All language subtitles for MrSWr1114

Tonight, on Murder, She Wrote.

Dr. Franklin took the L-214 cultures

because he didn't feel he was being paid enough?

Now it's at the bottom of Long Island Sound.

It ought to be quite a story.

Tacky, vulgar... or the truth?

I'm going to keep you in courts,

defending lawsuits, till you're too old to stand!

Okay, you've got maybe 30 seconds.

Max!

I won't you let down.

You never really gave a damn about her.

This one made me look a little bit...

you know, like Robert Redford.

Well, um...

Oh, my God, Jessica.

This is too awful to comprehend.

According to a spokesman, Suffolk Air, flight 17,

bound for Montauk,

crashed into Long Island Sound

shortly after takeoff.

There were no survivors. Among the passengers,

nobel prize-winning biophysicist Dr. Max Franklin.

A PHD at 15, brilliant, unpredictable,

Franklin is believed to be working

on a breakthrough cancer drug known as L-214.

Early in his career, Franklin worked in the European...

Liz, it's Jessica.

Oh, my God, Jessica.

It's just too awful to comprehend.

Look, why don't we postpone our meeting this afternoon?

Thanks, but if it's all the same,

let's go ahead with it anyway.

I need something to take my mind off of it,

and it's probably gonna be pretty quiet around here.

Well, then I will see you at 1:00. Bye.

From the scene, nobel prize-winner, Max Franklin,

dead at the age of 53.

Mr. Gable. Will Dr. Franklin's death

impact the research

on the anti-cancer drug he was developing?

The one bright spot

in this horrible tragedy, Mr. Gable,

is that Dr. Franklin had completed work on his vaccine,

code name L-214,

only hours before his tragic accident.

So you're also saying

that Dr. Franklin's death

will have little or no negative effect

on your new stock offering?

Perhaps our underwriter Richard Ellston

should answer that.

Uh, there'll be no effect whatever.

The issue is almost fully subscribed already.

The market knows good value.

Thank you all.

You're sure everything is okay?

My God, Richard, don't you think

I'd tell you if it wasn't?

Richard, I plan to issue

bi-weekly press reports during the trial period.

No one's gonna forget what Biomec has on its hands

with the L-214.

Max mentioned that he and Fredrick

had had some differences.

Miss White, this came for you.

Thank you, Jim.

That's putting it mildly.

Besides which, Dr. Fredrick Grundberg

stands to make more money than he ever dreamed of

off Max's work.

Will you excuse me a minute, Jessica?

Of course.

Oh, I'm sorry.

My fault, ma'am.

All I'm asking is a few days

to run the enzyme screens

and X-Ray diffractions Max wanted.

I mean, what's the harm in that?

I'll tell you the harm.

We run those tests,

even internally, under tight security,

and it will immediately be public knowledge

that we've got problems, doubts.

Well, Fredrick, that is hardly my concern.

It wasn't Max's, either.

Stuart, you ran backup on the early tests.

Did you find any of these alleged glitches

that got Max all worked up?

- No, I didn't. - There you go.

Look, whatever it was Max was worried about,

it will show up in the clinical trials.

With all respect, Dr. Grundberg,

that is not necessarily the case.

The possible side effects that Max was concerned with

on bone marrow and the pituitary,

they might not show up for years.

Liz and Stuart...

I promise you L-214 won't go on the market

if it is in any way defective, all right?

Well, there's some good news at least.

Ted Hartley called this morning.

He likes my first two chapters.

And so he should.

You have managed to put microbiology

into layman's terms,

and make it dramatic besides.

I mean, it's starting to read like a first-rate mystery.

Well, thanks to your notes.

I've marked up chapters three and four.

There are a couple of points that I'd like to talk to you about later.

I, uh... I have to go through Max's townhouse in Manhattan.

You know, clean up some papers and things.

But, Jessica, I...

I just don't know if I can face it.

And it won't be any easier next week or next month.

I suppose.

You know, I'm just beginning to realize

how much of my motivation came from Max,

how I had this need to prove myself to him.

Not so. I don't think Max felt you needed to prove anything.

Jessica, Liz.

David.

Face it, Liz. I think that was Max's problem.

He couldn't let go.

David, you--

Jessica, I'm sorry.

She was so smart to finally end it with him.

He never really gave a damn about her.

Never? I happen to know

that you're wrong about that, David.

You're saying Max switched the cultures?

It looks the same,

and it's labeled "L-214 group B culture".

But all it is, is common measles virus.

I've turned the lab inside out.

He must've taken the Petrie dish with him,

the one with the real L-214 culture.

And now it's at the bottom of Long Island Sound.

There's no way we can start the clinical trials now.

We haven't got a sufficient supply of the serum.

So you grow some more cultures, right?

Isn't that the way they do it?

Yeah. It'll take months, at best.

If Ellston or the street gets wind of this,

all this will be gone.

It gets worse. I checked Max's computer.

He wiped out all his files on L-214,

plus what we had on our network.

All right, David, I want you to get started

immediately replacing those cultures.

We'll just have to do the best we can

to replicate Max's documentation.

In the meantime, Walter, I want you to go--

Excuse me, Fredrick,

but I'm not sure I'm your man.

That's nonsense.

And since Max was having doubts

- about the efficacy of-- - David!

You're very close to a breakthrough

on your malarial synthesis.

We've never turned you down on staff,

equipment or facilities.

Are you willing to throw all that away over an issue

which, at best, is highly questionable?

Search Max's townhouse.

There's a chance he may have taken the stuff home with him

and that it was not all lost in that plane crash.

I'll get back to you on that.

Are you telling me

that Max took all the cultures down with him?

Why didn't you tell me this before?

Rich, I only just found out about it myself.

Give Fredrick a little credit.

He's doing his best to keep a lid on it.

- And keep it from me. - Can you blame him?

If you pull the plug on the stock offerings,

that's, what, five million in stock options

Fredrick'll never see.

Are you sure that's the whole truth?

That Dr. Franklin took the L-214 cultures

because he didn't feel he was being paid enough?

That's it.

Look, he was a brilliant, unpredictable crank.

And now...

not that I haven't been enjoying the extra money,

but when the dust settles on this,

the fact that Fredrick kept you out of the loop

will mean another rip

in his golden parachute, won't it?

Priscilla,

the first thing I look for in executive management

is the aptitude for knowing

exactly where one wants to land.

A gift you seem to have in abundance.

I have others.

I rather suspect it.

Now, remember, I want to hear from you

if there's even a glimmer

that this stuff isn't what it's cracked up to be.

I won't let you down, Richard.

Max?

Max!

Artie, I believe

that cabbie can lead me to Max Franklin.

"1Z76". Got it, Jessica.

I'll put it right into work.

If it is Franklin, what do you think his game is?

The old running-from-the-wife dodge?

- Rizzoli! - No, he's not married.

Just keep this in mind.

He may not be too thrilled to see you.

Yeah, Rizzoli, run this taxicab tag.

Time and location he picked up

and dropped off his fares in the last hour.

And fast, too, okay?

I'm gonna put you on the speakerphone, Jessica.

Do you mind? Listen, I was gonna call you.

Do you know a good portrait photographer?

Oh, you mean for your grandson?

Nah. I was elected

to my high school hall of fame over in Brooklyn,

and Doris wants me to have a nice picture.

But not too pricey.

There is a photographer on West 49th street,

near broadway. O'Gorman, I think his name is.

He does head shots for actors.

O'Gorman. That's perfect.

Listen, I'll let you know as soon as I hear anything

about your friend in the taxicab.

If you're right and it's him,

it ought to be quite a story.

Good afternoon. May I help you?

Well, maybe you can.

I was supposed to meet a gentleman here.

He's one of your guests.

He's a sales representative from our Albany office.

I had his name written on a memo someplace,

and I seem to have mislaid it.

You're welcome to call your office.

Well, I already did.

But the person who gave it to me

is on a plane to Memphis.

Now, I met this man once--

Ma'am, we've got 250 rooms,

and I just cannot remember all of our guests.

Well, he must've checked in about an hour ago.

He would've been medium height,

about 50-ish, salt-and-pepper hair.

Wait a minute, wait a minute.

I think I might have your man.

How about Daniel Weldon? Does that ring a bell?

That's it! Daniel Weldon!

- Oh, thank you so much! - You're very welcome.

The house phones are right over there.

Oh, fine.

Front desk. May I help you, please?

- Max? - I'm sorry, Jess.

Who is he?

It's no coincidence he's here.

I think his name is Pell.

He was at Biomec yesterday morning.

He seems to know Dr. Fredrick Grundberg.

That's interesting. I was returning to my room

a few minutes ago. I saw him letting himself in.

We need to go someplace where we can talk.

Max, that has to be the understatement

of the decade.

Jessica, this, I suspect,

is mainly what Mr. Pell was after.

The cultures for the L-214 vaccine.

You know, I first spotted Pell

two weeks ago, when I was up in Boston.

Anyway, I was on my way to Montauk

to hole up for a few days,

but seeing him following me,

I decided not to take that plane.

So he inadvertently saved your life.

You could say that.

When I heard about the crash,

and I was supposed to be dead,

I figured, okay, I'll take advantage of it.

I know it's been a cruel thing to do to my friends, but--

Well, Liz has taken it particularly hard.

She'll get over it.

Here it is. "Walter Pell, investigative services."

Figures. He's liable to look for me here.

Look, Jessica, please don't tell anyone you've seen me.

That includes your police friend

that helped you find me.

If you insist.

I promise I'll explain it all in a day or two.

Another eight or ten hours is really all I need.

That and my journal,

which I must retrieve from my townhouse.

Max, wait. Are you sure it's a good idea

for you to go back to your own place?

It's possible that whoever Pell is working for

may have decided to do something else

besides just keeping an eye on you.

Walter Pell has known for at least two hours that you're alive,

but there's been nothing about it on the news.

You're right.

But I must get my hands on those notes.

Well, give me the key.

I'll get your journal for you.

And put you at risk? Forget it. No way.

Listen, worst case, if they stop me,

I'll simply make something up.

Besides, if you really need it,

you have no choice.

It's in my study, second drawer on my desk.

A red cover.

I will contact you.

Oh, while you're there,

you think you could feed Harry?

Harry, your cat? Of course.

Take care, Max.

Jess, that's what this is all about.

Try to get it through your head, Liz.

If I don't grow the damn cultures,

they'll find someone else to do it.

Maybe this way I can find the answers Max was after.

How are you holding up?

Fair.

Listen, I apologize for being such a drag yesterday.

It's okay. You were right.

I mean, about Max obsessing

over things and people.

Whoa.

Well, I loved him, but...

I guess I just outgrew it,

and I didn't have the heart to walk out on him

these past few weeks when he needed me so badly.

Listen, I could probably knock off

in about 45 minutes or so--

She's busy, David.

And, in view of the gravity of our situation,

the time factor, I hardly think

Fredrick would approve of you quitting that early.

Catch you some other time.

Oh, ever the little opportunist, aren't we?

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

In politics, I think they refer to it as "spin".

Not that I care what sort of impression

you want to create about you and Max.

Stuart, that-- that is so unbelievably--

Oh, what? Tacky? Vulgar?

Okay, but you might consider this.

I've just heard on the news

that they've recovered the wreckage

of that commuter plane in Jamaica Bay,

and so far, they've only found five bodies.

The pilot, the co-pilot

and three female passengers.

I don't understand.

Oh, I'm not sure I do,

but there has been a great deal of frantic whispering

between Fredrick and Priscilla.

A six-unit complex on the Westside was threatened today

when an unexplained explosion and fire

ripped through the apartment of nobelist Max Franklin,

victim of Tuesday's tragic air crash.

So you never got inside?

No, it was on fire when I got there.

And then the Fletcher woman showed up.

I doubt if it was a social call.

Max had to have sent her to get something.

- But no trace of him? - Not yet, but soon.

I got into the basement of her building,

into the phone circuits. Put a tape recorder on her line.

He'll call her, and I'll nail him.

A few hours tops, and we'll have

all your files and cultures back.

So what are you doing in my office?

I called you a couple of times, but you were out.

I got curious. I noticed you crossed out

your meetings for the past two hours.

My appointments cancelled.

I heard about the fire on my car radio.

Yeah, I can buy that.

Good.

Now, we still have our loose cannon out there.

I suggest you defuse him fast.

Thank heaven this survived.

Luckily, I knew the fire captain,

and he found it for me.

You're probably right, that it'll turn out to be arson.

The question is who and why.

The who seems obvious, that Pell character.

The why? To destroy anything there

that might be useful to me

or potentially damaging to Biomec.

Or because someone now really wants you dead.

You know, Max, I'd feel a lot better going to the police

and putting you into protective custody.

Oh, thanks, Jess, but that'd take too much time.

Besides, I'm holed up where no one'll ever find me.

I'll be in touch in a few hours. I promise.

Okay.

He looked fine, Liz.

He was harried, of course, but--

Oh, excuse me.

Yes?

Really?

Thank you, captain Barnhart.

The fire captain. It was a fire bomb,

accidentally triggered by Max's cat.

Somebody was trying to kill Max?

It certainly looks that way.

Which means that whoever it was

still wants him dead.

Jessica, we have to reach him, let him know.

Didn't he tell you anything about where he'd be?

Maybe he did.

If we can find out what was on the piece

that he tore out of that page.

Max?

Max, it's Jessica and Liz.

Oh, my God. Max.

Looks like he was clocked with this.

Your basic weapon of opportunity.

- Bag it. Forensics, ASAP. - Yes, Sir.

Heh. First time around,

he gets everyone thinking he's dead,

and now the real thing.

Probably a lesson in there someplace,

if I had the time and a poetic inclination.

Artie, that ashtray,

that would indicate that it wasn't premeditated.

But obviously somebody was trying to kill him.

The booby-trap in the house,

that I can accept. But, Jessica, face it,

this neighborhood, they got more junkies per square block

than they got cockroaches.

Miss White, you said that you and the victim were close?

Yes, we had been. For several years.

Ah. Till when?

I'd broken it off with him a few weeks ago.

I mean, I still cared about him, but, well...

Max really lived for his work.

Right. Like I said, Jessica,

some crackhead who's also dumb enough

to smoke Conquest unfiltereds.

We found this butt in the corridor, near the door.

He gets the victim to open up

to give him a handout,

the guy spots the laptop computer,

which he can turn into ready cash for his next fix,

and bingo, we got the eighth--

No, the ninth murder this month

with the same MO.

Oh, yeah, and that missing Petrie dish.

I don't figure that for a biggie.

Our perp probably just grabbed it

along with the computer.

Mm-hmm. And the journal?

Maybe Franklin was done with it and dumped it.

Artie--

Oh. I've gotta get to the photographer.

Listen, I'll call you both about your statements.

Does my hair look okay?

Perfect. Artie,

what I wanted to say

is that a private investigator

was surveilling Max's activities.

It might interest you to know that he smoked

the same brand of cigarettes as that.

It might.

Guy got a name?

Oh, come on! I'm not 12 years old.

What the hell was a Nobel prize-winning scientist doing

holed up in a crummy rental pretending he's dead?

The police think it might've been a romantic liaison.

My own theory is that he may have been in touch

with a rival pharmaceutical house

and that he was meeting there clandestinely at that place.

Whatever the problem was, Richard, it's gone away.

And you're sure Walter Pell didn't make it happen?

How do you know about Pell?

Just answer the question, Fredrick.

I'm already getting anxious calls

from brokerage houses handling the stock.

If it turns out you had him killed--

Oh, for God's sake! Do you really think I'm that crazy?

You're damned straight, I do.

Now, what else haven't you been telling me, Fredrick?

Nothing, Richard. I swear.

Mrs. Fletcher, get out of my life, okay?

Thanks to you, I spent four hours

being questioned by the police.

Mr. Pell, as an ex-police officer,

you know that I wouldn't have been doing my civic duty

had I withheld information from lieutenant Gelber.

How'd you know I was a cop?

I have some friends in the NYPD.

Okay. You got maybe 30 seconds.

That was your cigarette butt.

After you met up with Franklin and gave him his book,

I followed him downtown.

He went into the apartment building,

I waited a few minutes, then went inside.

His door was open, Franklin was dead.

- Time's up. - One more question.

Why did Mr. Fredrick Grundberg

have you following him?

That's his business.

Thank you, Mr. Pell.

I wasn't sure that was who you were working for.

Dr. Grundberg swore us all to secrecy, Jessica,

about Max's concerns over the effectiveness of L-214,

and he promised that he would carry out

all the tests that Max had started.

On top of that, I guess,

I just didn't think that the vaccine

was all that relevant to Max's murder.

Thank you for forcing us

to air our soiled laundry, Mrs. Fletcher.

Well, I seem to have gored

more than my share of oxen today.

It started out to be in the interest

of finding out who killed Max Franklin,

but now that I know what he was so concerned about,

it may well be in the public interest as well.

At a cost of God knows how many millions of dollars,

and the loss of a potential wonder drug.

Or a potential killer.

Jessica, miss White.

Liz, good luck in there.

This Dr. Fredrick Grundberg

is a real sweetheart.

I may never take a pill again

without wondering what's gonna happen to me in ten years.

- Your statements. - Oh, yeah.

You are one lucky lady, Jessica.

Someone rigged that bomb with a tripwire.

It could have been you who tripped it.

- Oh, poor Harry. - Who?

Oh, Max's cat.

Excuse me, lieutenant.

We found this in a trash barrel

a few blocks from the place that Franklin was murdered.

That's Max's laptop.

- It certainly looks like it. - Any prints?

Negative. I had the nerds go over and see

if they could find anything on the hard drive,

but somebody wiped it clean.

There are ways of retrieving deleted files.

They've got all the software downstairs, ma'am.

They figure someone knew how to permanently total the disk.

You bucking for stripes, Rizzoli?

Sir?

Heh. That'll be all.

I know what you're gonna say, Jessica.

A pretty hip junkie.

Something like that, yes.

Well, this throws us right back to Fredrick Grundberg,

Richard Ellston, several thousand investors,

and everybody and his brother at Biomec.

Maybe my next customer will be able

to throw some light on it.

Mr. Himes, your turn.

Liz, Jessica. What kind of questions are they asking?

Just tell him the truth, Stuart.

They know about the cover-up?

All of it, Stuart.

Well, thank heaven.

Liz, you okay?

About as okay as you can be

when a man that you loved dies twice.

Liz, what is it?

I-I just realized... there's a chance

I may have some of the answers to this in my desk.

Right after the press conference,

I got a piece of inter-office mail.

- Yes, I remember. - It was from Max.

I was so upset, I couldn't bear to open it

and see what was inside.

But later, I glanced at it.

It was a computer diskette and a note from Max

asking me to keep it safe for him.

I locked it away, and then there was the fire.

Whoa. With all that's been happening,

I was afraid this might not be here.

Well, that wouldn't have been terribly surprising.

All right, let's see what we've got.

Statistics.

I was hoping there'd be a message of some sort.

It could be just that, Liz.

Might "S.H." stand for Stuart Himes?

Didn't you say he'd been running tests for Max?

Hmm, you're right, Jessica.

Tests on L-214's possible long-term effects

- on bone marrow. - Yes, back in July.

It's two versions of Stuart's tests.

One dated the 12th, and one dated two days later.

I think he gave Max the second one.

Sure, and Max found the first one and compared them.

It looks like Stuart was falsifying the results.

Time out, David.

Oh, come on, guys.

You look like this is the first time in this hallowed business

of magical panaceas and healthy-ever-afters

that anyone's ever doctored a few figures.

- A few? - Max was fretting about side effects

that might show up five to ten years down the line.

I figured by then, if there are any,

there'll be a cure.

And meanwhile, thousands of lives will be saved by L-214.

Maybe.

You killed him, didn't you?

You creep, you dirty, rotten--

Ah, here you all are. Especially you, Mr. Himes.

I have a warrant for your arrest

for the murder of Dr. Max Franklin.

Lieutenant, we covered all that this afternoon.

Except your alibi turned out to be smoke.

Matter of fact, a little while ago, we paid a visit

to your basement out in Northport.

We found the ingredients

that went into that lethal contraption

you put together in Franklin's brownstone.

His cat blew that one for you,

but you sure did a job of it the second time around.

I'm not gonna say anything more.

Good thinking.

Jessica, everyone,

thanks for your help.

I think you're wrong.

Artie, I mean, you have to admit

that fear of exposure for tampering with those test results

is a pretty weak motive for murder.

Especially when you consider that--

I know. I know it is almost impossible to prove

he's the one who actually changed the numbers.

But what I'm trying to say, Jessica,

- is that we've got the motive. - You do?

And it doesn't have to get any prettier than this.

Himes begged, borrowed and mortgaged

every penny he could get his hands on,

almost two million bucks.

And invested it all in the new Biomec stock offering.

You got it.

Himes had to make the L-214 fly, no matter what.

It explains why he trashed Franklin's computer, the whole shot.

But how could he have found the apartment

where Max was hiding?

Hey, you found it. The PI found it.

Maybe Max called him and told him.

But I don't recall seeing a phone in that apartment.

So he called from a booth. It'll come out in the trial.

Main thing is, I've got a lot more than I need

and a pile of cases waiting their turn.

Artie, you're right. Max did call his killer.

But I don't think it was from a pay phone,

it was from right there in the apartment,

from his cellular phone.

I-I don't remember any cellular.

Nope. No cell phone.

Well, that's because the killer took it.

Until just now, I'd forgotten I'd seen it in his briefcase.

Artie, if you can locate Max's cellular phone carrier,

I have a feeling that you'll find

that one of his last phone calls

was to or from the murderer.

Right. I'll call you.

I'm truly sorry you feel I misled you, but--

Misled? You miserable, lying...

How about bilked, scammed, swindled?

I'm out $20 million.

My reputation is in ruins, my business.

I heard about that.

But, Richard, if there's anything I can do.

I'll do you.

I'm gonna take you down with me.

I'm going to keep you in courts defending lawsuits

till you're too old to stand!

And that goes for you too!

We are very disappointed that you feel this way,

but the fact is, we were both totally in the dark

about this entire mess.

Now, if you'll excuse me,

we've got a very full schedule.

You're going to deny

you knew L-214 was flawed.

Richard, Max Franklin victimized us, too,

by keeping his doubts about the vaccine to himself.

And I don't think there's a court in the land

that would've found otherwise.

And because we have a duty to the public

and to medical prudence,

we've withdrawn L-214 from FDA consideration

despite the costs to Biomec.

And your losses?

Actually, they were gains.

You see, Priscilla had this premonition.

Something told me things weren't right,

so I suggested to Fredrick

that we put all the stock we'd subscribed for up for sale

prior to its official issue.

Here you go, lieutenant.

Okay, so we know that Max took a call

on his cellular phone about a half hour before he was killed,

but it was from a pay phone. It could be anybody.

Meanwhile, we found Himes' prints

in one of the few unburned areas at Franklin's brownstone.

Well, Stuart had visited there socially.

I'm sure you could've found my prints there, too.

We did. Anyway, I just ran the goods we got on Himes

past the assistant DA.

She was on the other side of hog heaven,

said she wished they were all that solid.

Listen, Jessica,

which one of these do you like the best?

Oh, that one, definitely.

Really?

I-I kind of thought that...

that this one made me look a little bit,

you know, like Robert Redford.

Well, um...

Jessica, what?

It did bend.

It was paper.

What bend? What paper?

Artie, I think I know who killed Max Franklin,

and I think I know why.

Yes? Is someone there?

What are you doing at Max's computer?

I was, uh...

I was, uh, taking a break.

Running some diagnostics

to see if we could get some use out of it.

Hmm.

Then, by moving that section up into chapter one--

Of course, it sets the reader up for what's to come.

Jessica, that's brilliant.

It's an old fiction writer's device

called foreshadowing.

Laying in a hint of what's going to happen,

then the trick is to surprise them

with a twist that they don't expect.

Hello?

Really?

David Randall has come up with a way

to salvage the files off Max's computer at Biomec.

The one Max trashed.

Well, when will he have it all?

Thanks, Artie. Keep me posted, will you?

Apparently, David's written some sort of program

that's slowly restoring them.

What's interesting is that so far what he's finding

- is pointing directly at Priscilla Lake. - You're kidding.

They don't expect anything conclusive till tomorrow,

and even then, it may be a false alarm.

Now, this note on page 27,

I-I'm not quite sure what you meant.

Oh, I hope I can remember.

Not as much as I do.

Wow, you really are the night owl, aren't you?

I'm kind of busy, Liz.

I heard.

David, I need to get at that computer.

There's something that I've got to find.

That won't be necessary, Liz.

Sadly, by coming here tonight,

you've admitted that you murdered Max.

Jessica!

That doesn't make sense. I--

I could hardly wait to see what David had found, that's all.

What you could hardly wait to do

was to get over here and destroy the file

that would show your motive for murdering him.

The file containing the letter that Max wrote,

breaking off his relationship with you.

Jessica, you've got it backwards.

I dumped Max weeks ago.

So you said, and made sure

that several other people heard you.

But the truth is, that's the letter

that was delivered to you via inter-office mail

the morning of the press conference,

when it appeared that Max had died in the airplane crash.

It was the computer disk with Stuart's test data.

No. When I was in lieutenant Gelber's office today,

I saw an envelope marked, "do not bend."

It reminded me that I'd seen you receive it.

I recognized Max's handwriting

and thought it didn't seem significant at the time.

I could tell by the way that you bent the envelope,

it had to have contained something pliable like paper,

not a rigid diskette.

Yet, earlier today,

when you suddenly remembered the diskette

Max had supposedly sent you,

you took it out of that same envelope.

Jessica, you've made one really humungous mistake here.

You know that I wouldn't kill Max.

I loved the guy. Okay, so I had to--

Miss White.

Sad as it is, Mrs. Fletcher's on the money.

Mind coming downtown?

So tonight, at your place,

that phone call about David and Max's computer...

- That was all a set-up, Liz. - Hers.

When lieutenant Gelber and his people

searched you apartment and were unable

to locate the note Max sent you in that envelope,

I felt we had to take a chance, that my hunch was right.

It was. We found this in your car.

Sort of a classic "dear Liz".

A computer-generated letter.

Sweet, isn't it?

He didn't just throw me over the side.

Oh, no, he sent me all the way to the bottom.

Well, when he turned up alive,

I couldn't think of anything

except making sure that he'd die and stay dead.

Because you'd been working with him,

you knew that he'd need his journal.

I figured he'd go to the brownstone to get it.

So you rigged the fire bomb

and planted the materials in Stuart Himes' basement.

And when that failed to do the trick,

you called Max on his cellular phone.

I told him I didn't blame him,

that he was right,

that I had been too pushy, too self-involved.

I convinced him I was just worried about his safety.

All I wanted to do was to help him finish

the analysis he was running so he could come

out of hiding and get some protection.

He agreed to let me come to the apartment.

He dismissed me in so many words.

And then he started to assign chores for me to do,

like nothing had changed!

I spotted the heavy ashtray.

And, along with everything else,

you took the diskette with the fake test results.

Four years of my life.

I gave the man everything.

Sacrificed my career, submerged my own goals

to help him with his L-214,

the damned tedious obsession of his.

All I wanted in return was a commitment.

That's all.

And in local news, a grand jury

has just handed down indictments

against Biomec CEO Fredrick Grundberg

and Priscilla Lake, charging each

with a dozen counts of conspiracy to defraud.

There is a God.

Artie, is that your photo for your high school?

Yeah. Listen, uh,

now that your friend Max's suspicions

about this L-214 have been confirmed,

what happens?

Well, David Randall claims

that it'll take him three or four years

to know if it can be fixed or not.

Apparently, Max left quite a road map.

And I hear that David's gonna do the driving.

Yes. Richard Ellston has put him in charge of research.

Nice.

Artie?

Oh, I went with the one you picked.

Listen, Jessica, I gotta get over to the store.

Henderson's coming back tomorrow,

and I have a ton of paperwork to get ready for him.

The picture.

This is--

I had them do a little,

you know, retouching.

Look, it's no sin

to want to look as good as you can.

You, uh... you've gotta promise not to laugh.

On my honor.

Artie... it's lovely.

You're sure it isn't too much?

Absolutely.

You sure?