All language subtitles for MrSWr520 000000

Randolph is old enough to be your father.

At least let him live long enough

to dole out our meal money before you give him a heart attack.

Tonight on Murder, She Wrote.

Hell of a hit, Mike. You must have swung with your eyes open.

I got each of you boys a fair amount of money to play ball this year.

So that’s what you do, you play ball.

I hope you don’t think that I’m...

- butting in here. - Butt away, ma’am.

If you’re so interested in male anatomy,

I can give you a good look at mine - all of it.

Yes, that’s right.

I’m trying to reach my nephew Johnny Eaton.

But he couldn’t have checked out yesterday.

No. No, I told him that when I finish my writers’ seminar here in Scottsdale,

I’d drive over to Tucson and watch him in spring training.

Yes. Yes, I understand.

Thank you.

- Good morning. - Good morning.

Your, uh, car to Tucson is ready when you are, Mrs. Fletcher.

Well, I’m afraid I’ve had a change of plan.

There’s a noon flight to Boston that I’d like to catch.

Yes, ma’am. I’ll have the concierge call and make a reservation for you.

Wait. Did you see this?

Did I see it?

This is my nephew on the front page.

Your nephew is Mike Warlop?

No, my nephew is Johnny Eaton.

Warlop’s the best hitter my Comets have had in 20 years,

and they go and trade him for these two nobodies.

Nobodies?

- Oh, uh, no offense. - Just a moment.

This says that they train here in Scottsdale.

Yes, ma’am. Comets always stay in this inn.

Ballplayers are good tippers. At least the stars are.

Listen to me. "Traded" does not mean "let go."

The Comets really wanted you guys very badly this year. Remember that.

Al, what they wanted was the five million in cash.

We’re just the " two players to be named later" who was named now.

I lost the glove I pitched my triple-a no-hitter with.

- What do I do, Al? - What do you do?

What do you do? You play ball.

I got you two guys a fair amount of money to play ball this year,

so that’s what you do, you go out and play ball,

whether you make the Comets’ major league roster

or they send you down to a farm club.

- I heard the Comet fans boo at funerals. - Listen. This swap makes sense.

Mike Warlop is 35 years old.

That shoulder injury he got last season sat him down for a month.

Not since Campy and Newcombe have I seen battery mates like you two guys.

Why don’t you prove it? Show me what you got.

Come on, Charley. Let’s play ball.

It’s gonna be weird seeing Mike Warlop in a Titan uniform this afternoon.

Trading Mike for two guys you never heard of...

nothing lasts forever, I guess.

Damn owner keeps up this youth movement,

I won’t last till Fourth of July fireworks night.

Hey, look. The young guys are out.

Well, well.

Looks like the two guys on the front page of the Scottsdale herald.

Welcome aboard, fellas. I’m Pete Briggs.

Johnny Eaton.

- Hey, Johnny. - Charley Holcombe. I’m a catcher.

K-Kel! You’ve always been griping about

catching both ends of a double-header.

- Well, help’s on the way. - Wake me when it gets here.

Kel has a fear of young catchers

who can squat and get up without help from the umpire.

Come on. I’ll introduce you to the brains of the organization.

- Mr. Randolph, the owner? - No. Harry Dial, the manager.

Harry Dial? Maybe we ought to change first.

Relax, Johnny. Harry’s temper is just eyewash for the press.

Hey, Skip! Look here.

Fresh blood.

With this that publicity hound Randolph expects me to win a pennant?

I must be stupid.

I thought I was gonna set a club record by lasting a full season.

Now you hold on there a second, Sir.

My roomie’s fastball has been clocked at 95 miles an hour.

And the bus that’ll take you two bozos

back to the minors was clocked at 110.

Cover yourselves. Female on premises.

Okay, get it out of your system, fellas.

This is going to be a daily occurrence.

Meet this season’s new TV pregame show hostess.

Let’s see.

Johnny Eaton, 16 and 6 last year with Evanston. Big fastball, so-so curve.

Not bad.

Charley Holcombe, 112 ribbies, 22 homers.

You did your homework, miss Lee.

I called the Titans for your stats, and your hometown papers.

Well, I’d like to talk ribbies with you anytime, ma’am.

Loretta.

Loretta, I’ve told you before,

front-office personnel are not allowed in here.

Aw, Harry.

How’d you like to be my guest on the first TV pregame show

we’re sending back home?

Your guest? Oh, I get it.

Let me give you an education about something, young lady.

Around here, ERA means "earned run average,"

not "equal rights amendment."

Catch up with the world, Harry.

Mr. Randolph’s making changes on the broadcast team and on the field.

Maybe even managerial.

Randolph is old enough to be your father.

At least let him live long enough to dole out our meal money

before you give him a heart attack.

Look, I take myself seriously, Harry.

Maybe you should too.

All right. Good throw.

For you Comet fans, a reminder

that Wednesday is button day.

Your favorite Comets on free buttons with every paid admission.

And Mike Warlop buttons for sale in the parking lot.

No trades accepted.

Get your ice-cold beer here.

Your favorite snacks and Comets t-shirts for sale

at the snack bars.

Go get ’em, Comets fans.

- Jessica, there you are. - Johnny, no. You’re here.

I was already in Scottsdale.

Oh, Johnny, you know, your mother and your family we’re all just delighted.

The paper said this trade could be a big opportunity.

Well, the sportswriters don’t have to play for Harry Dial.

- Oh, who’s Harry Dial? - Hey, Eaton!

Quit jabberin’ and get your butt in gear,

or you and your aunt Minnie’ll owe me six laps around the field.

Maybe we should have dinner later at the hotel?

Yeah.

Get your bats and helmets. Bats and helmets.

- Excuse me. You must be Mrs. Fletcher. - Yes?

Yes. Your nephew told me that we would be sitting together. I’m Al Sidell.

- Oh, how do you do? - How do you do?

You and Rex Stout are the ones that keep me awake

when I travel the minor league motel circuit.

- Very enjoyable company indeed. - Well, thank you.

Uh, are you with the Comets?

Oh, no, no. The hat? No, I just bought that.

See, I used to be a sportswriter, and a couple of years ago

I was doing a magazine piece on life in the minor leagues.

That’s when I discovered your nephew and Charley Holcombe.

Oh, yes, of course.

You’re the man who got Johnny and his catcher their first pro contract.

Well, yeah, if you call a year in Arkansas

for meal and haircut money a pro contract, I’ll go along.

There’s the manager. Have you met him?

Well, he has, uh, spoken to me.

Harry, the question everyone’s asking:

can a triple-a pitcher and an unproven catcher

make up for the loss of a veteran slugger?

Well, you fans back home read my lips.

Come next October, you’ll be dancing in the streets.

We’ll be right back with the starting lineups

after a word from Sugarfoot Radial Tires.

Admit it, Skip. She’s better-looking than the guy we had last season.

Hey, Roz!

Hi, baby! Go get ’em.

That’s Pete Briggs. Lifetime 306 hitter.

308. I’m Roz, Pete’s wife.

Hiya. And this is Kel’s wife, Nancy.

You’re sitting in the family section, Sugar.

Right where I belong. I’m Johnny Eaton’s aunt.

You been down since camp opened?

I have. Some of the boys

need a little help resisting those baseball Annies.

- Baseball Annies, huh? - Yeah.

That’s the women who find ballplayers attractive,

in or out of uniform.

- What I meant... - I know what you meant, Al.

What is that scoreboard flashing?

That’s WP, wild pitch.

- Steam it by. - Come on, Johnny.

Callin’ for that fastball,

it was like the manager or Kel

wanted Johnny to throw the homer to Warlop on purpose.

Maybe to show Johnny up.

Look at ’em over there. Probably laughing at me.

Replaying it ain’t gonna change that pitch.

Look, folks, I’m sorry, but I’m beat.

I got a 20-minute drive back to my motel.

Oh, you’re not staying here?

Mr. Randolph is not responsible for my accommodations.

There’s one good thing about the Cactus Motel.

The maids don’t barge in in the morning to change your sheets.

- Good night, all. - Good night.

Well, it’s three more here with the Titans,

then we travel to Yuma.

You makin’ the trip?

I only got here this morning, honey,

and that’s the second time you’ve asked me if I’m going to Yuma.

It’s just hard for me to entertain you, honey.

My mind’s only on making contact at the plate.

So where’d she come from?

You just make sure you make contact at the plate.

Okay, honey? No place else.

Frankly, Loretta, I wasn’t thrilled by your inference

that I got the shaft in the Titans trade.

Well, I’m sorry, Mr. Randolph, but I’m not sure

whether being strapped for cash

or his calling you Mussolini in the papers

are reason enough to unload him.

The man hit ten less homers last year than ever before.

He’s a broken-down plug, Loretta, and I got five mil for him,

plus a couple of fresh, young colts.

Now, why would the Titans want a broken-down plug, hmm?

Or is there something I’m missing?

You weren’t wearing this last year.

You’ve got a choice to make, my dear.

You can go back to peddling mop-up relief pitchers

at sneaker store openings,

or you can enjoy giving the fans the starting lineup.

When I’m a million-a-year network sports anchor,

the fans can get their own starting lineups.

- Hello again. - Oh, hello.

We met outside the clubhouse before today’s game.

Oh, yes, of course. I really like the way you handle your show.

Thank you.

I know this is gonna sound corny, but I really admire you.

- Me? - Well, the hours that you put in

to make it in a man’s world. I put in those hours, too,

even if the things I know about broken-down plugs

and fresh colts can’t be aired,

at least, not right away.

You know, I’m interviewing Johnny and Charley tomorrow,

and I’m just a little confused.

Now, where did they first play together?

Well, I’m-I’m not sure, professionally,

but I can tell you that Johnny was unbeatable

at Herbert Hoover high school in Waterloo, Iowa.

Actually, it’s Charley I’m stuck on.

Oh. Yes, well, he is, uh, bubbling over with boyish charm.

Mrs. Fletcher, baseball isn’t a game about charm.

It’s a game about statistics.

Aha!

- Hey, nice out, cowboy. - Yeah.

Irving, I sure hope your pitchers love me in September as they did today.

Hell of a hit, Mike. You must have swung with your eyes open.

Say, what is this, Loretta?

Suddenly you’re no longer into community relations.

Relations were always your best stat.

Any plans after dinner?

I’m making some calls, Mike. I’m a working girl.

Oh, no argument there.

The lady said no, thank you. Knock it off, Irving.

- I don’t take orders from you anymore. - Hey, big Mike.

A guy with your salary ought to be able

to find some lady in the bar for the evening.

Oh, you mean that all the girls in here

have already been bought.

- Watch out! - Mike.

Somebody call the cops.

Take it easy, Mike. Relax, relax, relax. Relax, Mike.

Please call the police.

You better come with me, ma’am.

He’s killing Mr. Randolph.

From what I hear, that’s not possible. Let’s get out of here.

You feelin’ better now, miss Lee?

A lot better, thank you.

Uh, I don’t suppose that you got a soda handy, do ya?

I sure do. Come on in, big fella.

Anything pretty as you in Arkansas

was usually on the other side of the state line.

You know, Charley,

you have that Lil' Abner routine down pretty good.

But aren’t you a little too young?

Why? How old do you think I am, ma’am?

The Titans’ media guy has you down at 23.

Mm-hmm. Well, Arkansas boys, they grow up kind of fast.

What about you Mississippi boys?

Oh, uh, well, most of the time, Arkansas girls throw them back.

You know, Charley, if I had to guess,

I’d put you at 25 or 26.

I don’t suppose you ever played for a manager named Flip Phillips.

No.

No, I-I never heard of him.

Listen, ma’am, I just remembered. I got 11:00 curfew.

Oh, well, then we have almost two hours.

But I promised Johnny I’d go over the hitters with him.

Excuse me.

Miss Lee?

Miss Lee, the bus is leaving.

Oh, Mrs. Fletcher, I’m looking for Loretta Lee.

So I heard.

We haven’t actually met. My name is Avery Burns.

I’m the team’s traveling secretary.

How do you do?

She was supposed to be downstairs 15 minutes ago.

She’s gonna miss the bus to the field.

I sure hope there’s nothing wrong.

Well, maybe she started down earlier by herself. Or maybe she overslept.

Excuse me, miss. Could you open this door for me, please?

Oh, Lord!

Yeah, I bagged everything.

What time did you get here?

I got here about a half hour ago.

- Half hour ago? - Oh, I don’t know. You know how it is.

Mrs. Fletcher?

Did you see anyone enter or leave this room,

or did you hear some kind of a fight?

No, I’m sorry, Lieutenant Caseras.

But miss Lee was alive last night at 9:00,

because I saw her leaving the restaurant.

- Oh? Alone? - With Charley Holcombe.

They were having some sort of row at their table.

Oh! Yeah. Holcombe.

One of those two rookie nobodies in the trade.

One of the players in the trade.

Yeah. I read about the brawl in the morning paper.

Wouldn’t be the first time Warlop and Randolph got into it over some woman.

Lieutenant, the dress that miss Lee was wearing

is the same one that she wore last night.

However, her rather eye-catching necklace is missing.

No kiddin’? Come here a second.

Empty credit card case. Missing necklace. Drawers open.

Looks like she surprised a burglar, there was a fight, and she was killed

when she hit her head on the table here.

Oh. And I’d better alert the credit card company.

Lieutenant, I wonder how this sliver of glass got here.

No. No glass broken during the struggle.

Maid must have missed it with the vacuum.

Could have been there a day, a week.

Maybe not.

Better bag it with the other evidence.

Lieutenant, the lab fella says

he’s got two sets of fingerprints to work with.

Okay. Then let’s wrap it up. Get that, would you?

Why waste electricity?

All right, you guys go downtown, and I’ll hang around...

I’m Lieutenant Caseras.

Look. Murder’s a messy business.

I’m sure a lot of you guys are probably a little uneasy.

First of all, I want you to know that, uh, I’m one of you.

A few years back I played semi-pro ball, flagstaff flames,

until a knee injury forced me to hang ’em up.

So I know what you’re going through.

First you lose a shot at some pennant money

in that so-called trade.

Now this. So...

Charley Holcombe.

Let’s you and me talk, son.

You say you took her to her door last night,

but you didn’t go in her room.

No, Sir. I just met her yesterday.

One of my officers found this matchbook on her coffee table.

That’s from the Tucson plaza.

Three days ago you were in Titan training in Tucson,

and that’s where you stayed, huh?

I-I must have forgot.

I did go in, but just to have a smoke.

Just a smoke.

And maybe, while you were polluting your lungs,

you made a pass, huh?

Things got a little rough when she said no? Huh?

Sure, I tried, but she turned me down.

You want my thinkin’ on it, Sir?

She’s Mr. Randolph’s private reserve.

Course, he’s old enough to be her granddaddy.

Plowboy.

You should have stayed a Titan,

in more ways than one.

But that makes no sense.

I mean, why would the Lieutenant single out Charley?

Because he walked her to her room?

All I can say is, Charley’s real shook up.

Look, I know it’s gonna affect the way he plays,

but that’s not the most important thing.

I mean, this guy’s my buddy, and I’m worried about him.

Well, yes, I can understand that.

Aunt Jess, I know you were gonna fly back tonight,

but the way things are, do you think you could stick around?

Just until we get this thing with Charley settled?

All right. I was planning to come to the game today anyway.

Maybe I’ll stumble across something that will help.

Oh, thanks, aunt Jess.

And with you there today, I know we’re gonna do real well.

And at the end of three, Titans 7, Comets 0.

- Hi. - Oh, hi.

Wow. 7-zip already, huh?

Well, at least Johnny and Charley haven’t caused the damage.

Listen, I just heard about that Loretta Lee death

on my car radio. What’s going on?

- Do they think it’s some kind of a nut? - I wish I knew.

My room was right across the hall from hers,

so the police questioned me,

but I didn’t see or hear anything.

Just goes to show, you gotta be lucky just to be alive.

I had a hell of an auto accident last night right near my motel.

Were you hurt?

No, I’m fine. Just my wallet is gonna need major medical.

I ran right into a telephone pole.

Cop had to come, call a tow truck, get me out of a ditch.

Eaton. Let’s see how you handle a bat.

Now batting for the Comets, Johnny Eaton.

- Hey. - Cover third. Cover third.

What does that mean out there on the scoreboard?

Where?

The letters PB.

Oh, that means passed ball.

You’re out!

Eaton hits into a double play,

doubling up Costego and breaking his bat in the process.

Really sawed it off.

Next up for the Comets, Pete Briggs.

Where’s my bat?

Hey, rookie!

Thanks a lot, man. You used my bat.

What was all that about?

Pitchers don’t use hitters’ bats.

Sorry, man. It’s not like the game counts.

I’ll find another one. It won’t happen again, Sir.

My. That is quite a dent.

Yeah. I couldn’t be satisfied with a rerun of Quincy.

I had to go out for a beer and some conversation.

Johnny, don’t worry about it. Tomorrow is another day.

Yeah, the day I get shipped down to the minors.

What is wrong with me?

I lose my glove. I throw a home-run ball to Mike Warlop.

Today I kill a rally and break Pete’s bat, and now the old soup bone’s sore.

Soup bone?

Yeah, that’s his arm. Did you tell the trainer?

Tell him what, that I’m a Jonah?

Listen. Every athlete has his off day.

You’re no jinx.

No, aunt Jess?

I show up, I say hello to a woman, I shake her hand, and she ends up dead.

Johnny, that’s ridiculous. Look, you’ve worked far too hard

to entrust your future to omens and curses.

Come on. Let’s go get a bite to eat. What do you say?

You go ahead. I don’t feel like eating.

Doesn’t feel like eating? That kid is sick.

Yeah, 9:00 Wednesday, department two. Don’t forget. Write it down.

Okay. Good-bye.

Mrs. Fletcher. Well, well, well. What brings you here?

Well, it’s my nephew Johnny Eaton.

He’s suffering from a terrible feeling of guilt.

Yeah. I can understand how lousy he must feel

killing the Comets’ pennant chances this season.

Lieutenant, I’m not talking about baseball.

He feels responsible for Loretta’s killing.

Oh. Oh!

He feels that he’s brought nothing but bad luck

ever since he put on a Comets uniform.

Yeah. I know.

He should have never used Pete’s bat today.

Look, excuse me, I-I hate to put a damper on this conversation with rationality,

but could we just set baseball aside for just a moment?

Have you found out anything new about miss Lee’s killing?

Well, we lifted two sets of prints from her hotel room.

I guess that’s progress.

One’s hers, we’re still trying to run down the other pair.

And the autopsy report said she was killed around midnight.

Ah. And has the necklace turned up?

No, and you know, that’s a funny thing.

When we alerted the credit card companies that the cards were stolen,

not one had reported any charges

made from the time of the theft to the time we reported it.

- Some bad coffee? - Oh, no, no, no. No, thank you.

Lieutenant, I hope you don’t think that I’m butting in here.

Butt away, ma’am.

Well, it’s about her television set.

It was on this morning, but it was tuned to a pay-movie channel.

Yes, ma’am.

Well, that sort of contradicts your theory.

Well, I mean, to be surprised,

she would have had to have left the room

and then come back and then found the intruder.

Right. And why would she pay for a movie if she’s going out?

Well, what is far more likely is that she was sitting there watching the movie,

somebody came to the door - somebody that she knew -

and so she very willingly let them in.

I’ll call the hotel,

find out what time she put on the pay-movie channel.

There’s just one other thing, Lieutenant.

This morning, I couldn’t help but notice

that you removed a piece of paper from Loretta’s nightstand.

You mean this?

It’s the phone number of a bail bondsman in Mississippi.

His office took a call. He was out.

And whoever it was, left Loretta’s hotel phone number.

When he called back, she was already dead.

He doesn’t know why she called.

And neither do I.

But cheer up.

We’re making progress.

So I’m sittin’ in the press box,

covering the old New York Giants for the old New York Telegram.

It’s the bottom of the ninth.

Bobby Thompson comes up against the Dodgers’ Ralph Branca,

with the pennant on the line.

- Bobby Thompson swings-- - Who’s Bobby Thompson?

"Who’s Bobby Thompson?"

The Giants were once in New York?

I don’t believe you guys.

Excuse me, Harry.

What do you say, Lieutenant? Belly up to the bar. I’ll buy you a drink.

Thanks anyway. I’m on duty.

Look. I have to know the whereabouts of your players last night

around midnight, give or take an hour.

What do I look like, a babysitter? Let me tell you something.

Any of those clowns are not in their room by 11:00, it’s a thousand-dollar fine.

Now, the second time, it’s five grand.

The third time...

well, I figure the broad is really worth it,

and I get to keep the phone number myself.

Well, did you assess any fines last night?

In this quiet burg? I was asleep by 11:00.

If you’re asleep, how you gonna catch anybody?

For what it’s worth, Lieutenant,

- Roz and I went to bed around 11:00. - I can vouch for that.

And like the Skip says, in a town like this,

what are you gonna do that’s worth a thousand-dollar fine?

Especially when your wife’s in town.

Lieutenant?

Excuse me.

Mrs. Fletcher? Thought you might like to know,

you know that second set of prints we were working on?

Well, we found them on a glass.

On that tiny piece that I found on the rug?

No, ma’am. On a drinking glass.

With a little help from the FBI computers, we made a match.

Prints belong to a guy who jumped bail in Mississippi

two years ago on an assault charge.

His name is Freddie Masters.

Well, I sure hope you find that guy. I liked that lady.

Oh, we found him.

Masters changed his name, lied about his age, his background.

Nowadays he calls himself Charley Holcombe.

Charley? No, wait a minute. That’s impossible. It’s not Charley.

Loretta found out about your past, son.

On her nightstand she had the number of the bail bondsman you skipped out on.

Would you stand up, please, Mr. Masters?

I’m booking you on suspicion of murder.

I jumped bail, ’cause I was scared.

Ma’am, I never assaulted that woman back in Mississippi.

She picked me out of a lineup by mistake.

But Charley, you did leave your room after curfew last night, didn’t you?

Yes, ma’am. I-I couldn’t go down to the lounge.

I might have got spotted and fined,

so I just drove till I found a little bar.

I gave some girls my autograph, and I had a couple beers.

Well, that’s not a bad alibi, if you can prove it.

Well, sure I can. The name of the place was, uh, Take A Chance Saloon,

or the Last Chance Saloon, something like that.

Hey, I remember somebody I seen there that night.

Maybe I shouldn’t say nothin’.

Charley, you’re facing a murder charge.

He never saw me, you understand. I... Oh, I-I don’t know, ma’am.

You know, if this come out, he could get fined and...

Heck, ma’am, the thing is, is I copied my swing after him.

For heavens sakes, who?

Pete Briggs.

Really?

Well, then he lied at the bar, and his wife backed him up.

You know, there’s another thing.

Just before she was killed, Loretta tried to pump me for information,

and one thing she said I didn’t understand at all.

Something about a-a broken-down plug being traded for two fresh colts.

"Broken-down plug"?

Well, that just means an old veteran who’s hobbled with injuries.

Like Mike Warlop?

Al told me that he missed a whole month last season with a separated shoulder.

Oh, yes, ma’am. Onliest way I can figure it is Mr. Randolph and Mr. Dial,

they-they thought Mike was through, so they dumped him.

I suppose they’d have medical records for something like that.

Oh, yes, ma’am. But why do you ask?

Well, something inside keeps telling me

that this big trade isn’t everything that it’s cracked up to be.

Aunt Jess, would you please?

As soon as Johnny told me about his arm,

I just knew that I had to call his mother.

- How serious is it, doctor? - Well, first of all, it’s just "Doc."

I’m not a doctor, but I know quite a bit about sports and medicine.

Now, you take Johnny here.

He just threw too hard the other day,

so I had the official team doctor take some precautionary x-rays.

Would he be a real MD?

Oh, it’s just that you hear such terrible stories

about overlooked injuries and, uh, misdiagnoses.

Mrs. Fletcher, what we do here is state of the art,

from me up to the team surgeon.

And yes, ma’am, he is a real MD.

Oh, yes, I’m sure. Still and all...

Let me show you something. Come with me, please.

Now, I’ve got some x-rays here of Johnny’s shoulder taken two days ago.

Now, these are all shots of the other team players.

Now, you see right here we’ve got some bone spurs.

This area right here. Can you see that?

Now, that causes inflammation of the bursa sac, which causes bursitis.

Now, I’ll show you some shots of Mike Warlop’s shoulder.

You see this here? It’s separated there.

But on this one it’s healed. See that area there?

Now I’ll show you a picture

of Johnny’s shoulder - a torn rotator cuff -

when he played with the Titans’ farm system some time ago.

Oh, my. So Johnny’s arm follows him from team to team.

Oh, absolutely. No team ever trades for an athlete

without a complete medical history.

Hey, Doc, gimme a shot of cortisone or some ice--

Well, if it isn’t aunt Minnie, our visiting Candy Striper.

You know, lady, you hanging around this locker room

isn’t exactly good luck for this ball club.

- Told her that, Skip. - Oh, my.

There’s a very ugly-looking bruise you have on your shoulder, Mr. Dial.

That’s where that Warlop sucker punched me the other night.

Well, he certainly seemed in remarkably good shape

for a man who had a dislocated shoulder last season.

Doc was just showing me the x-rays.

Oh, he was, huh?

Now, look, lady. If you’re so interested in male anatomy,

I can give you a good look at mine...

all of it.

We know the boys fool around once in a while.

No, Charley wasn’t fooling around.

Then how come Loretta Lee is dead?

My husband may have made some mistakes in his life,

but even when he was pokin’ around

where he shouldn’t have been, nobody got hurt.

I’m sorry, Mr. Sidell.

I have no sympathy for Charley Holcombe. Excuse me.

I guess your husband’s real happy right now, right?

Now that his competition’s all locked up, his starter’s job is locked up too, huh?

Kind of looks that way.

Don’t it?

Here you go. Oh, Jessica.

Al, any luck with that attorney friend of yours?

Yeah, he’s gonna see Charley later this afternoon.

Good. Now, Caseras has confronted Pete about being gone the night of the murder,

- but Pete denies it flatly. - Mm-hmm.

So now the Lieutenant is even more convinced that Charley is lying.

And if it comes to a jury deciding between Pete and Charley,

Charley’s gonna be catching at the state pen.

All this business about the trade and Mike Warlop’s injury,

it just doesn’t smell right to me. Doc Evans showed me Mike’s medical file.

I noticed something unusual.

All of the Comets’ x-rays have the same lab color code,

except for Mike’s separated shoulder X-Ray.

Now, that seemed odd to me, so I called the lab.

They have absolutely no record of having developed any of Mike’s x-rays.

Faked x-rays to make a player look healthy for trade or sale bait.

I mean, supposing Loretta found out about that?

Supposing Loretta was going to tell the Titans.

Supposing Loretta was trying to blackmail Randolph,

and supposing that’s why she was killed.

That’s beautiful, Jessica.

Well, we’d better not celebrate until we have some proof.

We’re gonna need help on that,

- official help. - Okay.

"Shultz." "Lopez." "Tipton."

- It’s the one of Mike Warlop. - You think I don’t know that?

Mrs. Fletcher, I don’t know what you saw, or what you thought you saw.

But do you know how many x-rays of Mike Warlop we have in here?

Zilch-o.

But they were there.

Who left the damn lights on?

Lieutenant? What... What the hell’s goin’ on here?

I’m checking out a lead, Sir.

Uh, don’t worry. I have a warrant.

Maybe you can help me. Where are Mike Warlop’s x-rays?

X-rays?

How should I know? That’s Doc Evans’s department.

Well, I’m sorry, perhaps I misunderstood,

but I thought everything from trades

to turning lights off was your department.

We think maybe those x-rays were faked, and Loretta knew it.

You see what I’m driving at, Sir?

- If she even-- - All right, all right.

I don’t need an instant replay.

You’re right, Lieutenant. I made a tragic mistake.

I never should have let it happen.

I ordered Doc to destroy those X-Rays this afternoon,

after Harry Dial told me that Mrs. Fletcher here

was starting to poke around. The Titans wanted Warlop badly.

They were willing to pay five million, plus a couple of their top prospects.

But believe me, I didn’t cheat anybody. I not only showed them the x-rays,

I told them that they were faked.

That month that Warlop missed last season, there was nothing wrong with his shoulder.

He came to my office

and told me that he was having a serious problem with alcohol.

So I arranged for a month’s treatment at a private hospital

under an assumed name,

and I gave the press and the public the shoulder story.

So when the Titans asked to see his x-rays,

you were forced to reveal his drinking problem?

- Right. - I’ve heard of collusion in sports before,

but this guy takes the cake.

Warlop’s probably got a couple of good years left.

He’s also got a wife and two kids.

I-I know he can be a royal pain,

but he needed a friend, and I thought I owed him.

I thought her scoop was about Charley.

Him, we’ve already got behind bars.

Yes, but Lieutenant, you said

that Charley was at the bar the night that she was killed.

Sure, but nobody remembers exactly when.

He could have shown up after he killed Loretta.

- Lieutenant? - Hey. What do you say, Pete?

Your office told us where we could find you.

Look, uh, about the other night.

What Mrs. Fletcher said is right-- I mean, what Charley told her.

I did leave the hotel that night at around 11:00.

- And did you see Charley? - No, ma’am.

But if he saw me, doesn’t that count for something?

We don’t want Charley to be in jail if our covering up is responsible.

Covering up? For what?

Where’d you go that night, Pete?

It’s okay, honey. Go ahead and tell him.

I had this guy flown in from out of town.

He was staying in another hotel.

"Guy"? What guy?

A hypnotist.

He was helping me concentrate, focusing my batting.

- I ended up last year in a slump. - Yeah, I remember.

Lieutenant, there’s no reason the press

needs to know anything about this.

Mrs. Briggs, I think it’s admirable,

the way you back up your husband.

However, there’s one question that has to be asked.

While Pete was out of the room,

who can verify your whereabouts?

I didn’t kill her.

I’m sure you didn’t, any more than Charley Holcombe did.

Bellman, take it easy, huh? This isn’t a race.

I’m sorry, Sir. That turn came up kind of sudden.

As a matter of fact,

that’s the place where your friend had his accident, ma’am.

- Mr. Sidell. - Oh, yes. Yes.

Al told me about that.

Yeah, I’m the guy that found him in the ditch.

He seemed like a real nice guy. I hated giving him a ticket.

When a guy drinks and drives, a ticket isn’t half enough.

He wasn’t drunk, Sir. At least, I don’t think so.

His license said

he was supposed to be wearing glasses behind the wheel.

Not only wasn’t he wearing them, he didn’t even have them with him.

- Oh, dear. - Something wrong, ma’am?

Yes, something is terribly wrong, Lieutenant.

Tell me, is your forensic lab open

at this hour of the night, and if not, could we open it?

Excuse me. Is Johnny still inside?

Sure. Why don’t you go right on in?

Whether they’re dressed or not never stopped you before, aunt Minnie.

- My name is Jessica. - Yeah, whatever.

By tomorrow morning, you’ll probably have my job. Somebody will.

Doc.

- Johnny? - Oh, hi, aunt Jess.

I’ve got a little surprise for you.

My lucky glove! Oh, my gosh. Where’d you find it?

Well, you can thank a sharp-eyed housekeeper at the Tucson plaza.

- Mrs. Fletcher? - In here, Lieutenant.

Johnny, if you hurry, you can grab the bus before it leaves.

- I’ll help you with your stuff, kid. - Suppose you stay, Mr. Sidell.

I got a couple questions I wanna ask you.

- Sure, yeah. - I can wait, Al.

No, no. Go ahead, kid. I’ll catch up with you later.

- Okay. Thanks again, aunt Jess. - Good-bye, John.

So what can I do for you, Lieutenant?

You can start by telling me where you were when Loretta Lee was killed.

I think I was in a ditch with my car.

I had a little accident, your own man wrote up the ticket.

I told you, right? Jessica? I mean, I told you about that. Remember?

Yes, Al, I remember.

The woman was killed between 11:00 and 11:45.

There was plenty of time for you to have killed her

and still reach that dangerous curve

where the officer found you and your wrecked car.

What, are you nuts? Geez.

What do you think? I would, uh...

That I would stage a crash so I could get an alibi?

Al, you were given a ticket because you weren’t wearing your glasses.

In fact, you didn’t even have them with you.

Yeah, well, who’s trying to hide that?

I’ll tell you what. I’ll pay the fine. I’m guilty as charged. Who do I pay?

Well, that’s not the point, and I think you know it.

Do you remember, Al, when you and I attended the first Comets game,

and I asked you to translate that scoreboard way out on the field?

Now, you did that without any difficulty.

But the second Comets game - the day after Loretta was killed -

you couldn’t read the scoreboard.

Now, I could be wrong, but my guess is

that you brought your reading glasses to the second Comet game.

Jessica, these are the only glasses I got.

- It’s the only pair I got. - They are now.

Our lab analyzed a small piece of glass Mrs. Fletcher found in the victim’s room,

prescription glass.

Yours, Al.

We checked out local lens makers.

We came up with a one-day optician on Las Cruces avenue.

He gave us your description, "Mr. Smith."

Shall we ride you over there now for a positive ID?

I thought I’d picked up all the pieces of glass.

You gotta believe me, the both of you.

Killing that woman was the furthest thing from my mind.

I was in my motel room around 10:30 when Loretta phoned.

She asked me if Freddie Masters was in my room.

She said he wasn’t at the inn,

and she knew that he was my client,

and I said I didn’t know any Freddie Masters.

And she said she wanted me to corroborate some evidence that she had that proved

that Charley Holcombe and Freddie Masters were the same person,

and Freddie Masters was a known bail jumper.

I said I would come right over

and prove just how wrong she was.

But when I got there,

she said she had a friend who was no longer an active player

who had played in rookie league with Charley, and he swore

that Charley and Freddie were the same person.

She was some piece of work, that woman.

She said that her going public with it,

it wouldn’t hurt my career or Charley’s career.

She thought it would just help her career.

She thought she might go to the networks,

or even go to the commissioner.

She went to the phone, and I guess I went nuts. I don’t know.

And, uh...

I picked up my glasses,

and I tried to make it look like a robbery.

And, uh, I drove back to the motel.

I was blind as a bat without the glasses.

Funny thing is, I almost made it.

This is the first time I’ve ever been in trouble.

I never even had a parking ticket.

That was the first time I ever had any trouble with the police.