All language subtitles for MrSWr3E14.Murder.in.a.Minor.Key.

What do you want?

Tonight on Murder, She Wrote.

How dare you interrupt my rehearsal!

You know damn well why!

Get that thing away from my face at once.

You think I killed him?

What for? I needed his music.

We want justice.

I'm asking you to stop this demonstration.

I'm not sure I could do that, Sir.

I've been kissing your pinky ring

for too many years now.

You owe me this!

What did I hear about shots?

Is somebody playing hardball?

Stoneham's widow. She may have plunked the guy.

Hello.

I was just changing into something more comfortable.

I've got a long night of reading ahead of me--

Galleys on my new book.

I don't know why they send me these things,

because I am absolutely the world's worst proofreader.

"Murder in a Minor Key."

Well, at least they've got the title right.

Oh, it feels so good to sit down.

You know,

I was on my feet half the day down at the power company

running from one office to the other,

trying to get my last bill sorted out.

Did you ever try to argue with a computer?

It is impossible.

It's like trying to talk sense to Amos Tupper

once he's made up his mind about something.

These?

Yeah, I know, they're a little bit silly,

but my nephew Grady gave them to me.

And you know something?

They're really very comfortable.

I mean, I only wear them around the house

where nobody can see them.

Well, let's get down to business.

You know, I'm really very pleased with this story,

the way it's turned out.

It's a neat little puzzle involving some young students

at a southern California university.

Michael Prentice is a bright, budding music composer.

And I'm afraid we put him in trouble right away.

His best friends are a very soft-spoken young law student

from the deep South, Chad Singer.

And a rather quirky young lady from New York

named Jenny Coopersmith.

But I am getting ahead of myself.

It started out one spring evening,

when, as usual, our trio of comrades

arrived at a favorite campus hangout

for a couple of hours of relaxation.

I am not a fascist, and I'm not selling out.

Uh-huh.

A body that willingly goes to work

for Transacom's legal division is a body for sale.

Second the motion.

Well, what am I supposed to do?

Join the public defender's office?

Terrific... send me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses.

You're guilty.

That is cynical.

- And sick. - But accurate.

Corporate law-- the heart pounds.

Meanwhile, every day innocent people

are getting victimized by the system.

Yeah? Name two.

Listen, Mike, don't talk to me about sellin' out.

Last time I looked, you were sendin' your songs

to Nashville, for god's sakes.

Thank you, thank you.

I thank you, and so does Mr. Porter.

Now how about a change of pace?

Here's something brand-new.

It's called The World Belonged to Me.

A friend of mine in New York sneaked me an advance copy.

I understand it's from an upcoming Broadway musical.

I like it, and I hope you will too.

I'm gonna need steady employment

if Jenn and I are gonna get married.

Oh, don't drag me into this.

I am real happy living in sin... at least for awhile.

♪ Just like tonight ♪

♪ Underneath a softer light ♪

Michael?

Michael, what is it?

That's-- that's my music.

- What? - That's my music.

I wrote that!

Well, shoot, Mike, it probably only sounds like--

No, no, not sounds like!

Excuse me.

♪ That could never be ♪

♪ All the world belonged to-- ♪

I'm sorry, I was playing the best I know how.

Would you mind-- please, it's important.

Be my guest.

Here, check me out.

How am I doing?

You haven't missed a note.

Mike!

Professor Stoneham!

Mr. Prentice, may I assume

that your rude disruption of these proceedings

is prompted by some monumental occurrence?

I want to know about this!

We'll discuss this in my office in half an hour.

Meanwhile, will you have the courtesy

of allowing me to continue with my rehearsal?

Ladies and gentlemen, let's try it again.

How dare you!

How dare you interrupt my rehearsal!

You know damn well why!

Would you get that thing away from my face at once.

- Professor-- - At once, do you hear me?

The name Alden Gilbert is on this music,

a piece I wrote.

Coincidence is not uncommon in musical composition.

We're talking note for note here, professor.

Last spring, I handed you four original themes

as my term assignment-- This was one of them.

Surely you're not accusing me of something, Michael.

Those themes belong to me.

I want them back, now.

Or what?

Listen to me, my insolent young friend.

You continue with this confrontation,

and I will see to it that your future in music

is limited to organ grinding.

You don't frighten me, professor.

- I'll see the chancellor. - And tell him what?

And show him what?

Irate college students who feel they've been badly treated

are a dime a dozen on every campus.

And anyway, it's your word against mine.

Oh, I'll find a way, professor, somehow.

And if I can't find anybody else to help me,

I'll settle things myself.

Professor, I-- That is--

Is there some trouble here, Sir?

No, Mr. Papazian.

I believe Mr. Prentice was just leaving.

Damn!

What the devil is wrong with you, Christine?

Are you being solicitous, Tyler, or merely polite?

Surely we're not going to have another

of our discussions, not at this hour.

For the last six years,

all I have ever wanted was to share your life.

Just to be a small part of it.

Oh, Lord.

And each year, I have drifted farther away.

These--

These past few months have been the worst.

Every weekend, you've gone off to San Diego.

I had business to conduct.

Every weekend?

Why was I never able to contact you there,

no matter how often I called?

You phoned down there asking for me?

I specifically told you I was not to be disturbed.

And I am your wife.

I will not be treated like one of your students.

I am not a fool.

I see.

You suspect me of some schoolboy infidelity.

Really, Christine.

I should be flattered.

You're mocking me.

Strange, I thought it was the other way around.

Another woman, is that what you really think?

Dear child.

There's nothing to concern yourself with.

A preoccupation with business, yes,

I'll plead guilty to that, but...

I'm afraid anything else is a figment

of your overly suspicious imagination.

Hello?

Oh, hi, Pauline, how are you?

Honey, you remember when I busted in on you

and what's-his-name, Alden Gilbert,

that composer you were working with?

- Yeah. - You want a big surprise?

Take a look at this morning's paper, page 32.

Okay.

We want justice.

We want justice. We want justice.

Okay, okay.

Hold it down a second, huh, guys?

We all know why we're here, right?

Yeah!

Well, in case some of you don't,

let me give it to you by the numbers.

Last Friday, the semi-enlightened

administrators of this institution summarily dismissed

one of the brightest, the best, and the most dedicated

professors this campus has ever had.

Mr. Young, is this your doing?

Are you responsible for this?

Well, Sir, it could be my editorial

in the campus paper helped feed the fire a little.

Well, I suggest you try to douse it.

The chancellor isn't amused.

No, Sir, I'm sure he isn't.

And as vice-chancellor of this university,

I'm asking you to stop this demonstration.

I'm not sure I could do that, Sir.

Even if I wanted to, which I don't.

Well, then I'll just have to have Mr. Hargrove

and his security force here break it up.

Oh, I'm sure Mr. Hargrove realizes

that that would not only be high-handed and illegal,

but dumb as well, Sir.

I mean, who wants photos of the campus police

bullying a bunch of kids who are merely exercising

their constitutional right of free speech?

I don't know about you, but I think those fat cats

at Transacom need a good dose of flea powder!

What do you say?

I think if a bunch of us went over

to the chancellor's office--

It-- it's impossible to see you tonight.

I suggest breakfast tomorrow morning, at your hotel.

No, you cannot come here.

I'm-- I'm leaving shortly.

I'm merely waiting for an important phone call.

Yes.

But he was gonna look into it the first chance he got!

Fight Transacom!

Fight Transacom! Fight Transacom!

Fight Transacom!

Fight Transacom!

Operator, I'd like you to try a number for me.

I've tried it several times, and it may be out of order.

It's area code 619, 555-4027.

That's the one we need!

We want justice!

We want justice! We want justice!

We want justice!

Professor Stoneham!

Mr. Papazian, are you in the habit

of always entering my office without knocking?

Mr. Papazian, you have been drinking.

I have just been reading

the galley proofs of your new music dictionary.

Ah-ah, correction!

Our new music dictionary.

But my name seems to be conspicuously absent

from the title page.

Harry, dear friend--

You promised me!

Your contribution has been duly noted

by the powers that be.

And they will, I am sure,

strongly consider you as my replacement,

when I choose to leave.

Depending, of course, upon my recommendation.

Pah! Don't you threaten me, Stoneham.

I've been kissing your pinky ring

for too many years now.

You owe me this!

Danny!

Hi.

It's a nice turnout.

Yeah. It's the power of the press.

- You think it'll help? - I don't know.

I already have the vice-chancellor squirming.

We're recording this,

and we're gonna send him a tape tomorrow.

Oh-ho.

Where's Chad?

Home, studying.

He's having trouble with his torts.

Oh.

You know, I hear they can cure that these days.

Hey!

What are you doing in here?

All right, son.

Keep your hands where I can see them,

and stand real still.

Poor Michael.

Fate seemed to be conspiring against him.

Not only were his musical compositions

missing from the files,

but professor Stoneham was in no condition

to tell him where they'd gone.

Of course, that was the least of his troubles.

As soon as the security officer,

Mr. Hargrove, entered the office,

he immediately added two and two and came up with five.

The police were summoned, and Michael

was herded off to a jail cell at police headquarters.

So what are you doin' in here?

You're not gonna tell me you killed Stoneham?

Me?

I'm a card-carrying pacifist.

Okay.

So just tell me everything that happened.

W-why?

Are you gonna represent me?

And get you hung?

No way.

But it's like my uncle Jack always said,

"findin' a fox in the henhouse don't necessarily mean nothin',

unless, of course, he's pickin' feathers out of his teeth."

The security guy, Hargrove, comes in,

catches Mike goin' through the files.

Then he spots Stoneham sprawled out on the floor

dead as a mackerel with

a tuning fork stuck in his chest.

The same one that--

That Harry Papazian saw him

wavin' at Stoneham the night before.

Right.

You know, I'm just a struggling,

would-be social worker, but it seems to me

Harry Papazian must have killed him.

Papazian claims Stoneham was alive when he left,

and a polygraph passed him with flags flying.

Nice.

How about a lie detector for Mike too?

Oh, he got one. The results were inconclusive.

He flunked?

That's the way the cops see it.

Okay...

so why did Mike break in?

He couldn't find any copies of his music.

To prove it was his, he needed the originals.

And Stoneham wasn't about to give 'em up,

so he figured he had to take it.

Mike didn't kill anyone.

And all we have to do is prove it.

Is that the royal we, or am I included in this mess?

It was my bright theory the system always worked,

remember?

So who says you're always so bright?

Where do we start?

Me, campus.

You, Broadway.

All right.

Here.

No, no, no-- keep it, keep it.

Are you kidding?

You talked to Prentice... in jail?

- Well, what'd he say? - He said he didn't do it.

Hold on, I got to get a tape running.

Danny, I-I didn't come here to give you an interview.

I need to look at your files.

I know, and I've got a paper to get out

with the story of the year, and you, old pal,

- Are my exclusive. - No way! No.

No.

Then no way do you see my files.

Oh, god.

Files first.

Wrong. I've got a deadline, come on.

Danny, you are gonna make a great newspaperman.

It's in your blood--ice cold.

Thanks.

Obviously, we must not let Dr. Stoneham's death

be turned into a media circus.

We've had enough trouble on this campus recently.

I'm just helpin' out a friend, Sir.

I guess I'm the closest thing he's got to family.

Very admirable, but have you considered

that your friend Mr. Prentice may be guilty as sin?

No, Sir.

Shoot, there were lots of people on this campus

that hated Dr. Stoneham.

Enough to commit murder?

Well, I guess one motive's as good as another.

I just remembered.

Didn't you use to be real close with Mrs. Stoneham?

Given the context,

I think I resent that question, Mr. Singer.

N-n-no offense intended, Sir.

I just happened to be going through some back issues

of the campus newspaper.

I couldn't help but notice that you and she

were somethin' of an item before Stoneham popped up here

six years ago.

Christine and I were friends, nothing more.

After their marriage, I did not harbor either of them

any ill will.

As a matter of fact, I went out of my way

to make Tyler Stoneham feel welcome.

Well, that... that sure was neighborly of you, Sir.

The music building, Mr. Singer.

Professor Papazian's expecting you.

I trust you will not feel the need to query me again.

Now, this is our storage room,

where we keep all our instruments, sheet music.

How about original compositions?

Ah, no, Dr. Stoneham insisted on keeping all of that

under lock and key in his private office.

Ah, excuse me.

Yes?

No.

No. This is not Dr. Stoneham.

No.

I suggest you pick up a copy of this morning's paper.

The front page, that will explain everything.

Mm-hmm.

Idiot.

Dr. Stoneham's phone rings in here

as well as in his office.

He used to spend a lot of time in here noodling on that piano.

Well, I guess that's about it.

You've seen everything there is to see...

with the exception of Dr. Stoneham's office,

which you may have noticed the police have sealed off.

So Chancellor Simon tells me that you're a law student.

Is this some sort of classroom exercise?

No, Sir, I'm just a good friend of Mike's, that's all.

Ah.

Just tryin' to be his eyes and ears.

I guess all this has put quite a burden on you, Mr. Papazian.

I mean, as Stoneham's assistant,

I expect you'll be takin' over for him now.

Yes, yes.

I wish the circumstances had been different,

but as they say, one must not only endure,

one must overcome.

I wish it had been anyone but Michael Prentice.

He's a fine young man.

Well, you know, Sir, Mike says he didn't do it.

Yes, so I understand.

I'm-- I'm afraid, Mr. Singer,

that I was forced in all candor to tell the police

of the heated argument I witnessed

the night before Tyler died.

Well, now that's real funny.

Mike told me all about the fight Stoneham had with you...

the night he did die.

Fight?

No... it's a minor argument, that's all.

Well, thanks for the tour, professor.

Sure was helpful.

Rhoda, hey, thanks.

No, this is great, really.

Yeah!

You're kidding! When?

She didn't. Well, she's crazy.

You know something?

If Jerome wants to live in Jersey, so big deal.

I mean, Jersey's not all Hoboken, you know.

L-l-listen, Rhoda, I gotta go.

Yeah, thanks again.

And tell Shelly she's a doll.

Is this lady a detective or what?

You got somethin'?

From my girlfriend Rhoda, who was best friends at CCNY

with a certain Sheila Abramowitz,

who happens to be

the sister of Deirdre Abramowitz,

who just happens to work with a Broadway producer--

Who just happens to be puttin' on a musical

with words and music by Alden Gilbert.

Ooh, sharp, Chad, sharp.

Show's named Blue Lights.

The guy's name is Max Hellinger.

He used to be Gilbert's agent.

Darlin', you are a jewel.

You got a number on this Hellinger?

Yeah, but save your nickel.

Hellinger's been out of town for three days,

not expected back until Monday.

Whereabouts unknown.

Hellinger's secretary,

she have a number on file for Alden Gilbert?

Nope, Gilbert always called Hellinger,

never the other way around.

But Gilbert's definitely a local.

Contracts, checks--

Everything went to a PO box in Westwood.

Weird, huh?

Maybe not.

Not if you're tryin' to lead a double life.

Come again?

Don't you get it, Jenn? Alden Gilbert?

Professor Tyler Stoneham?

One and the same.

Thing is, who knew it and more importantly,

who stood to gain by it?

- Hello. - Yes?

Mrs. Stoneham?

I'm Chad Singer.

Y-you'll forgive the intrusion, ma'am.

I--I'm a good friend of Michael Prentice.

Yes.

Come in, please.

Thank you.

Tyler and Michael used to work together here

quite often.

His best student in years, he said.

Well, at least they used to work together here.

Lately, Tyler was away so much, I barely saw Michael.

Away where?

San Diego.

School business.

And the night-- the night he died, ma'am,

did you see your husband, talk to him?

I called his office.

He told me he was waiting for Harry Papazian

to drop off the galley proofs of his new book,

and then he'd be right home.

I told him we could have a late supper together.

About what time was this?

I was watching television, some comedy show.

It started at 9:30.

I watch a lot of television.

It must have been about half over

when I made the call at the commercial break.

So I suppose that would put it at about 9:45.

That was the last time I ever heard his voice.

Later, when the policemen came to the door,

I-I thought it was Tyler, that he'd forgotten his key.

Yes, ma'am.

Are you married, Mr. Singer?

No, I'm not, but I hope to be.

As soon as I pass the bar.

It's not a step to be taken lightly.

These days, people don't seem

to care very much about commitment.

Ma'am, did your husband ever mention

the name Alden Gilbert to you?

No, I don't believe so.

Max Hellinger?

No.

Well, I thank you very much, ma'am.

You've been more than hospitable.

And not very much help, I'm afraid.

Wow, your husband must have been a very wealthy man.

I mean, from a wealthy family.

I don't know of too many professors who live like this.

Tyler never confided in me about finances.

I suppose that's something I'll have to learn.

- Yes, ma'am. - Bye.

A strange visit.

I wonder what he wanted.

I'm not sure.

You know, for a minute I got the feeling

he thought I'd killed Tyler.

So Augustine Simon claims he and Christine Stoneham

were just friends.

Well, then why was he hiding in the other room,

when Chad questioned the bereaved widow

about the identity of Alden Gilbert?

If you ask me,

it was hanky-panky of the highest order.

Meanwhile, back on campus, the assistant music chairman,

Harry Papazian, was receiving some very good news.

Yes, Sir, thank you.

And, uh, please convey my thanks

to the board for this appointment.

I can assure you that Professor Stoneham's

high standards shall be continued in every way.

Thank you.

I beg your pardon. May I help you?

You never know, pal.

I'm looking for something that belongs to me.

Well, I seriously doubt

that you'll find it in here, Mr...

Max Hellinger.

Tyler Stoneham and I had a business relationship.

These are his files, aren't they?

- School files. - It's the same thing.

He owed me a couple of songs he'd composed.

I need them now.

Tyler, a composer?

That's ridiculous. The man didn't have

an original bone in his body.

You know not whereof you speak, pal.

By the way, who the Hell are you?

Harry Papazian, assistant--

Former assistant head to the department.

You are now running the store?

Good. I have a proposition for you.

Excuse me, Mr. Hellinger--

Two pieces of music, both ballads.

Look for the name of Alden Gilbert

as the composer.

You find 'em for me, it's worth five big ones.

What?

What, do you have a hearing problem?

$5000 for two songs,

in 48 hours in my hands, okay?

Well, if the songs exist,

I'll certainly do my best to locate them for you.

You bet you will, baby.

You had no right to print that story.

We're a newspaper, Mr. Parnell.

Check the sign on the door.

I am trying to save Prentice from the gas chamber,

and you're trying to get an A in journalism?

Hey, Chad, come here a sec.

Fellow here's got a problem with your interview.

- You're Singer? - That's me.

I've been looking for you.

I'm Ray Parnell, public defender's office.

And if you don't want to screw up

your friend's life permanently,

I suggest you learn to keep your mouth shut.

- Sir, I'm just trying to help. - You listen to me.

Your friend has one chance of getting free,

and that's temporary insanity.

What do you-- have you talked to him?

He didn't do it.

So he tells me.

And I sure would like to believe him.

But what I believe and what you believe,

that doesn't count.

What counts is what I can sell to a jury.

♪ That the world belonged to me ♪

Hi.

I'm sorry I got hung up.

I brought in a pizza.

You eat.

I popped a button on my jeans this morning.

I'm fasting till Yom Kippur.

Don't stop, I like that.

Yeah?

Yeah, it really grabs me.

♪ It was plain to see ♪

♪ that the world belonged to me ♪

Makes me kind of wonder who wrote the lyrics.

It sure wasn't Tyler Stoneham.

Well, I guess it was Mike.

Ha! Are you kidding?

I took American lit with Mike.

He could barely understand Edgar Guest.

Hot dang!

Lyrics!

Stoneham not only ripped off the melody,

but he got somebody to put words to it.

- But who? - Don't look at me.

After June and moon, I'm lost.

- Darlin', I got a job for you. - Uh-oh.

The last few months,

Stoneham's been spendin' a lot of time

south of the city, maybe San Diego.

619 area code.

Are you still friendly with that, uh,

what's-her-name in the business office?

Marsha? Sure.

Tomorrow morning, first thing, I want you to get Marsha

to check all the outgoing toll calls

on Stoneham's line. Everything with a 619 prefix.

Maybe we can put a phone number to a name and address.

Oh, come on, Chad.

Well, you want to help, don't you?

Not for me, hon.

For Mike.

Persuade me, cowboy.

The things I put up with for my friends.

Oh!

Who's there?

Who are you?

What do you want?

Uh-huh, I got that.

She heard this guy stumblin' around when?

4:00 in the morning?

Is she sure it was a man?

Listen, Danny, the shots. Did she hit the guy?

All right, look, I'll call you later

at the newspaper office.

Anything you learn, I want it.

I'll talk to you later, good buddy.

Do you know what time it is?

Yes, ma'am.

Time for you to hustle your bustle

over to your friend Marsha's.

One of Danny Young's newspaper reporters

was monitoring police calls early this morning.

He's some kind of a CB freak.

Somebody broke into the Stoneham house last night,

probably looking for Mike's music.

W-what did I hear about shots?

Is somebody playing hardball?

Stoneham's widow.

She may have plunked the guy.

They found blood outside.

Oh, terrific!

She didn't shoot at me, hon.

Come on, chop, chop. I need that 619 number.

Excuse me, Professor Papazian?

May I help you, Mr. Singer?

Professor, you got a minute?

Actually, I'm very busy this morning.

Well, this won't take long.

I just wanted to set things straight

about that fight you had with Dr. Stoneham.

It was a discussion, Mr. Singer, not a fight.

Well, that's not the way Michael tells it.

Yes, well, if I were in jail facing a murder charge,

I, too, would be spreading suspicion

in as many directions as I could.

Well, I apologize, professor.

I guess it's just a case of friendship

getting in the way of my better judgment.

Mm.

Looks like mice got at this seal.

- What? - This seal.

The door to Dr. Stoneham's office.

It seems to be peelin' off.

I'm afraid, Mr. Singer,

that my patience with your amateur sleuthing

is exhausted...

as is, I'm sure, everyone else's.

Now will you please leave,

or will I be forced to call security?

Oh, gosh, Sir.

I don't mean to make a pest of myself.

I really do apologize for any misunderstanding.

Yes, well, that's quite all right, Mr. Singer.

Oh, I'm sorry.

Is there something wrong with your arm, professor?

No, it's all right.

You know, I couldn't help but notice

the way you were holdin' that valise out there,

and the way you opened the door.

I thought you might be hurt or somethin'.

Maybe you ought to have a doctor look at it.

No, no, it's all right.

Well, let me give you a hand with that.

You know, professor,

Mrs. Stoneham shot an intruder in her house last night.

Yep, she surely did.

You know, I'll just bet...

it was somebody searching for some sheet music.

What do you think?

Yes.

I think you're probably right.

I was looking for some songs

that Tyler was supposed to have written.

A man named Max Hellinger, a Broadway producer,

offered me a great deal of money if I could deliver them.

No questions asked, of course.

- They weren't-- - No, no, I looked everywhere.

I suspect he stashed them in a safe deposit box.

This man, Hellinger,

do you know where I can find him?

Well, I imagine he's gone to see Michael Prentice.

When he called this morning

and I told him I couldn't help him,

he said his only other possibility was in jail.

Mr. Hellinger?

Yeah, I'm Max Hellinger. Who are you?

I'm a good friend of Michael Prentice.

I was wondering if I might talk to you

about the unpublished works of Alden Gilbert.

Thank you, Jim.

It's a nice place. It'll be a parking lot in one month.

Well, things pick up after 6:00.

They'd better. Okay, let's talk music.

How about first if we talk about Tyler Stoneham?

Excuse me, Alden Gilbert.

I didn't come here to shoot the bull with you, pal.

Since the cops still wouldn't let me talk to Prentice,

you'll have to do.

Do you have the songs, or don't you?

Tyler Stoneham was killed

just before 10:00 p.m. two nights ago.

Two nights ago, I was in new York city.

Let's get back to the music.

Two nights ago, your plane landed at LAX at 6:05.

A friend of a friend checked the passenger manifests.

You think I killed him? What for?

I needed his music.

Maybe he was holdin' out on you.

Maybe he was hittin' you up for more money.

Maybe. Maybe you need something stronger to drink

than that beer that you're nursing.

Look, I knew Tyler for ten years.

He used to feed me stuff. Dreck, mostly.

Then he comes along with Blue Lights.

First-class material, primo.

But even I could figure out

he didn't become another Sondheim overnight.

Okay, so you got in at 6:00.

And then what? You went to see Stoneham at the school?

Wrong, Sonny. I called him.

What time?

Around half past 9:00, at his office.

He said he was gonna leave

as soon as he got some phone call.

We made a breakfast date.

I showed up, he didn't. Then I caught the news.

Let's get back to those two songs.

- I haven't got 'em. - Wait a second, you said--

And as far as I know, neither does anybody else.

The only one that can deliver those songs to you,

Mr. Hellinger, is Michael Prentice.

If you can think of anything that'll help get him out

from under this investigation,

I suggest you talk to the police.

Otherwise, I'm afraid your show's gonna be

openin' up on Broadway, minus a couple of ballads.

Okay, so where's my medal?

You said you wanted a lyricist.

You got a lyricist.

Say hi to Reagan Miller.

Writing partner of the late and not-so-great Alden Gilbert.

Hi.

When Ms. Coopersmith phoned me,

asking about Alden Gilbert,

I-I didn't quite know what to say.

Sounded to me like she dropped the phone.

That's when I knew I hit the exacta.

Quite honestly, I really didn't want

to talk about Alden, or Dr. Stoneham,

or whatever his real name was.

The man lied to me. He deceived me.

Cheated you?

Yeah, I suppose you could say that too.

Look, I didn't care about the money,

the only thing that I wanted was recognition for my work,

but he took credit for everything.

The music, the words-- I mean, they were my words.

I just can't believe all this is happening.

Okay, you say you went to the college

the night he was killed.

Yeah, but I didn't kill him.

I mean--

The fact is, I never even saw the man.

I couldn't find his office,

and all of a sudden there were these policemen

coming out from all different directions,

I think it was shortly after 10:00.

I just left.

That's terrific.

Everyone but the Pope is at the college that night,

and Michael's the one they find standin' over the body.

Forgive me, I'm--

I'm OD-ing on frustration here.

If you'll excuse me, I have to get back home.

There's something that I wrote for television

and I forgot to set my tape machine.

No kidding, you wrote for TV?

Yeah, it's just a jingle for a real estate commercial.

Not Broadway, but it pays the rent.

Look, I think it starts at quarter of 7:00.

If I rush, I can just make it.

Well, thank you for coming.

And if and when we ever get Michael out of jail,

we'll have to put the two of you together.

You'd make a great combo.

I'll look forward to it. Good night, Chad.

- Oh, he gets like that. - Okay.

What's with the face?

So, do I get first prize or what?

Darlin', you're not gonna believe this,

but I think I just figured out which fox got in the henhouse.

Well, how about you?

Have you figured out who killed the good doctor?

Well, you can't be hurting for suspects.

Heaven knows there were plenty of people with motive...

and opportunity.

But if you've been paying attention,

there's one particular clue

that should pinpoint the guilty party.

See if you can come up with the same answer that Chad did.

This had better be good, Mr. Singer.

I didn't let you organize this little charade

to be made a fool of.

No, I wouldn't do that, Sir. You can count on it.

You know the drill? Lots of noise.

Hey, you're gonna get all the DBs you can handle.

All right, Reagan, -Yeah.

Everybody, I want you to do and say

whatever you did the other night.

I didn't do or say anything.

Then do it again.

- Singer, this is Lt. Perkins. - How are--

Just so's you understand, son,

I'm not real keen on parlor tricks.

Only reason I'm here is 'cause the school

asked us to cooperate.

Well, I appreciate that, Sir.

- How ya doin'? - Holding up.

All right.

I don't know what I'm doing here.

I was nowhere near this place.

- Well, I know-- - Nor was I, Mr. Singer.

I know, but I need you both

to help re-create what happened.

Look, one thing you'd better understand.

I'm not letting the suspect out of my sight.

Right. I want you hangin' on him like wallpaper.

Where he goes, you go. Come on.

Mr. Papazian, glad you could make it.

Yes, Mr. Singer.

As I told you, I am delighted to cooperate.

All right.

Mr. Hellinger, Mrs. Stoneham,

if you'd just stand here by the telephone.

Mr. Parnell, you'll be playing Mr. Stoneham,

so if you'll just come with me.

Step into the office.

And you know the instructions?

I know what I'm supposed to do.

There we go.

All right, Mr. Hellinger,

if you will place a call to the office

like you did the night of the murder,

Mr. Parnell will answer it.

555-8974.

- Start the watch? - Go.

Mike?

I heard him talking on the phone,

and I heard him say he'd be leaving soon.

That's when I ducked into the instrument storage room.

Go.

You too, lieutenant.

Now, the light went out,

and went on again almost immediately.

Okay, Mr. Hellinger, you can hang up the phone.

Mr. Parnell, pick up the receiver

and pretend to be dialing out!

All right, Mike, now what?

After about thirty seconds or so, the light went on again.

All right, that was Stoneham dialing Reagan,

but she wasn't home.

Chad, the light went on again a second time, but shorter.

Okay, get back inside.

Mr. Parnell, I want you to hang up the phone,

pick it up again, and hold it.

All right, Mike, what next?

After the light went out for the third time,

I started to leave.

I heard a man's footsteps approaching.

I ducked back inside. Then I looked out.

I saw Mr. Papazian go down the hall

to Stoneham's office, and walk in.

Mr. Parnell, you can hang up the phone!

Mr. Papazian.

Okay, now I want the two of you to argue, loud.

About what?

Anything. The price of goat's cheese, the Dodgers--

It doesn't make any difference.

But you're mad as hell at each other.

This is ridiculous.

Of course it is, but if he wants an argument,

let's give it to him.

I haven't got anything to hide!

You think I do?

Mike!

Can you hear all that?

Bits and pieces, like the night of the murder.

It's pretty noisy in here.

Mr. Singer's theatricality

is beginning to border on the ludicrous!

On that, we totally agree!

Gentlemen...

that was just fine.

Mr. Papazian, you may leave the room now.

This is the most ridiculous thing I've--

- How we doin'? - It's time.

Mrs. Stoneham, it's quarter to the hour.

If you'll just place that call to your husband,

like you did that night.

Hey, Chad, that phone, it never rang the other night.

That's right, ma'am.

It never rang.

The call you said you made to your husband

during the commercial break?

It never happened.

- But-- - There are no buts, ma'am,

because you said you talked to your husband,

which you did not.

A fact I believe will be validated

by your next month's phone bill.

It's a toll call.

The only thing I don't know is...

was Mr. Simon in on it with you?

No! No, he wasn't!

Tyler was my problem.

Poor Christine.

It was only a little slip,

but those are the ones that get you.

She's come to the office to surprise her husband.

They fought, and long-suffering Christine

finally went over the edge.

Michael was cleared, of course.

And when last seen,

he and Reagan Miller were boarding a plane

with Max Hellinger,

headed for the Great White Way.

As for Chad and Jenny,

you know, I've been noodling with this idea for a sequel,

in which they travel to Mississippi

so that she can meet the folks.

On the way, they run into this defrocked priest

and a professional wrestler who just happen to be--

Oops, I'm getting ahead of myself.

Maybe we'd just better wait for the sequel.

Thanks for dropping by, and good-night.