All language subtitles for MrSWr4E16.Murder.Through.the.Looking.Glass.

Tonight on Murder, She Wrote.

Mr. Cosgrove has turned up on a cold slab in the morgue.

I met him right after he'd been shot

in the head and the heart and dumped into the Connecticut River.

Mrs. Fletcher?

I wanna to know what the dying man

said in his confession.

Naturally, Adams's death was a loss.

Not to everyone.

You got what you wanted. You're in charge.

A lady this persistent could be trouble.

Let's get it over with quickly.

That's a bad place to stand, pal.

You're in my way.

No!

Okay, face me.

Just to satisfy my curiosity, who ordered this hit?

What good would it do you?

Wonderful speech, Mrs. Fletcher.

Oh, thank you very much.

I wouldn't have missed it for anything.

Oh, they could have you back every year,

as far as I'm concerned.

You're very kind.

Mrs. Fletcher, uh,

I don't think you really had time

to enjoy your dessert.

Listen, there's a wonderful place

right up the street where we can relax

and have a great cup of coffee,

best in Hartford.

It sounds like a wonderful idea.

- Thanks. - All right.

Is he all right?

- My heart. - I'll call the paramedics.

It's all right. They'll be right here.

Can't breathe.

A priest.

Get me a priest.

- Get me a priest. - Yes. Yes.

Is there a Catholic church nearby?

Father!

Father, I have sinned.

I killed a man tonight.

Carl Cosgrove...

from Farm-- Farmington.

"H" and "h."

When he spoke to you. What did he say?

He wants a priest.

He's dead.

No, Edie, I did not have a fight with your sister.

No. Nothing. Nothing happened.

I'm sitting home, minding my own business,

I'm watching the Celtics game when Norma walks in--

- Hey, what is this? - The exhibitionist

who stabbed the woman in the park.

Morey.

Flash and slash.

So I'm watching the Celts game, and Norma walks in,

and she asks me what do I think

of this new dress she just bought.

So I tell her.

The next thing I know, she's upstairs,

and she's packing a bag.

Look, Edie, all I wanna know is, is she there?

Uh, pardon me.

Could you tell me where I'll find Sergeant Cooper?

Sure. He's right there at that desk.

Thank you.

Edie, look, I don't think your divorce entitles you

to give me a lecture on married life.

Hey, hey, wait a minute! Don't hang up!

I need your cousin Shirley's phone number. Please?

Uh, Sergeant Cooper?

Yeah, yeah, yeah. Is that 204?

Yeah. All right.

Yeah, thanks, Edie. Listen--

Yeah, and if you hear from her, will you let me know?

Right. Okay.

Yes?

I'm Jessica Fletcher.

We spoke on the phone about a half hour ago.

Yeah. Yeah. Morey! Morey!

The bodies in the cement mixer, they're on my desk.

Sorry.

I'm the one who made the report last night

about the man who died in the accident.

Yeah. Yeah. Uh, John Doe.

He didn't have any identification on him.

- Oh, that's very odd. - No, it's not odd.

There's a lot of guys walkin' around out there

these days with nothing in their pockets but holes.

Yes, but he wasn't walking around.

He was driving a car.

At the very least, he would have a driver's license.

Unless he wanted to conceal his identity

because he was a professional killer.

Oh, well! A professional killer.

Uh, yeah, Mrs.-- uh, Mrs. Fletcher,

where did you get that idea?

From his dying confession: "h" and "h."

I reported it to the night watch.

Oh, ho-ho-ho! "H" and "h."

What do you know about "h" and "h"?

Uh, well, if my research is accurate,

it means "head and heart."

What does that mean to you?

Well, I believe a bullet in both places

is the mark of a professional killing.

Okay. All right.

For the sake of argument,

let's say John Doe was a professional killer.

Now, you tell me,

why would he confess to his last job?

Because it was his last job, and he knew that it was,

and he did not want to die with that on his conscience.

That's good.

A hit man with a conscience.

Well, he wasn't always a hit man.

I mean, something in him remembered that at the end.

And you believed that?

Yes, I believed him, Sergeant.

And I expect the police to investigate.

I suggest you start

with Carl Cosgrove in Farmington.

Okay. Why not?

Get me information.

Uh, oh, pardon me. Directory assistance.

You want to listen? Pick up the extension.

Hello.

Yes, this is the residence of Carl Cosgrove.

- I'm Mrs. Cosgrove. - Yeah, Mrs. Cosgrove,

this is Sergeant Milton Cooper of the Hartford Police.

Look, I'm sorry to disturb you at this hour, Ma'am,

but we got a report here that your husband may be, uh--

Uh, missing.

No.

You've been misinformed, sergeant.

My husband is upstairs in bed.

Could I talk to him, please? I want to clear this up.

I'm sorry.

Carl can't speak on the phone right now.

He was working in the rose garden

and got one of his asthma attacks.

I can have him call you when he recovers.

No, no. That won't be necessary.

Wait. Wait. Wait.

Uh, Mrs. Cosgrove,

is it possible that there is another

Carl Cosgrove in Farmington?

I don't know of any. To whom am I speaking?

Oh, my name is Jessica Fletcher.

And does your husband always take to his bed

when he has an asthma attack?

Good-bye, Mrs. Cosgrove.

Lady, what do you want? This guy is alive.

We only have his wife's word for it.

Oh, come on, Mrs. Fletcher.

I'm sorry, but I know what I heard,

and something is wrong.

You know what's wrong?

What's wrong here is that I'm sitting here

listening to you instead of getting my work done.

I mean, look at this. Are we through, Mrs. Fletcher?

Yes, yes, we are through, Sergeant.

And thank you very much for all your help.

Don't mention it. Ever.

Cooper.

- Morning. - Good morning.

How can I help you?

My name is Jessica Fletcher.

I'd like to see Mrs. Cosgrove.

Ah, she didn't call your name down, Ma'am.

Is she expecting you?

Well, not exactly.

I was talking to her on the telephone

a little while ago with police sergeant Cooper,

and I'd like to continue our interrupted conversation.

She doesn't look like a cop.

I'm sorry, Ma'am.

What was your name again? Jessica Fletcher.

Maybe we'd better clear this one with Adams.

Adams isn't here.

Just a moment.

Pierce.

Hold on. What's the verdict?

Well, I heard the tape of the phone call.

Sounds like the same woman.

A lady this persistent could be trouble.

Let's get it over with quickly.

Let her in.

Company, dear.

- You may go in, Mrs. Fletcher. - Thank you.

Hello. Won't you come in?

Thank you.

I'm Ellen Cosgrove.

- Is it Mrs. Fletcher? - Yes.

I won't say I'm not surprised to see you.

Oh, I can imagine.

I'm here to apologize for any distress

you may have been caused by Sergeant Cooper's phone call.

- Ah. - It was rather brusque.

And in all fairness, I feel that I owe you an explanation.

Frankly, I have been dying of curiosity

ever since the call.

Where did the police get the idea Carl was missing?

A concerned citizen.

Thank god he was home.

I mean, what if he hadn't been?

I would've been worried sick.

That call was like a bad joke.

Actually, Mrs. Cosgrove,

the police were told that

something may have happened to Carl Cosgrove.

But, of course, having made contact with you

we know that's not true.

Mrs. Fletcher,

I think it's time to introduce you to my husband.

This way, please.

Darling, are you awake?

Here's someone who wants to meet you.

Jessica Fletcher, my husband, Carl Cosgrove.

Mr. Cosgrove, your wife has told me

about your asthma attack.

I'm so sorry.

Does she buy it?

Not for a minute.

Must you always be negative?

Get some rest.

I'm going to show Mrs. Fletcher the rest of the house.

So nice meeting you.

I saw nothing wrong.

Mm-mm. Her body language.

The way she looked at the mirror, straight at it.

She wasn't checking her lipstick.

Yeah, I caught that too.

I know you are there, Señor Jackson.

I do not like role-playing. Do you understand?

Yes, of course, Señor Delgado.

But such moments are sometimes necessary to maintain security.

Comprende?

Comandante, is something wrong?

The comandante feels uneasy.

He wants to return to Washington today.

Well, that cannot be arranged.

But you tell him

that we will take him tomorrow afternoon.

I will not stay here another night!

I demand to see Señor Adams, your superior.

Tell him to take a number.

Mr. Adams isn't available.

He's in Washington arranging the security

for your appearance before the committee.

The comandante begs your pardon.

But he does not believe you.

Mrs. Fletcher,

a Father Francis was looking for you.

- Father Francis? - Mm-hmm.

- A priest? - Yes. He left a message.

He wants you to meet him at his church, St. Jerome's.

It's two blocks east. You can't miss it.

- Oh, thank you very much. - Mm-hmm.

Mrs. Fletcher?

Oh, oh, please. I'm sorry. Forgive me.

I didn't mean to startle you. Oh, it's quite all right.

It's just a little difficult to talk

when your heart's in your throat.

Well, the fact is, I felt a little self-conscious

hanging around your lobby. I thought this would be better.

Oh, yes. How did you know my name?

Well, I just described you to your desk clerk.

He was kind enough to identify you.

And thank you for coming.

Oh, I was very curious.

What is it that you want from me?

I want to know what the dying man

said in his confession.

Oh, yes, yes, you were interested in that last night.

That confession was meant for a priest.

Yes. Of course.

That's true.

He said, "I just killed a man." A Carl Cosgrove.

Yes, one of my parishioners, a police officer,

was telling me that the man was identified

as a professional killer from another city.

Tell me, did he say who hired him to kill Mr. Cosgrove?

No, and I just met Mr. Cosgrove,

and he seemed very much alive.

You're sure it was the Mr. Cosgrove?

Father, what is it you want to know?

Anything I can do for you, Father?

No. Thank you very much, Father.

Father Sweeney.

His eyes aren't what they used to be.

Well, in the words of saint Thomas Aquinas,

"We are much as we see. Faith is sight and knowledge."

And the old boy certainly knew what he was talking about.

Are you, by any chance, Mrs. Fletcher?

Yes.

There's a telephone call for you.

You can take it in my office.

Oh, thank you very much.

- Yes? - Yeah, Mrs. Fletcher?

I'm glad I found you. This is Sergeant Cooper.

How did you know where--

The desk clerk.

Listen, I would take it as a personal favor

if you would come down here right away.

What's happened?

Well, they just pulled a guy

out of the Connecticut River.

The guy had been dead for several hours,

with two bullets in him,

one in his head and one in his heart.

And, oh, yeah, his ID says

he is Carl Cosgrove of Farmington.

No, no, Shirley, I'm not calling you a liar.

No. Will you listen for a minute?

All I said was, if Norma didn't go to her sister's,

she had to go to her cousin's.

Shirley, I don't believe you.

Oh! Hey, hey. Watch your language.

Hey, you know that I can bust people

for talking like that on the telephone, Shirley.

Will you tell Norma to call me?

So, Mrs. Fletcher, sorry.

Seems like you were right.

Mr. Cosgrove has turned up on a cold slab in the morgue.

He's also in a warm bed in Farmington.

I met him right after he'd been shot

in the head and the heart

and dumped into the Connecticut River,

and he seemed to have taken it very well.

You went to that house?

You had no business interfering in a murder investigation.

There was no murder investigation.

You practically threw me out of this office.

But that was before the dead man who confessed to me

was identified as a professional killer.

Nobody knows he was identified.

How do you know?

I heard it in church.

Sergeant, something very strange is going on.

Pardon me. The photo lab sent this over.

Oh, thanks, Arlene.

Mr. Cosgrove?

Uh, that is not the Mr. Cosgrove that I met.

Time for a house call.

What can I do for you folks?

You can open the gate.

No, I can't do that.

Then I'll use you for a battering ram.

Right.

I'm sorry. Mrs. Cosgrove has gone out.

I'm her brother.

If there's anything I can do to help, I'll--

Yeah, what about Mr. Cosgrove?

Has he gone out too?

Uh, yes. They left together.

I don't expect them back until later this evening.

I'm glad Mr. Cosgrove is feeling better.

Well, I'll tell him. I'm sure he'll appreciate

- your concern. - Yeah.

You don't mind if I look around a little bit, do you?

Yes, I do mind.

Stop where you are.

That's a bad place to stand, pal.

You're in my way.

- No! - That's far enough.

Easy with that.

Clasp your hands behind your head,

and come back down the stairs, Sergeant.

Slowly.

Get his gun.

You people know the penalty

for interfering with a police officer?

These look authentic. You better believe it.

You're both in a hell of a lot of trouble.

On the contrary,

Sergeant Cooper.

Mrs. Fletcher.

Please join me in the living room.

Your insistence on coming here

may have seriously compromised

the security of a DSS safe house.

A safe house?

A house for keeping certain high-risk people

under tight security.

I'm sorry,

I'm not familiar with the initials "DSS".

Department of Special Security, Mrs. Fletcher.

Anyone care for a cup of coffee?

No?

And as you are aware, Sergeant,

our federal authority supersedes the local police.

Your coming here was an absurd blunder.

Sergeant Cooper was merely doing his duty.

Unless, of course, your authority

includes investigating a homicide.

Thank you, Mrs. Fletcher.

It sure as hell doesn't.

And I want some answers.

Like, for instance, who is this guy

that you're trying to palm off as Carl Cosgrove?

That's confidential.

I don't know much about these things,

but it occurs to me that the oxygen mask

not only prevented me seeing the man's face

but also hearing his voice.

Perhaps a foreign accent.

Is he, by any chance,

your current high-risk house guest?

Colombian. Prime stuff.

The CIA flies it in once a week.

I think this is what they call stonewalling, Mrs. Fletcher.

I think you must have hit it right on the nose.

Well, I wouldn't have expected less

from a mystery writer who outwitted a KGB agent...

and helped a pair of defecting Russian ballet dancers.

You have a file on me.

Maiden name: Macgill.

One marriage to Frank Fletcher, deceased.

No children. Doesn't drive. Travels extensively.

Please, stop.

I see no reason to continue

this detailed discussion of my personal life.

You opened yourself up for that

when you showed up on our doorstep, Mrs. Fletcher.

We like to know who we're dealing with.

And if you're thinking of turning this

into a best-seller, forget it.

Okay, okay, never mind.

Forget all that.

Uh, you. You tell me about Carl Cosgrove.

There's nothing to tell. He doesn't exist.

It was a house name that we used for convenience.

There never was a real Carl Cosgrove.

Don't give me that. I saw his ID.

Well, we had driver's licenses,

Social Security, and credit cards

made to use when we go out.

Okay. Why?

Department regulation.

We never use real identification.

From time to time, each of us has been Mr. Cosgrove.

Except Mrs. Cosgrove, of course.

Sergeant, when did you see his ID?

After we pulled this guy out of the river.

Do you recognize him?

No.

Well, let me tell you about this Mr. Cosgrove.

He has a bullet in his head,

and he has a bullet in his heart, and he's cold.

- He's very, very cold. - You lied!

You told me he was on assignment in Washington.

- Careful. - Adams is dead,

and you let it happen.

Don't be absurd.

Meeting with somebody he didn't know

in a deserted parking lot was stupid.

You should have stopped him.

I didn't know anything about it.

Now, please, both of you, you think for a moment.

Oh, do we just go on

and try to forget he was ever alive?

Let's get some fresh air.

Okay, who was this Adams,

and what the hell's going on here?

That's none of your business.

Well, why don't I make it my business!

Why don't I call Headquarters

and get about 12 black-and-whites down here

and haul you all in for interrogation?

And maybe I'll get some straight answers then.

Adams was the code name

for the chief of this security operation.

You identify this man as Adams?

I'll have to take my cue from Washington on that.

What does that mean?

He may not be officially dead.

They don't get any deader than that.

Uh, Sergeant, I believe he means

that the agency may not want to admit

that the head of the special security unit

was, uh, murdered.

- Oh. - My hands are tied.

I can't help you with your investigation.

Is this Adams a friend of yours or not?

I found his company bearable...

most of the time.

Come on, Mrs. Fletcher.

Let's get out of here before my blood freezes.

Whew!

Sure, I knew you and Adams were breaking some rules.

I've broken a few myself.

It wasn't like that.

We were in love.

That really is a rule breaker.

You guys must've been serious.

We were gonna be married.

If you can't control your emotions,

I suggest you leave the department.

Don't you have any feelings?

I don't let them get the better

of my good judgment.

Naturally, Adams's death was a loss.

Not to everyone. You got what you wanted.

You're in charge.

I'll seek a replacement for you. At once.

That beer is mine.

I didn't know how long I'd have to wait.

Please, don't panic.

We have to talk.

Talk to the police.

Tell them why you broke into my room.

You know, you really nailed me

on that quotation in the Church.

You really did. I had to look it up.

And it wasn't Saint Thomas Aquinas.

It was Henry David Thoreau.

The name of the priest was Kelly, not Sweeney.

Bad connection.

Who are you? What are you?

Well, I'm not a burglar.

And you're not a priest.

I think that's been fairly well established.

The truth: I work for the DSS.

Internal Affairs.

We're the watchdog division

that keeps the rest of the department honest.

I don't suppose you could show me some identification.

Well, yes, I could,

but it all says that I'm father Patrick Francis.

Just call me Francis.

Is that your real name?

No. Now, you see?

I'm being perfectly honest with you.

And since you penetrated my cover,

you're going to have to trust me.

Why?

Well, now, that's a good question.

How about because I work for the government?

Do you trust everyone

who works for the government?

If I did, I wouldn't be here.

Look, can we talk outside?

In my business, even the walls have ears.

Not to mention the tables, the chairs, the lamps.

All right.

I'll listen but only with people around.

Good. Deal. Name the place.

I know that this has

something to do with the safe house.

But how is that possible?

You find that bewildering?

Well, for the very good reason that I met you

before I even knew about the safe house.

- Let's sit. - Okay.

Now...

now, what is this all about?

From the very beginning, please.

Last week, Adams called Internal Affairs

and told me he had reason to suspect a traitor

at the safe house.

So I ran a check on each member of the security team.

Jackson, with his seniority,

shunted aside when Adams, a younger man,

was put in charge.

Now he's acting chief.

Van Buren, Ivy League emeritus,

a real hotshot when he was recruited

off a college campus eight years ago

but lacking the potential for leadership.

Pierce, the new recruit, who'd rather follow orders

than be forced to make a decision.

And Ellen Cosgrove.

You see, a female presence was necessary

for the Mr. And Mrs. Cosgrove cover.

Maybe they should have picked someone less attractive.

She and Adams developed a thing.

So each with a minor snag, a little pull in the wool,

but nothing that says traitor.

There are two more men in the house.

One I presume to be the honored guest

and the other is his personal bodyguard.

Yeah. Right.

Sanchez is bodyguard, factotum, and gofer...

all rolled into one very unpleasant package.

But he's fiercely loyal to Delgado, the rebel leader,

who's in this country to seek additional US dollars

to help pay for the overthrow of his government,

which came in during the last revolution.

And there is a strong suspicion in certain quarters

that some of the money from the past

is being siphoned off to a Swiss bank account

for Delgado's personal retirement fund.

That's, uh-- that's all very interesting.

But at the moment, I'm more concerned

with what happened to Mr. Adams.

Yeah, okay, so Adams called me late yesterday afternoon

and said he'd been contacted by an informant

who offered to turn over evidence

that would reveal the traitor.

Adams arranged to meet him secretly

at Trinity College last night,

and he told me that he hadn't confided his plans to anyone.

It just didn't smell right to me.

So I persuaded Adams to wear a sending device

so I could track him.

And since he was meeting this guy at a catholic college,

I decided to wear my priest getup.

You know, it's one of my favorite covers anyway.

People just glance at the collar,

and they don't notice the face.

I doused my lights when I got into the parking lot.

I saw Adams talking to the so-called informant.

After a moment, they got into the car and drove away.

I followed them at a safe distance,

out of sight, but well within

range of the tracking device.

But the device suddenly stopped sending

as I was crossing a bridge over the Connecticut River.

And I retraced my path without any luck.

So I stayed in the area of the last transmission,

hoping that I would pick up the signal again,

but it never returned.

And then I saw the informant's car.

So I tailed him back into the city,

only to see him crash in front of your hotel.

Ah, so that's why I saw a priest

just when I needed one.

I only wish I could have had a few minutes

with the hit man before he died,

to find out who hired him.

I mean, which member of the security team

picked his name from the department's list?

List?

Of professional assassins?

Copied from another agency.

These things have a way of making the rounds.

Francis, what do you want of me?

I mean, surely not information, because mine is very limited.

Well, you see, being a shoofly with Internal Affairs

has its drawbacks.

Oh?

You see, if I walked into the safe house

and identified myself, I'll never get any answers.

They'll just close ranks.

But you've been there,

and you've met most of the people in the unit.

- You can't be serious. - You have access.

And you can use your mystery novelist acumen

to pick up on things.

So you've checked me out too.

Yes, I have. Why? Does that bother you?

Okay, when this is over, you remind me,

and whatever you don't like,

I'll just pluck out of the file,

and it will be as if it never happened.

Jessica, I want you to find out

what's going on in that safe house,

and I want you to share it with me.

In other words, you want me to spy on others

so that you can fill their files?

My answer to that is: No, thank you.

No, please, wait. Let's talk.

Absolutely not.

Now, look, I gave you my answer,

and I'm not gonna change my mind.

Uh, what?

Oh, yes, Mr. Secretary.

I recall meeting you at the cocktail party

at the State Department.

Well, it's very nice talking to you, Mr. Secretary.

Don't get me wrong, Jessica.

I don't expect an Academy Award performance.

Just be yourself,

only a little more so to throw them off balance.

Well, even if I knew what that meant,

I wouldn't know how to do it.

No, please, don't sweat it. You'll be terrific.

Oh, yeah, I almost forgot.

I have a little-- I have a little gift for you.

A lipstick?

How did you know my shade?

It was in your file.

Only this is not a real lipstick.

You twist the bottom clockwise,

and it starts a beeper, an emergency beeper.

For what sort of an emergency?

Whatever comes up.

But don't worry. Our receivers will be close by.

That's not terribly reassuring.

Yeah, this is where I get out.

All right, good luck, Jessica.

And hang on to that beeper.

- Good morning. - Good morning.

I thought you'd be packing.

I would have been out of here,

but Jackson ordered me to stay

until Washington sends my replacement.

Where you going?

I won't know until I receive my orders.

Jackson's report will be less than glowing.

Well, if you need somebody to put in a good word for you...

Thanks.

Will you look who's back.

Can you believe that lady?

Hello.

I don't know if you remember me.

I'm Jessica Fletcher.

I'd love to see your new acting chief.

Yes, Ma'am. You can go right on in.

Your name's on the list.

Oh, it is?

Her name is on the list?

I think Jackson must have had

too many marshmallows in his cocoa.

Mr. Jackson, you were right.

I do want to write about your safe house.

I knew it.

A lovely home, deceptively suburban on the outside,

but on the inside,

a veritable hotbed of international intrigue.

You know, my publisher thinks it can be a big best-seller.

With your help, of course.

My help?

Tell me, how many top secret guests

can you accommodate during a season?

This is incredible.

Mrs. Fletcher, now, I know that you have

excellent contacts in Washington.

One of them called me this morning.

But I think this is hardly the time

to polish the image of the department

with a chatty little book.

All the polish in the world won't put a shine on it

when Adams' murder gets out.

You're supposed to be watching Delgado.

Not to worry. I traded with Pierce.

Without checking with me first?

Oh, I keep forgetting you're in charge.

Mr. Jackson, it must be very stressful

to carry the burden of leadership

when it's thrust on you.

"Thrust"?

You're talking about a man who lusted after the job.

I don't think this is the time or the place,

and I was the senior man.

Adams was younger and smarter,

and they passed you by to pick him.

Just as Mrs. Cosgrove did to you?

Speaking of someone who lusted.

And I suppose she never turned you on.

Well, I'm beginning to see your point, Mrs. Fletcher.

This place does have all the elements

of a cheap novel.

Hello.

That police sergeant is here,

and he insists on talking to you

about a new development in Adams' murder.

I assume you're interested.

Let Sergeant Cooper come in.

Well, let everybody in. Let's have a party.

Get the door.

Ooh, conflict. Your kind of stuff.

Right, Mrs. Fletcher?

Well I...

Look out!

Sanchez, tell me something,

when your comandante sleeps this late back home,

do you bring coffee and croissants to his cave?

Ignorante.

Mrs. Fletcher, what are you doing here?

Well, I suppose you could call it research.

Sergeant, I believe your business is with me.

Something about a new development

- in the case or what? - Yeah.

I ran your friend Adams' prints

through a computer check. Guess what?

He's got a rap sheet about a yard long.

And he's the guy who was in charge here.

What are you talking about?

I'm talking about arraignment for counterfeiting,

breaking and entering, assault with a deadly weapon.

- You want more? - That old stuff...

it should have been excised from the file long ago.

It was a cover from a previous assignment.

A cover? What was he pretending to be?

A one-man crime wave?

Comandante!

Wake up!

Sanchez? What's wrong?

Murderers! You've killed him!

The comandante's dead!

Stay there! Don't leave!

I can't help you

with any of Adams' past assignments.

It's confidential information.

Delgado is dead. Somebody got him.

That's not possible.

Oh, yeah?

Surround the house. Now.

Let's go.

You figure out how to get 'em in!

Yes, I need a homicide team.

I need prints. I need lab.

I need the whole package.

How could you possibly not see

what was going on inside Delgado's room?

You're sitting in front of a window.

Sitting for a long time watching a man sleeping.

Did you fall asleep, Pierce?

I'm sorry, Sir. I didn't mean to.

It just happened.

You were on probation.

The other times, it was late at night.

That's why it seemed like a good idea

to take my shift in the morning,

so that I could sleep first.

Only, it didn't work.

Neither did a thermos of black coffee.

I just conked off.

I guess I deserve whatever punishment I get.

Don't give me red tape!

I have a stiff upstairs that belongs to homicide.

Okay.

So how long do you suppose you were conked out?

Okay, just hold it. Hold it.

I know you're probably a big shot up in Washington,

but this is my precinct, and I will ask the questions.

Please, go ahead. I share.

Thank you.

- Your name Pierce? - Yes, Sir.

All right, Pierce.

When you woke up from your little snooze,

what did you see in the bedroom?

Sanchez leaning over Delgado.

- Doing what? - Kind of shaking him.

Was Sanchez facing the mirror?

No, Ma'am. His back was to me.

With his hands on Señor Delgado's shoulder.

I couldn't see his hands.

So his hands could have been around Delgado's neck,

and he could have been choking him to death

right in front of you.

Did you see anyone else come in the room?

No, Sir, I didn't.

But I didn't see Sanchez come in either.

He was there when I opened my eyes.

- Sergeant? - What?

We have to talk.

Pierce, I want to see you in my office.

Yes, Sir.

Señor Sanchez, could you hear what was said in there?

Most of it. I even understood some of it.

What didn't you understand?

The young man. In my country,

he would have been shot for falling asleep on duty.

You are obviously a very loyal person.

But I wonder if you are as loyal to the revolution

as you are to your comandante.

I would have walked through fire for him.

Even if you thought he was getting rich

on the money that should have been spent

on food and arms for your country?

That's a lie! He was a good man!

He would not steal from his people!

Jessica, please. I would stay away from this man.

Yeah, this is the only guy who could have

gotten close enough to Delgado to strangle him.

Mr. Sanchez couldn't see through the two-way mirror.

He didn't even know if he was asleep.

That's true, but he was the only man--

But doesn't it seem foolish that Sanchez

would risk killing Delgado in front of someone

who might be watching?

Foolish or not, it happened. Take him into the storeroom.

And watch him!

Yes, but what still bothers me is that it wouldn't

link this murder to the murder of Adams.

And I am absolutely convinced that there is a link.

And they call this a safe house.

Adams wouldn't have let this happen.

I wonder if that was why he was eliminated.

From what I've heard, your Mr. Adams

was very thorough and very conscientious.

He was.

He also cared about people and their feelings.

So why didn't he tell me where he was going

the night he was killed?

I don't think he meant to hurt you.

I think he wanted to prevent any possibility of a leak

by not confiding in anyone.

What? What is it?

I think I know who killed him...

and Delgado.

You wanted to see me?

I thought Sergeant Cooper

would have sealed the murder room.

He did.

But I persuaded him to open it so that I could test a theory.

Will you help me?

Sure, I love games. What do I have to do?

Just express your opinion.

I can handle that.

I was film critic on my college newspaper.

Roll it.

I believe that the killer was assigned to the safe house,

where he possibly felt that he'd reached a dead end.

That would make him restless

and maybe looking for something better.

Well, that was Jackson's frame of mind.

The timing was right for someone

from Delgado's country to contact him.

I'd imagine a large sum of American money was offered

for the assassination of Delgado.

But first, the killer had to get rid of Adams,

who kept a very watchful eye on the safe house,

and that meant contacting a hit man.

Well, Jackson did have access to the department's list.

Oh, you know about that?

I heard about it.

- How did he sucker Adams? - With a scenario.

First he stirred up suspicion of treachery in the ranks.

And then he told the hit man to call Adams

and offer information about the traitor,

naming a secret meeting place.

Real cute.

I didn't know Jackson had it in him.

Mr. Van Buren,

we both know we're not talking about Jackson.

You're the one they contacted.

You're the one who set it up.

Who's in the room behind the mirror,

the cop or the shoofly?

Both.

Well, I'm sorry to have wasted your time, gentlemen.

She's got the wrong boy.

I'd be very surprised.

The proof came from a very reliable source.

Really?

- What source? - You, Mr. Van Buren.

Something you said to Jackson about Adams.

Meeting with somebody he didn't know

in a strange parking lot was stupid.

You should have stopped him.

Since Adams didn't tell anyone but Francis

where he was going, only the hit man

and the person who set up the meeting

could know that Adams was meeting a stranger

in a parking lot.

And I suppose I killed Delgado

with Pierce sitting there behind the mirror watching.

No. I'm sure you didn't.

Is she saying he didn't do it?

Listen.

You set up Pierce in advance,

probably by drugging his coffee every night

and making sure he'd be caught sleeping on duty.

And last night, you increased the dose.

It won't wash.

I can account for every minute

of my time while Pierce was on duty.

You didn't kill him during Pierce's shift.

You did it earlier, during yours.

You switched with Pierce,

letting him take the morning shift,

telling him you were doing him a favor

so he'd have less trouble staying awake.

Actually, you wanted the night shift

so you would be there when Delgado fell asleep.

That way, you could approach him

without fear of anyone seeing you

choke the life out of him.

After you pulled up the blankets

so it would look like he was sleeping,

you returned to the room behind the mirror

and waited for Pierce to come on duty.

Later, when Sanchez found the body,

Pierce admitted he'd been asleep.

Everyone assumed the murder had taken place

during Pierce's shift.

Well,

your theory turned out to be better than I thought.

Why did you do it?

She got it right. For the money.

Or would you prefer I did it because I believed in a cause?

Either way, it was murder.

I finished dictating my statement,

and I'm ready to leave, finally.

Yeah, well, sorry to see you go.

By the way, your Washington friend,

Mr. Francis, called, and he said--

Cooper. I can't talk now, Norma.

He said Van Buren is talking his head off

about the people who paid him to kill Delgado

and a lot of--

Uh, isn't your wife's name Norma?

Yeah. Why?

Oh!

Trace that call!