Original subtitles

Never met a comic strip character before.

Well, I've never been one.

Tonight, on Murder, She Wrote...

Stan stole the idea for that strip from me.

The main suspects are a chicken, a horse

and a couple of cows.

He’s crazier than a longhorn on local weed.

Tell me why you are saying these things about me.

Oh, my God. What’s going on here?

Thanks to you, we are being sued.

I kind of like the roundness of the 40 million

you mentioned in your cartoon.

I am not that cartoon character.

Before you know it, Jessica, Fox will be history.

So how was your trip, Mrs. Fletcher?

Gorgeous, Sid.

If you don’t mind me saying, that character

they got you playing in the Hatterville comic strip,

it’s given the missus and me some real good yaks.

What did you say about a comic strip?

That’s right, you’ve been away.

Here, see for yourself.

You’re the fox, aren’t you?

Jessica Fox.

This fella Hatter, who draws the strip,

he’s pretty clever, huh?

"Oh, come now, lieutenant Derodent,

it was you that stole

100 pounds of fish powder from..."

She’s accusing this Police Officer

of stealing evidence

that would have convicted the... the Three Moose Ears gang?

I never met a comic strip

character before, Mrs. Fletcher.

Well, I've never been one.

Hi, this Stan Hatter’s machine.

Say something after the beep, and I’ll get back to you.

I’ll say something, all right.

Stanley, you miserable coward.

Look, I know you’re there.

If the roof and the plumbing aren’t fixed

by tomorrow morning, you’re dead meat.

Ciao, darling.

They don’t call them ex-wives for nothing.

Number one?

Ah, four.

Not a lot of people back home in Montana can say that.

Hey, that guy’s still out here.

Teddy, you’ve seen too many old movies.

Get back in here.

He’s been out there for three weeks

and it’s not the neighbor’s window he’s been looking at.

Hey, didn’t you say number two’s been trying to nail you?

Five.

Two already owns more of me than I do.

Yes?

Look, there must be something on him I can use.

Well, something I can give to one of his wives. Or...

Mr. Whiting, I already told you,

all the schmuck does, is work, like all of you guys.

Now listen, Jerry, I’m paying for--

Hey, Mr. Whiting, since your retainer,

I have not received dollar once.

So I’m quitting.

Now wait a minute.

Uh-uh, I’ll see you around.

Monday, all right?

Plus one more week in advance.

All of it.

I want results.

Even if you have to create them yourself.

You understand?

Hey, hey. I’m not that kind of a--

Mr. Bozell, why else would I have hired you?

Police, Mrs. Fletcher.

I’m lieutenant Peter DiMartini,

as if you didn’t know.

Lieutenant, if that’s what you are,

unless you have a warrant,

I want you out of my apartment right now.

Ah, not yet.

Not until you tell me why you are saying

these things about me.

"In a few days, I’ll make you an offer you won’t refuse.

And Pilfer, don’t arrange a fox hunt."

Where are you getting your information?

Wait. Wait.

This-this-this rodent character that I--

That she seems to be threatening

to blackmail, is supposed to be you.

Oh, come on. Enough already.

And the Three Moose Ears that she refers to,

wasn’t there a big drug sting several years ago,

the Three Musketeers, wasn’t it?

Mrs. Fletcher.

And you were one of the arresting officers.

Right.

And the drugs that we seized

were stolen from the evidence lockup.

Like the fish powder in the comic strip, of course.

And you were suspected of the theft.

Not were, are.

Three years of phone taps, audits, tales, the whole shot.

There’s a lot of people that would kill

to see me take the fall.

All the way from the DEA

to Internal Affairs to the wise guys.

And meanwhile, I’m pushing papers down at headquarters.

Lady, are you telling me

you don’t know anything about this comic strip?

That is exactly what I’m telling you.

Then it’s got to be this guy Hatter.

I've never met Mr. Hatter.

This drug case of yours, the people that you arrested,

they were all released, weren’t they?

Yeah, lack of evidence.

Twenty million dollars worth.

Listen, are you sure you can’t tell me anything

about this offer that you’re gonna make--

I mean, she is gonna make me?

I suggest you talk to Mr. Hatter about that.

Oh, yeah, right.

All I get is his answering machine.

Lieutenant, tell me...

Yeah.

Did you steal those drugs?

Hello, Gloria.

Yes, I got in just about an hour ago.

Gloria, I have to see Mr. Yorke.

I mean, does he have a few minutes--

He’s coming here?

Yes.

Three more papers canceled Biff Banyon last week.

Dayton honey,

you have got to start living within your means.

Okay, then. 2,500 against next month’s royalties.

Paige, just notice that we’re talking serious money.

Darlin', it is all serious now.

You are down 64 papers.

Hey, your storylines, I mean, are getting kind of tired, baby.

You can’t go in there.

All right, Paige.

How the hell did this happen?

And you call yourself a features syndicate.

What I want to know is, how did a strip

that I didn’t draw,

and didn’t even ever see before,

slip past everyone and get printed in 2,000 newspapers?

Stan.

Day.

This cop, DiMartini has been screaming

into my telephone answering machine all morning.

And I can’t say I blame him.

Are you trying to tell me that is not your work?

Damn straight, it’s not.

Stanley, honey, don’t hustle a hustler.

Okay. Okay.

Let me put it this way.

Until you can tell me how this happened,

and guarantee that it will never happen again,

no more Hattervilles.

So long, Paige.

I’m finally gonna take that vacation.

Try it, Stanley,

and I will nail you for everything

from breach of contract to cruelty

to those stupid little critters you draw.

And while we’re at it,

we’ll just see how many alimony payments

you can afford to miss.

Stan Hatter thinks he is indispensable.

He’s crazier than a longhorn on local weed.

Day, that kid he’s got working for him...

Right.

Teddy... Teddy something.

Teddy Gray. Is that it? No.

Teddy Graves. That’s it.

Well, I hear he’s got a whole lot of talent.

Yeah, I think I heard that too.

You figure he could take over the Hatterville?

Maybe.

With a little help from the right person.

Just to refresh your memory,

Stan stole the idea for that strip from me.

That’s right, Mr. Melton.

In order to pay the takeover costs,

we’ll have to fire 63% of the employees,

raid the pension fund and issue junk bonds.

And the upside?

The upside, after taxes,

depreciation and greenmail and legal, is an instant

outfall of 78 million and change.

And then of course, we take the company to chapter 11.

Do it.

"Picked up 40 million bushels of chicken feed in that deal."

It had nothing to do

with that preferred livestock swindle.

Yes, Mr. Melton.

Get me Paige Kindle, the empire feature syndicate.

Yes, Sir.

- Hi, Jessica. - Russell.

I knew you were due in today

so I took a chance that you’d be here.

Well, I can’t tell you how glad I am to see you.

Oh, lawyers don’t hear that very often.

- Please, sit down. - Thank you.

How was your trip?

Oh, it was wonderful. Not a thing went wrong.

I wish I could say the same about my homecoming.

Do you happen to know a comic strip called...

Hatterville?

Yes, and a police officer named lieutenant Peter DiMartini.

And the wall street buyout artist, Roger Melton.

I've heard of him, yes.

Jessica, I think you ought to take a look at this.

Where did you get this?

Melton’s attorney faxed it to me.

He’s a killer, Jess, just like his client.

You and Mr. Stan Hatter and the outfit that syndicates’

comic strip, are gonna be sued for libel,

invasion of privacy and quite possibly extortion

to the tune of several million dollars each.

But, Russell, this is ridiculous.

I know absolutely nothing about all this.

And I certainly didn’t give permission to--

Jessica, whether or not you did,

I’m afraid you’re gonna be

faced with some difficult choices,

to defend yourself or settle.

Settle?

Of course, you can sue Mr. Hatter.

But even if you win,

even if you can prove that Mr. Melton

has no case whatsoever,

your legal fees could amount

to upwards of a quarter million dollars.

Plus for your emotional expense.

And with an out of court settle, who knows?

I think I better go lie down.

Totson Brothers got a package here.

Hey, kid, how much time we got left?

Twenty, 22 minutes.

That’s all right, we’ll make it.

Oh, man, how’d they get in here?

Would you get rid of them?

Sure.

I’m sorry, Mr. Hatter--

That’s right, Jessica Fox. Where is he?

Well, ma’am, he’s...

Mr. Hatter?

Hi.

Pardon my bad manners, but if I miss my deadline,

I’m out of couple of thousand bucks and late fees.

Well, I’m afraid that is your problem, Mr. Hatter.

Ah, Mrs. Fletcher, I didn’t draw it.

I checked with the syndicate.

A messenger showed up with the artwork,

they threw it into the hopper, who looks.

Even they can’t figure out how it got into print.

- It? - The DiMartini strip.

He’s telling the truth.

What about the strip

where you accuse Roger Melton of a stock swindle?

Oh, my God.

What’s going on here?

What is going on is, that thanks to you,

we are being sued for millions of dollars.

Why, Mr. Hatter?

Mrs. Fletcher, I’m as angry about this as you are,

but I swear I had nothing to do with this.

But how can you say that?

I mean, there is Jessica Fox.

That is my real strip, that, I had nothing to do with.

Honestly.

But this makes absolutely no sense.

I mean, why would somebody want

to counterfeit your comic strips?

I don’t know, maybe it’s a nutcase

or maybe somebody just wants to get me in trouble.

Coffee?

Oh, no, no.

Mr. Hatter, I realize that

because I am considered a public figure,

I can’t prevent you from creating

a cartoon character that looks like me,

but when the words coming out of her mouth

are libeling people...

Look, Mrs. Fletcher, I’m your biggest fan.

When I came up with the idea

for this Barnyard murder mystery thing,

I thought who better to solve it than Jessica Fox?

I mean, Fletcher.

Look, see, the main suspects are a chicken,

a horse and a couple of cows.

This is Lorraine, she suffers from MPS.

Multiple personality syndrome.

A cow?

Oh, yes, yes, seven distinct personalities.

But she’s not the killer.

Look, obviously, someone’s messing with my people, damn it.

Now I never meant to complicate your life

and I promise, I’m gonna take care of this.

I want to get to the bottom of it.

I’ll call my lawyer and get you off

the hook just as soon as I get out from under

my deadline problems.

Stan, 14 minutes.

It’s okay kid, we’re gonna make it.

Look, I’ll write you out of the strip.

Hey, I’m only a week ahead.

Before you know it, Jessica Fox will be history.

I’ll have you bitten by Rex Rattlesnake.

Or maybe devoured by Leroy Lion.

Or maybe one of the other characters.

I’ll kick it around with them. I’ll get back to you.

These characters, these animals,

they’re kind of like his friends.

He takes it very seriously.

"I won’t print the Hatterville strip

that will prove your guilt

if I get $250,000 by the weekend.

Time and place will follow."

I can’t say that I’m surprised, lieutenant.

And I certainly don’t blame you for being upset over this,

but what I don’t understand,

is why you are showing it to me.

I mean, this is a matter for the police.

You want to know why?

I will tell you why.

Because A, I’m innocent, but I can’t prove it,

because my alibi, my former partner is dead.

B, I don’t have $250, let alone $250, 000.

And C, you must think I’m some kind of a major idiot.

Cabot Cove Gazette?

That’s right, Mrs. Fletcher.

I checked, that’s from last Tuesday’s newspaper.

The only thing I can’t figure out

is why you would try to blackmail me.

Look, lieutenant,

I can almost understand your paranoia,

but last Tuesday I was in Italy

and I haven’t been in Cabot Cove for three weeks.

I mean, is that enough that I was accused of libel

and now blackmail?

What I want to know, is how much more

this is going to happen?

Honest to God, Mrs. Fletcher,

I don’t have anymore of a fix on this than you do.

Look, Mr. Hatter, I mean, at this point,

I’m sure you understand

that it is very difficult for me

to believe anything that you say.

But I’m telling you that--

Look, it’s a wonderfully clever scheme.

You know, dragging me into it and diverting suspicion

away from yourself.

And the Cabot Cove newspaper, I mean,

- that was a really very clever touch. - But I--

And it turns out that there’s a news stand

at Grand central Station that carries it one week late.

Mrs. Fletcher, I can prove the cartoon

that appeared in this morning’s paper, is a forgery.

Can you?

Now look at the characters’ eyes.

You notice there are little highlights in their eyes.

Yes.

Now these are on the upper right hand side.

Well, mine are always on the left.

I can show you thousands of my drawings,

always on the left.

You could have done it intentionally.

But I didn’t.

It’s the truth. Look at the way the hand is drawn.

Stan’s thumbs always have a little inward curve

right about there.

And that’s not my lettering, Mrs. Fletcher.

Besides, why would I jeopardize my career?

Another couple of years Hatterville will be

as big as Peanuts or Calvin and Hobbes

and then I’m home free.

Well, Stanley, I can’t say I’m exactly surprised

that somebody who draws cutesy little animals

that spout political philosophy, would be

twisted enough to pull a stunt like this.

But someone like you, Mrs. Fletcher.

Tell me, have you ever looked a man-eating shark in the eyes?

I presume your comic strip refers to my investment

in the Compu Champ Corporation.

I told you, I didn’t draw that.

Which you are implying, Mrs. Fletcher,

to be a major swindle on my part.

A kind of crime that, were I proven guilty,

could send me to prison for a very long time.

Mr. Melton.

Miss Kindle, I've had my people looking

at your publishing operation

and I find them faced with a truly difficult choice,

whether to take over your company

and pillage it, or to simply buy up

your many, many debts and demand payment.

I can assure you, my decision will be based

solely upon which option will cause you the most pain.

Now, as to the amount of money

I intend to sue you for,

I kind of like the roundness of the 40 million

you mentioned in your cartoon,

in dollars, of course.

I’m just telling the both of you

that whatever I suffer because of you two,

I will make you pay for.

May I suggest you discuss your differences

on own your time?

Look, stop, both of you.

I am not that cartoon character.

If it weren’t for Mr. Hatter’s ill-advised

decision to feature a fox that looks like me,

I wouldn’t be here at all.

Mrs. Fletcher.

Mr. Melton, would you please sit down?

Ever since I got back to New York today,

I have been threatened and shouted at.

Now I think it is time to try to find out

who’s really responsible

for whatever it is that is going on.

Now suppose we assume for a moment

that Mr. Hatter is telling the truth.

Thank you.

The word was "assume."

Well, then the question is why.

Why your comic strip, why not another cartoon?

Well, like I said,

someone’s trying to make my life miserable.

All right.

Can you think of anyone that you know

who might want to cause you this kind of trouble?

That could be a long list.

Actually, any of my ex-wives.

The politicians I've skewered, the celebrities,

then there’s always that fading star Day Whiting,

genius behind Biff Banyon.

The fact is, Mrs. Fletcher,

that Stan Hatter stole the idea of the Hatterville from me.

He knows it and I know it.

That was back when he was your assistant.

Yes.

Add 25% for yourself young man.

Thank you, Mr. Whiting.

Unfortunately, all my notes

and sketches were lost some years ago in a fire.

Of mysterious origin I might add.

So it’s his word against mine.

Look, pal.

I can’t wait until next week.

I need it this morning.

Mr. Bozell, I’d like you to meet--

Now, Whiting.

No more stalling.

I understand your situation.

Believe me. This afternoon.

I promise.

All right. You promise.

Forgive the interruption, Mrs. Fletcher.

A failed journalist.

The man couldn’t even make it to the supermarket tabloid.

Yes, Mr. Whiting, you said that you’d been meaning

to get in touch with me, why?

Because I have a great deal of respect for you

and for your work.

And once I heard about what’s been happening,

I wanted to offer you a piece of advice,

protect yourself.

Sue Stan Hatter for everything he’s worth.

Well, I’m afraid that lawsuits aren’t my style.

I rather thought you’d say something like that.

Look, you’re here because you obviously think

that I might be responsible for Hatter’s struggles.

Well, you seem to have a real motive. Are you?

You have to understand.

Stan Hatter is a sick, desperate man.

He’s a pathological liar.

This whole scenario,

it’s a grand stand play to gain sympathy.

He’s the victim.

At the same time on a truly Machiavellian level,

that hype will boost his readership,

the sales of all those stuffed animals,

the viewership of the TV

cartoon series.

I never said he wasn’t brilliant.

You know, up until a moment ago,

you had me half believing that Stan Hatter might be

responsible for all this.

You’re losing me.

Whatever Stan Hatter’s problems are,

he regards his characters as his friends.

I can’t believe that he would be

capable of letting his little cartoon creatures

say or do anything that was unethical.

That’s a very shaky premise.

Is it?

I mean, my characters in my novels are very real to me.

I mean, would you allow your...

what’s his name...

Biff Banyon to say or do anything like that?

Well, no, we’re talking apples and oranges here.

You and I live in the real world.

Mr. Whiting, your credit card wasn’t accepted.

Oh. Thank you.

Excuse me, Day.

Mrs. Fletcher, this is Mel Lazarus.

What a pleasure, Mr. Lazarus.

How do you do, Mrs. Fletcher?

Have you heard the news about Ben Watanabe?

No.

All right, Mr. Hatter,

you still haven’t answered my question.

Don’t you find it a little strange

that Mr. Watanabe was in your studio

at 3:49 in the morning?

Oh, I can’t-- I have told you before,

he always worked at night,

for me and for a lot of other cartoonists.

Buckman, do you mind?

I’m sorry.

Check the bottoms of your shoes.

I want every fragment out of that wristwatch crystal.

Right, sergeant.

Come on, Mr. Hatter.

Let’s give a look through your studio.

Excuse me, sergeant Redstone.

Are you assuming that this was a suicide?

Pending any evidence to contrary, yes.

We are assuming cause of death to be massive head

trauma caused by impacting the pavement.

This is unbelievable.

He had everything to live for.

He had a wife and two daughters in Scarsdale

and a terrific career going.

Mrs. Fletcher, what is your interest

in or your connection to Mr. Watanabe?

And don’t try to complicate things, please.

I’m quite familiar with your - to put it politely -

your obsession with murder.

Accusing me of being

obsessive is hardly polite, sergeant.

Okay, all right. I’m sorry.

At any rate, that is not the reason that I’m here--

All right.

Where is this Mr. Hatter?

Lieutenant, what are you doing here?

Oh, still warm and cuddly as ever, huh, sergeant?

I asked you a question.

It’s a personal matter.

Oh, really?

Oh, well, I bet it’s fascinating.

A discredited former narcotics cop--

Excuse me, sergeant.

Mr. Hatter, do you happen to recall seeing that this

statuette was cracked?

I don’t-I don’t remember seeing it that way yesterday.

I don’t know, I don’t really look at it all that often.

Teddy, did you notice anything?

No. Maybe it fell.

This is exactly what I was talking about.

I’m not suggesting anything, sergeant,

except that forensics might just want to take a look at it.

Oh, please, Mrs. Fletcher, you think I don’t know your game?

You are suggesting that it wasn’t suicide,

that the guy was murdered, struck by that thing there.

And then what?

The killer threw his body out the window,

so he could make it look like

he took his own life, right?

You know, that is a very interesting possibility,

sergeant.

I mean, a fall from the fourth floor

could certainly obscure the real cause of death.

What is this anyway?

Oh, it’s the Reuben award.

It’s like the Oscar from the National Cartoonist Society.

Okay.

Let’s pretend this is a murder investigation.

And in a minute I’m gonna ask you exactly

why you are here.

But you first, lieutenant.

And unless you want

more trouble from IA than you’ve already got,

I suggest you keep the answers very straight.

I heard about Mr. Watanabe on the police radio and...

No, sergeant, no way Ben could have done those

counterfeit drawings.

He was strictly into lettering.

And the style, whoever did them, wasn’t very good.

I mean, sergeant,

when the killer intends to kill someone,

doesn’t he or she usually bring their own weapon?

What are we suggesting now, Mrs. Fletcher?

Only the statuette, if that is indeed

what Mr. Watanabe was struck

with, was more a weapon of opportunity.

Which would mean probably that it was unpremeditated.

That’s good, Mrs. Fletcher.

Well, it also means that it could have been anyone,

a burglar or maybe a crazed fan.

Except there was no sign of forced entry.

On the other hand, none of this precludes a nice,

simple solution.

Mr. Watanabe masterminded the whole blackmail scheme.

He became disconsolate about the fact that he dug himself

into such a big hole, and he took his own life.

Still hate those loose ends, don’t you, sergeant?

Or even better, maybe he was murdered

by one of his blackmail victims.

Someone knowledgeable enough to make it

look like it was unpremeditated, lieutenant.

Oh, that’s cute.

From ten to six last night, I was at headquarters.

At least a dozen cops will back me up.

If it is murder, you better believe

I’m gonna check with every single one of them.

In the meantime, none of you take any trips.

And that includes you too, Mrs. Fletcher.

Let’s go.

Oh, Jessica, I can’t tell you

how rotten I feel getting you involved in all of this.

Well, thank you.

But the fact remains,

that whether Mr. Watanabe was murdered or not,

there’s still a very malevolent blackmailer loose.

What we have to do, is find a common denominator,

some sort of thread that will connect the victims.

So far you’ve used up

three of your five minutes, Mr. Whiting.

So I suggest your drop the tap dance

and get on with it.

Absolutely, Mr. Melton.

The point is, that I’m terribly sympathetic

to the wrongs that you’ve suffered

at the hands of Stan Hatter.

The man is arrogant.

He’s patently dishonest,

he’s a disgrace to our profession,

and it’s time--

- Mr. Whiting. - Yes.

The fact is, Mr. Melton, that I have been financing

a lengthy investigation into Hatter and his activities.

This investigation is about to bear serious fruit.

And it may well benefit your case--

How much?

Mr. Melton, you have to understand

that I have poured a great deal--

I said, how much?

Ten thousand dollars.

But we should get results.

Cut a check for $10,000 to...

Dayton Whiting, with an H.

Dayton Whiting.

Yes, Mr. Melton.

Mr. Melton, you won’t be...

Something to take to the bank

along with my check, Mr. Whiting.

I’m accustomed to receiving results for my money.

25, 26,

27, 28,

29... 3,000.

I honor my agreements.

Wait.

You said something about an extra week in advance.

Jerry, I don’t need it... or you, anymore.

Don’t you have some parking tickets to write out?

I want to talk.

Call a 900 number.

What is your problem, lady?

You know, there is only one thing worse than a crooked cop.

Wait a minute.

That’s a crooked cop who muscles in on my case.

Who do you think you are, Mother Theresa?

I seem to remember you getting in over your head

on an officer involved shooting about a year ago.

That was righteous,

Internal Affairs cleared me on that.

Sure, sure, after you pushed papers for about a month

and the IA looked into everything,

including the color of your skimmies.

So what?

Well, that’s been happening to me for three years.

You’re supposed to be innocent until proven guilty,

but that does not apply to cops.

Everyone in this building, including you,

thinks I did it.

So what do you want?

Whoever drew that rat comic strip,

they must be trying to make me take the fall.

I mean, the blackmail’s got to be some kind of cover.

I have no money.

Yeah, well, that’s spoken like a true cop.

I figure if I can find out who drew the comic strip,

I might be able to figure out who engineered

the Three Musketeer’s drug heist.

So you clear your name,

you get your job back

and you live happily ever after.

Something like that, yeah.

Yeah, well, that’s a fairy tale, DiMartini.

Still you could look after that Fletcher woman.

I mean, at least she talks to you.

Maybe she’s allergic to your charm.

Okay. Ground rules.

You tell me everything she does and everyone she sees.

You got it.

And when the killer is busted, it’s my collar.

Killer?

I thought you said it was suicide.

This came down from the lab.

But I think that a semi-educated guess

describes it more aptly, lieutenant.

Well, at any rate,

thank you for letting me know.

It was murder.

Your Reuben award, it was wiped almost clean.

But they did find traces of Mr. Watanabe’s blood.

But there were no fingerprints.

I still can’t believe anybody would want to kill Ben.

Well, as I said, I’m not sure

that the killer really wanted to.

Find anything?

I’m afraid not, so far.

We’ve been through every word

the Globe’s got on DiMartini and Melton

and not even a comma that cross references.

Except they apparently have the same blackmailer.

With the same kind of sleazy secrets, I told you all.

That’s it.

The same kind of information, the same quality of it.

Operator 221.

Yes. Could you give me the number of the American Enquirer, please?

Hello, Scuzz.

Don’t tell me, you got a folder in there

marked dead file, right?

No, I...

Don’t mess with me, Bozell. I don’t have a lot to lose.

I checked with a couple of your former editors

at the supermarket tabloids, Mr. Bozell.

The material that you submitted was so libelous

that even the worst of them couldn’t use it, or you?

Oh, yeah?

Well, they are all a bunch of spineless wimps.

Every damn word of that was true.

Ah, not quite every word, pal.

You simply filed it all away,

until you had an opportunity to use it for blackmail.

Wrong, lady.

Somebody stole them out of my files.

Oh, sure they did.

The thing that’s heartwarming to me,

is that you finally made the big mistake.

No, I swear.

I never killed that Lettering man.

You got the wrong guy, DiMartini.

Look, why do you think that I’m about to split?

Because if you figured it out,

then sooner or later all those people

who are being blackmailed, are gonna

come after me too.

He’s got a point there, lieutenant.

He’s lying, Mrs. Fletcher.

I was paying him to handle my publicity, that’s all.

Well, not according to this, Mr. Whiting.

It’s one of several that Jerry Bozell made

during the last few weeks.

Duplicates of the tape that he sent you,

reporting on his surveillance

of Stan Hatter’s activities.

I hired him three weeks ago.

To find something that you could use

against Mr. Hatter, some impropriety,

some sort of misbehavior.

Yes.

Yes, to get back at him for the money

he’s making from my idea,

my intellectual property.

And all the millions he stands to make.

Millions that are rightfully mine.

I didn’t blackmail anybody.

And I didn’t kill Ben Watanabe.

Oh, come on, Mr. Whiting,

you drew that fake comic strip.

Are you kidding?

I couldn’t do that cornball,

bigfoot stuff if my life depended on it.

My style is realistic.

Yes, Mr. Whiting is what Mr. Hatter refers to

as a wrinkle artist.

Some critic.

Look as it happens, I spent all of last night with a lady.

And for the sake of my health and her marriage,

I would be very grateful,

if you would not bring her into this,

unless it’s absolutely essential.

Then who drew the comic strips and who killed Watanabe?

I think I know, lieutenant.

But I’m afraid that proving it isn’t going to be that easy.

Except that it may have gotten just that much easier.

There.

I didn’t imagine it.

When we were at the Cartoonist Club,

I brushed a plant away from my head and...

And it reminded me.

Now this morning, it looked as if it was leaning away

from the window.

Now plants usually reach for the light.

Yeah, I know, it’s called heliotropism.

I raise orchids.

So somebody rotated it, so?

Rotating plants can be good for them,

although I have a feeling this was done for another reason.

Give me a hand and we’ll lift this up.

It’s one of those artists’ gloves.

Watanabe’s blood.

Probably.

And with a little bit of luck, laboratory analysis

should give us the identity of the killer.

Now wait a minute, Mrs. Fletcher.

I questioned Watanabe’s widow and she said the same thing,

that her husband stuck to a very precise work routine.

Every night he would show up

at a half dozen cartoonists’ studios,

but she insisted that he kept the schedule in his head

and that there was no written copy of it that she knew of.

Yes, that’s right, sergeant.

Yeah, but now you’re telling me

that he didn’t show up at Stan Hatter’s studio

at his regular time.

I mean, how the hell do you know that?

Well, it’s something that was very easy to overlook,

sergeant.

I... I almost didn’t think of it.

What, Mrs. Fletcher?

I telephoned all the cartoonists

that he worked for.

It turned out that yesterday,

one of them had called Ben to report

that he hadn’t finished writing the dialogue

and his strips wouldn’t be ready

for Ben to letter till today.

So what does this tell us?

Well, I think it tells us that the killer was familiar

with Mr. Watanabe’s schedule

and didn’t expect him to show up

at Stan’s studio when he did.

So when Watanabe got there

and discovered that he wasn’t alone,

the killer figured that there was no option

but murder.

The blood stains on the glove are from the victim.

That’s it.

What? No hair, no skin particles?

- Nothing. - Damn.

Yeah. My sentiments exactly, lieutenant.

I had to break a date with my fiance.

And waste two very expensive theater tickets

with very little gain.

Perhaps it’s not so little, sergeant.

May I use your phone?

I need to leave a message for Mr. Hatter.

Mr. Graves, you’re under arrest

for the murder of Ben Watanabe

and for extortion and blackmail.

Okay.

Yes, what Mr. Whiting told you,

that part’s the truth.

He did hire me.

And gave you scripts based on the material

that he’d stolen from Jerry Bozell’s dead file.

I don’t know where he got it from.

I just drew the pictures.

You know, the subtle differences

between your drawings and Stan’s,

that was very clever, Teddy.

When Stan was sick, I ghosted all the strips.

Nobody ever knew.

Until you told day Whiting,

which gave him the idea.

It was also very clever of you to use

the Cabot Cove Gazette for the blackmail notes.

How was I supposed to know you’re out of the country?

Anyway, Mr. Whiting told me

I could keep whatever blackmail money came in.

What a guy.

He’s okay.

He paid me more than Stan did

and treated me like I was somebody.

And exposed you to a great deal of risk.

Risk?

Blackmail victims frequently kill their tormentors,

particularly if the victims are really guilty as charged.

I guess I never thought about that.

Don’t look at me, kid.

One of these days I’ll get off the hook.

I never meant to kill Ben.

Honestly.

I was working on the last batch of phony strips.

And wearing those white gloves

to prevent leaving fingerprints on the drawings?

Yeah.

I’d been working about an hour and a half.

My eyes were tired

and my back was starting to complain.

I needed to stretch.

I figured I had plenty of time before he was due to appear,

so I took a break

and went to the kitchen for some coffee.

Then suddenly, I heard the front door

being unlocked.

It was Ben.

He wasn’t supposed to get there for another hour.

He saw the false strips and knew something was fishy.

Then I accidentally bumped something and he turned.

Ben had a black belt in karate

and he looked like he was ready to kill.

So I grabbed the Ruben award and swung at him.

Then I realized how much trouble I’d be in

if they found Ben on the floor of Stan’s studio.

So I decided to fake his suicide.

There was a commotion in the street.

If the police stopped me and asked me questions,

I didn’t want the glove found on me,

so I hid it then and there.

Why, Teddy?

Stan Hatter told me that you’re brilliantly talented,

that you were on your way

to a superstar career in the comic strip business.

Maybe in ten, 15 years.

Eight months working as Stan’s gofer,

and I had it up to my skull.

And that music he played day after day...

Mrs. Fletcher,

that phone message you left for Stan

about how the police knew

it was murder and they were coming in

to really go over the studio tomorrow morning?

It was really a message for you, Teddy.

I was counting on you calling in to Stan’s machine.

Because the only way that we could prove

that you were the killer was if you incriminated yourself.

That’s pretty good, Mrs. Fletcher.

That’s pretty good.

Mrs. Fletcher, I got to tell you.

I don’t take it all back, just most of it.

Jessica, are you sure that I can’t see you home?

Thanks, Stan, but I’d really feel guilty

if I contributed to you missing your deadline.

Oh, thanks a lot, Jessica.

Well, Jessica, I guess what it comes down to is

see you in the funny papers.