, working alone...
you got no position.

What's it gonna cost me, Owen?

Nothing you can't afford
with Leslie on the label.

Think about it.
You still got time.

Yeah, all of two weeks.

Wrong. You've got
till noon tomorrow.

I'll be in touch.

The airline tickets
still haven't arrived...

Oh, come in, Mrs. Fletcher.

Byron will be off
the phone any minute.

Oh, uh, this was left
in the lobby

for Mr. Tokofsky.

Oh, could you see
that he gets it?

I'd stop and chat, but I'm
running late for the concert.

Of course. Is Leslie around?

No, we don't know
where Leslie is.

She hasn't been in
since this morning.

That's very strange.

Oh, I'm sorry. I've got to run.

Please let me know
as soon as possible.

Fine, I'll speak
to you tomorrow.

Okay? Thank you.

Join me over here,
Mrs. Fletcher.

Ah.

Richie asked me to
bring this up for you.

Another impoverished
composer, I'll wager,

begging to have
their work performed.

And too shy even to put
his or her name on it.

Mr. Tokofsky, I really would
like to talk about, um...

Oh, yes, this museum thing?

Byron, I'm off.
And don't forget,

it's box night out, so there's
a sandwich in the pantry.

Mrs. Fletcher.

The museum thing--
You were saying.

I won't waste my time or yours.

The benefit is out
of the question, Mrs. Fletcher.

Yes, well...

I can't say that
I wasn't prepared.

But since I'm here,
can we talk about Leslie?

I'm very concerned about her.

She's very confused,
and she's upset.

I think part of it is the pressure
that she feels from--

Mrs. Fletcher, Leslie is my business,
my responsibility.

She and I hardly need
faint-hearted busybodies

creating imaginary psychoses.

Mr. Tokofsky, two hours ago,

she left my apartment in
a state close to hysteria.

One doesn't have to be
a psychiatrist to see

that she's a severely
conflicted young woman.

The return of her father--

The reality, Mrs. Fletcher,

is that you don't have
the faintest clue at all

about Leslie's state of mind.

Now, if you'd be good enough
to let yourself out.

- Mr. Tokofsky--
- Please, Mrs. Fletcher.

The line of fire
indicates a single round

fired from the rooftop
across the street,

entering through an open window

and hitting the decedent
in the back,

causing massive trauma
on the exit passage

in the area of the sternum

and stopping in the piano.

It's a soft-point bullet.

.308. Come on,
it'll be no help to us all.

Okay, forgive the interruption.
Was that it, then?

Well, those were my
last minutes with him.

The doorman, Richard Kanpinski,

he says an envelope arrived
late yesterday from an unknown party.

It had no label
or return address.

It's odd, don't you think?

It contained these music sheets.

Mr. Tokofsky seemed accustomed,
even flattered,

to receive unsolicited
compositions.

Uh-huh. Come on, let's get
the boys to move it.

We have to clear this
crime scene by noon.

Jessica...

Vanessa Cross told me
that Walden told her

that when he bugged out
about ten years ago,

he left a bunch of his own
compositions with his daughter.

And he claimed Tokofsky
appropriated them.

I'm afraid I can't help you.

There is one other
thing, though.

Walden's daughter Leslie
disappeared yesterday.

She was a very
disturbed young woman,

and I'm really worried for her.

Vanessa, I am so sorry.

I wasn't here for him.

He died alone.

Who could've done such a thing?

If it's any consolation,
Lieutenant DiMartini

is one of the City's best
homicide investigators.

I'm afraid to think how
this is going to affect Leslie.

Byron was her whole life.

The tour promoters are saying

that Leslie has her pick of
Bleiberg, Schantz or Kolorovsky,

three of the hottest
conductors going.

I talked to the agency
people this morning.

The endorsement package
is still in place.

Leslie's face is gonna be in every
women's magazine in the country.

Have you talked to Leslie yet?

Not yet.

No one can find her, right?

So this is all blue sky

until you can sit down
and remake your deal with her.

Listen, trust me, it'll happen.

But it's time we made
our arrangement.

- You got a problem?
- Yeah, 15% is a problem.

For you to advise her to go
with Paradigm instead of Bodie...

no more than standard
management commission fees.

Oh, come on! Call it like it is,
a kickback!

I'm beginning to think I should
just talk to her myself.

Be my guest, Steve.

She'll ask my advice, of course,

and I'll have to be
honest with her...

and tell her that
I think Bodie's deal

is a hell of a lot better.

Yesterday, you were
out of a job.

Today, you're running things.

The only difference is

that Tokofsky's
conveniently dead.

That supposed to mean something?

You tell me.

I'll have the papers drawn up

and faxed to you tomorrow.

Sign them or don't sign them.

It's up to you.

Now an update
on the bizarre penthouse murder

of conductor/composer
Byron Tokofsky,

and his stranger-than-fiction
Svengali relationship

with the piano prodigy
Leslie Walden.

The latest break
came earlier today here,

outside this midtown precinct,

where homicide detective
Peter DiMartini

faced our cameras.

I have a statement here.

A suspect in the murder
of Byron Tokofsky

has been detained.
His named is Hank Walden,

Leslie Walden's father.

We believe the perpetrator
shot the deceased

from a rooftop across
from the penthouse,

and we have reason to believe

that Mr. Walden
was on the rooftop.

There's a history of animosity

between him and the victim.

Jessica, Leslie's gone.

I know, Solly, and everybody
is very concerned.

Please come in.

She was with me
most of the afternoon.

She was with you?

I found her at
my door around 2 o'clock.

She just curled up on my couch,

into herself,
not saying anything.

Later, I figured she needed
something to eat.

I don't keep much in my fridge.

I went out for some take-home.

I came back just now,
and she was gone.

Well, you have reason to worry.

Look, does she know

that her father
has been arrested

for the murder of Mr. Tokofsky?

'Cause it was
on the news just now.

She never said, and I didn"t
want to bring it up.

But the TV was on when
I came back from the store.

I think you should get back to
your apartment just in case she returns,

and I'll let you know
if I hear anything.

If you see her,

she needs to hear from
somebody she trusts.

I know.

I think she trusts you, Solly.

Byron said I could
never play without him.

But you can.

And beautifully.

After I left you yesterday, I...

I just couldn't face Byron.

I couldn't deal with him.

He'd begun to want
something else from me.

And I was so naive

not to see what was happening,

not to see how our relationship
was changing.

Will you tell me where you went?

I don't remember much.

I was so out of it.

I took the subway to
the end of the line,

and by the time I got back,
it was dark.

I didn't want to go home, so...

I just walked, and I walked.

Anybody else would've
gotten mugged... or worse.

But I guess it was because
I didn't care, right?

Solly was very worried
about you,

along with everyone else.

Well, everyone else
can go to hell.

Vanessa used me...

Owen can butt out.

And I'm not playing
Byron's suite, either.

He didn't write it.

I understand
it was your father's.

- You heard?
- Yes, I heard.

I just can't believe
that he killed Byron.

He was never that upset
about anything.

Not enough to kill someone.

What if I could arrange for you

to talk to your father tomorrow?

They did find my fingerprints.

And that's because I was
up there on the roof.

But I wasn't up there
to kill anybody.

Believe me.

Why?

It's gonna sound
stupid, but I...

it just, at the time,
seemed like the only way

that I could be part of what
was going on in your life.

To be able to see you.

Before mom died,

when we were all together,

I wasn't afraid of anything.

Then one day
I remember seeing you

sitting there, crying.

And... it frightened me,

and I didn't know why.

That night, I had a nightmare.

And I called for mom
to come to me.

And you didn't.

God, I needed you so much.

I don't expect you
to forgive me, honey.

Just, uh...

these last couple of days, I...

I've just been trying
to understand.

You know? Just trying to...

to put myself in your
place, that's all.

A takedown rifle was found hidden
in a duct on the roof.

A matching cartridge casing
was nearby, but no prints.

A takedown rifle?

So whoever brought it
up to the roof

could've broken it down
into smaller pieces

and concealed it
in something else?

Like a Clarinet case.

Somebody got past
that late deskman.

The super says that he sleeps
a lot, so who's to know?

Somebody, meaning that
you're not convinced

that it was Hank Walden.
Neither is Leslie.

Jessica, intuition is fine,

but this fella doesn't exactly
get A's for stability.

He loses his wife,
and he goes bonkers.

He gives up his
8-year-old daughter to Tokofsky.

And he resigns
from the human race.

Peter, that was ten years ago.

- Okay, okay.
- Does it makes sense

that he left fingerprints
on the roof

and not on the gun?

There's something
so pat about that,

as if it were planted
to make you think

to make you think it was
fired from the roof.

You talked to forensics.
The line of fire

says that the bullet
was from there.

The window was open.

If it were closed, the bullet
would've shattered it,

and I'd have to agree with you.

That's reverse logic.

Or intuition.

Then there's
the music manuscript

delivered before the murder.

Walden denies it,

but I bet he sent it.

No fingerprints on the envelope,

no fingerprints
on the sheet music.

That suckered Tokofsky
over to the piano...

so it gave Walden a clear shot
right through the window.

And no authorship. Just a blatant
appeal to Tokofsky's vanity.

Everything okay, Leslie?

Yes, thank you.

We'll be with you in a moment.

Lieutenant, would it be possible

for me to get a photocopy
of that music?

Yeah, sure, okay.

At the time, they were.

No name, no return address

and no fingerprints.

Sounds fishy to me.

Let's play it.

That chord is
definitely wrong, Solly.

That's the way it's written.

But why would a presumably
aspiring musician

send a flawed manuscript
to Byron Tokofsky?

Unless...

uh, play it again, Solly.

Of course.

In the murderer's
view of things,

it didn't have to make
musical sense.

Solly, what happened
to that dinner

that Leslie missed
earlier tonight?

Frozen fettuccini alfredo
a la Solly Prints.

How about it?

It was the same caliber,
Jessica. We both know that.

But the bullet mushroomed,

so we couldn't match it up
with the rifle.

Then I believe that the shot

could've been fired from
within the penthouse.

Jessica, with all due
respect to your reputation,

I'm about to take the bus
home on this one.

You said there was
nobody with Tokofsky

when you left the penthouse.

Granted. But I think I know

how it may have been done
and who the killers are.

Wait, wait. The killers?

C Sharp and D Flat.

Two killers with
the same purpose.

Peter, I think I have
a way to prove it,

but I'm gonna need your help.

Mrs. Fletcher?

Oh, I'm sorry if
I surprised you, Vanessa.

May I ask what
you're doing here?

I misplaced my glasses.

And what about you?

I left my belongings.

Oh. A wild guess...

they're in the credenza.

Somewhere in there,
as it happens.

Oh, not just somewhere.
In the secretary.

And I suspect
they'll provide proof

that Mr. Tokofsky's murder
was planned within the last month,

and that Hank Walden
was nearly a handy scapegoat.

You're speaking
in riddles, Mrs. Fletcher.

It was that window
that was the riddle, Vanessa.

When I came here last night,
it was closed.

And yet, as I was leaving
the penthouse, it was open.

It was only later
that I remembered.

And I wondered when
and how that happened.

And then I realized that when
Mr. Tokofsky was seated at the desk,

the window was
obscured from view.

Leslie and Bok were gone.

You were the only other
person in the house,

the only person who
could've opened it.

Are you saying that
I climbed up on that roof?

Oh, no. But you contrived

to make the police think
that's where the shot was fired from.

And to do that, the window
had to be open.

Are you accusing me of
shooting Byron here?

My hunch is that nobody
actually pulled the trigger.

Tokofsky was driven
to play a piece of music

designed to make him a victim
of his own vanity and curiosity.

You must know
this piece, Vanessa.

Now, there's a chord here
that is wrong.

I'm not much
of a pianist, but...

Ah.

This afternoon, a TV commercial

reminded me that specific sound

can activate
micro-electric responses,

as with a voice-activated
VCR or computer,

which in turn could cause
the secretary to open

and the gun inside to fire,

killing Byron Tokofsky.

You actually think
I have the expertise

to do something like that?

No, I don't.

But I think you had a very
able accomplice...

whose fingerprints on
the inner workings of that secretary

will almost certainly
indict him.

Or the money, Mrs. Fletcher.

We caught Mr. Hoyt
coming in the lobby.

He was carrying a very
interesting little bag of tricks.

Those tools were an urgent
necessity, Lieutenant.

Steve and Miss Cross were
undoubtedly here tonight

to dismantle the murder device.

I'd appreciate...

your accompanying this officer

to the precinct, Miss Cross.

Steve, surely you realized

it could just as easily
have been Leslie sitting here.

Not just as easily, Jessica.

It was Tokofsky's ego
that killed him.

Well, you were right, Jessica.

Both had motive enough.

Tokofsky's will was
drawn up three years ago.

It must've been
during happier days,

because he left Miss Cross
a substantial annuity

in the event that
he pre-deceased her.

May I ask you something?

How'd you know about Steve Hoyt?

With the Bodie Records deal

virtually done a month ago,

his company was out on a limb.

He told me he spent
some time here last week

updating the sound equipment.

Time enough
to rig up that gizmo.

Well, thanks for the call.

Tell me, do you have
any extra tickets

to Miss Walden's museum recital?

Oh, I might arrange that?
One or two?

That depends on you, Jessica.

Well... make it two, then.

Richie tells me that you're
off tomorrow on your world tour.

Where is your first stop?

A week in London, then Paris,

and then, in September
I'll be in Hamburg.

Oh, I envy you.

So you know...

I wangled a gig on a cruise ship

that docks there
right at that time.

Well, maybe I'll see you there.

Hey, we're short
a clarinet, Hank.

Okay, but I don't
do sidewalks anymore.