All language subtitles for MrSWr5E19.Double.Exposure.

Oh, my god. Why did she have to call?

Tonight on Murder, She Wrote.

This blue sedan has been nailed to my tail since I picked you up.

Oh, it's you again. I don't know who you think I am.

John pretended not to recognize me.

I wouldn't even ask ya if it wasn't for the kids.

Kids? I didn't know you had kids, Harry.

Tell me, Doctor, where is John buried?

His ashes are interred in a vault.

- He was cremated? - I am a sergeant.

I am a records clerk. Harry, I need my pension.

Take it easy, fellas. This ain't what it looks like.

Oh. Excuse me. I'm...

John! Good gracious! What are you doing in Boston?

I'm sorry. You've got me mixed up with somebody else.

John, it's Jessica.

- Hello? - Maude. It's Jessica.

- Jessica Fletcher. - Jessica.

What a wonderful surprise. Where are you?

Well, I'm in Cabot Cabot. I hope I didn't catch you eating.

I realize it's two hours earlier in Chicago.

Oh, no. I was just settling in with a book.

- Nothing's wrong, is it? - Oh, no.

No, I was just feeling a little nostalgic,

and I also feel a little guilty not staying in better touch.

You know, it's been almost eight years since you moved away,

and Christmas cards just don't do it.

How's John?

Oh, Jessica, of course you'd have no way of knowing.

Knowing what?

Maude? Maude, what's the matter?

I'm sorry, Jessica. Please forgive me.

I should have called. John... John passed away.

It was a heart attack.

- What? - Two weeks ago.

- It was totally unexpected. - But, Maude, that's impossible.

I know. He always took such good care of himself.

No, no.

No, that's not what I mean.

I mean, uh, there must be some mistake.

Uh, Maude, I don't quite know how to put this,

but I saw a man on the street today.

I am sure that it was John.

Jessica, you must have seen someone who resembles John.

After all, it's been over eight years.

Oh, yes. Yes, of course. It's just that...

I don't know.

There was something in his eyes, uh,

a flicker of recognition when I said his name.

Jessica, please forgive me.

It's not your fault, really,

but this whole conversation is making me feel a bit ill.

Perhaps I could call you in a day or two

when I'm feeling better.

Oh, yes, yes, certainly. But...

Thank you, Jessica. And it really was good to talk to you.

Good-bye.

Oh, my God. Why did she have to call?

Adam, I don't think we're gonna get away with this.

Of course we are. Trust me.

Everything'll be fine.

Ten in the side.

Fourteen in the corner off the five.

Too bad, McGraw. You snookered.

Well, eight in the side.

In your dreams.

Too bad, kid.

I thought you had me when you made six off the break.

You wanna go again?

McGraw, they ought to hang your picture up in the post office.

- Harry? - Jessica!

- What are you doing here? - Looking for you.

You know, the telephone number I had for you has been disconnected.

Some kind of screwup with the phone company.

And I went by the office, there's a "for rent" sign on the door.

Uh, yeah, well, see, I'm kinda temporarily out of the business.

Oh, dear. But that's why I came to see you.

I was hoping that maybe you could help me to find someone.

- You, Jessica? You need a P.I.? - Yes, I do.

And I'm determined to hire the best one that I know.

Hire.

Yeah, well, who says I can't do a little, uh,

unofficial consulting for an old friend?

I'll buy ya lunch, and you can bring me up to speed.

Great.

A few more games with Wilber and I could've...

bought you a real sit-down lunch at Quincy Market.

Oh, this is fine, Harry. Really.

Anyway, maybe you made a mistake.

I mean, maybe this guy you saw...

just looked like the guy who died in Chicago.

Well, yes, that's what his wife tried to talk me into.

You know, this makes no sense, Harry,

but I trust my senses and I trust my instinct.

This man lived next door to Frank and me for six years.

We were very close friends.

OK, so let's say the guy really is Winslow. Where does that leave us?

I don't really know.

Maude was... very frightened when I talked to her on the phone.

I... I could hear it in her voice.

And John pretended not to recognize me.

Something is terribly wrong here.

Look, I'm not a guy to sneer at 200 a day plus expenses,

but, uh, you sure you wanna turn over this rock?

I mean, there might be a lot of worms underneath it.

Well, if something is wrong with John,

I can't just walk away from it.

Look, Harry, if you could...

if you could look for him, if you could make some inquiries...

- I just need some rational explanation. - Say no more, Jessica.

The guy's as good as found. But you understand...

this will have to be somewhat unofficial.

Oh? Why?

Because the Commonwealth takes a dim view of private citizens

operating as private investigators,

a profession for which a license is required.

- Oh, that's it. - Believe me, it wasn't my fault.

My predicament is a perfect example of the police state gone haywire.

Or should I say one particular policeman...

a boneheaded lieutenant by the name of Roy Quinlan.

Harry, I'm sorry. Nah. He's still mad at me,

'cause I filed a complaint against him for draggin' a guy,

who happened to be a client of mine, into an alley...

and dislodging a few of his brain cells.

But without a license, what are you doing? I mean, to make a living?

Oh, this and that. I mean, uh,

you don't have to worry about me.

I got a few irons in the fire. Anyway, the way I figure it,

this guy doesn't wanna be John Winslow anymore,

so now he's gotta be somebody else.

Yeah, so he'd need a bogus driver's license,

social security card, passport.

Yes, none of which is too tough if you can come up with a phony birth certificate.

But I'll tell you something else he needs... A credit card.

These days, a guy without a credit card is like running around naked.

Harry, that's brilliant.

When I bumped into John, he was walking out of the bank.

I think this case is gonna be a lot easier than I figured.

A one-day job is better than no job at all, right?

I suppose I write you a check?

Or better still, why don't I give you cash?

Now you're talkin'.

Gee, Gladys, you look terrific. Did you do somethin' to your hair or somethin'?

Yeah, I changed the tint three times since you stood me up for dinner.

Hey, I... I explained about that, didn't I?

I mean, I'm really sorry.

A year and a half, and not even a phone call?

I know. I should've called you. I wanted to call you,

but I figured you'd be kind of steamed.

You got that right.

All right, Harry. What is it you really want?

Look, Gladys, I need a little favor.

It's nothin'. I wouldn't even ask you if it wasn't for the kids.

Kids? I didn't know you had kids, Harry.

Oh, not my kids. Millicent Wexler's kids.

- Who? - She was a few years behind us in school.

Played clarinet in the band. Big blonde with, like, a beehive hairdo.

Anyway, about 10 years ago, she marries this guy,

a real jerk.

Last year, he took up with some cocktail waitress...

and left Millie and the kids flat.

Men are such rats.

I mean, I'm talkin' about three little tots...

Aaron and... and Josephine and little Timothy.

I mean, they're... walkin' around in tattered clothes...

Come on, Harry, the guy's gotta pay child support.

Gladys, you didn't hear what I said. He left 'em flat.

Now, Millie got a court order, but you know what this guy does?

Changes his name and drops out of sight.

That's disgusting.

And the worst part is, the guy's got a decent job someplace

and money in the bank... right here in this branch.

Here?

Now, he must've just recently opened the account.

But, see, if I could find out what name he's usin' and where he's livin',

I could get a court order served on him.

Oh, I don't know, Harry.

Millie and the kids would really be grateful.

And... And not only will I take you out for a swell dinner,

but your four kids too.

Hello?

- Jackpot, Jessica. - You found something, Harry?

Not "something"... the whole nine yards.

Your buddy John Winslow is hidin' out under the moniker John Wilson...

in a one-bedroom sleazebag at 439 Crenshaw.

And you found him in less than two hours? Harry, I'm really impressed.

You hire the best, you get the best.

So what do you want me to do now, lean on him a little bit?

- Find out what he's up to? - No, no.

All I wanna do is to talk to him.

No, you're not goin' down there. Not without me, you're not.

Look, Harry, I appreciate your concern,

but John Winslow is one of the dearest, gentlest men I know.

I'll be perfectly safe on my own.

Now please, let me handle this myself.

- John! - Oh, it's you again.

Look, ma'am, I don't know who you think I am...

John, please stop this silly pretense.

We've been friends for far too long.

Ma'am, it's obvious that you have me confused with someone else.

Now, I'm sorry. You're... you're gonna have to excuse me.

- Excuse me. Perhaps you could help me. - I don't know ya either.

Come on, Jessica. Eight years is a long time.

I mean, maybe your memory's shortin' out on ya.

And you know what they say:

somewhere, every one of us has got a double walkin' around.

Oh, is that what they say, Harry?

Hey, let's face it. The whole thing's probably just one big coincidence.

- Thanks, Cookie. - But listen. I talked to the landlord.

Mr. Wilson moved in six days ago.

He had hardly any baggage to speak of,

and he paid cash in advance.

Yeah, well, on the other hand...

I know that Maude was lying to me on the telephone.

But it doesn't make any sense.

I mean, if they were getting a divorce or separating, why didn't she tell me?

Why claim that he was dead?

Listen, Jessica.

Let me give you a little friendly advice.

Maybe this whole thing is just a lot of smoke about nothin'.

But if it isn't, it could be, uh, hazardous to your health.

Maude and John were two of the closest friends that Frank and I had.

I mean, if they're in some kind of trouble,

I can't just turn a blind eye.

Yeah, well, what can you do?

I mean, the guy told ya in no uncertain terms to get lost.

Well, I'll tell you what I can do.

I can visit his wife in Chicago,

and if Maude needs my help, I'm sure that she'll tell me.

You know, it could be that this guy is in some kind of hot water with the cops.

Yes, that's right.

Harry, you still have good contacts down at police headquarters, don't you?

- Do the Red Sox still play at Fenway? - Good.

Then nose around in your own inimitable way.

Maybe John's in trouble with the law.

But please, Harry, be discreet.

Hi, Howard. How's your new computer? You got the bugs worked out yet?

I have a bone to pick with you, McGraw.

Pick away.

It's about my golf clubs.

Oh, yeah, I was gonna tell ya, Howard.

Those clubs are weighted all wrong.

I mean, especially for somebody built like me.

How did my putter get bent, Harry?

Oh, geez. Yeah, the putter. I was gonna tell you about that.

See, I happened to hit this tree.

There are no trees on a putting green!

Howard, don't get yourself into an uproar. Remember what your doctor said.

Calm, serene. Don't let anything bother you.

- Look, I need a little favor, that's all. - No!

Serene, Howard. Serene.

No, Harry. No!

Come on! Did I say "no" when you called me last week

and asked me to tell Irene that you were at the poker game in case she called?

- Did she call? - No.

But if she did, I would've covered for you, 'cause you're my friend.

OK. What do ya want?

All I want you to do is run a couple of names through the computer, that's all.

A John Winslow with some kind of Chicago connection,

and a John Wilson here in Boston.

Very common names, Harry.

What are you looking for?

If I knew that, I wouldn't need this expensive computer system!

Just run 'em through and see if they ring a bell.

No, you can't borrow my golf clubs this weekend.

Forget the clubs, Howard.

I also happen to be working, a concept you don't seem to be familiar with.

Well, listen, forget it, Sternhagen.

I'll... borrow Morty Felscher's clubs.

So what if he's left-handed. It won't bother my game.

Well, well. If it isn't my old pal Roy Quinlan.

Beat up any punks lately, Roy?

Harry just stopped in to borrow my golf clubs, Lieutenant.

You know, I hope you're workin' on a case without a license, 'cause if you are,

I'm gonna personally kick your butt all the way down to county jail.

- Personally, huh? - Personally.

Listen, ape face, you haven't got the guts

to punch a time clock without two guys to back you up.

You know, you got a big mouth.

One of these nights, I'll catch you with your nose someplace it don't belong,

and we'll find out just how good your medical coverage is.

Now, this place is, uh, off limits to civilians, so get out.

Sir, I told him very emphatically, Sir,

that he should discuss personal matters after...

Hello, Maude.

Jessica. What a surprise!

Forgive me for intruding, but I really felt I had to come.

Intruding? Don't be silly.

Please come in. Let me take your coat.

Thank you.

I don't believe you've met my brother Adam.

Dr. Adam Paulson, Jessica Fletcher.

Oh, yes, of course.

Maude used to brag about you incessantly.

Tops in the class at med school. Johns Hopkins, wasn't it?

Yes. You have quite a memory, Mrs. Fletcher.

And are you living in Chicago now?

Well, just visiting actually. I'm on a leave of absence.

As a matter of fact, Adam was here for dinner the night that John died.

- Really? - A massive coronary thrombosis.

It was very sudden. There was nothing that could've been done.

A coronary thrombosis?

Is that what the postmortem showed?

Well, he'd been under my care for several months.

A postmortem was unnecessary.

I made the only logical diagnosis.

And naturally, as the attending physician,

you signed the death certificate?

Naturally. Which is why we were so shocked...

when you said you'd seen someone resembling John in Boston.

Forgive me, Doctor.

The man I saw was not a look-alike. It was John Winslow.

He was and is very much alive.

Just a moment. You talked to this man?

- Yes. - And he claimed to be John Winslow?

No, I... I didn't say that.

Tell me, Doctor, where is John buried?

His ashes are interred in a vault.

He was cremated?

Mrs. Fletcher, can't you see the pain you're causing?

You've already accused Maude and me of lying.

Well, there's no other explanation. I mean, I know what I saw.

Look, Maude, if you're in some kind of trouble...

- Is there anything that I can do to help? - Yes.

Just leave us alone.

Just go away, please!

I really must ask you to leave.

Well, would you have any objection to my reporting what I know to the police?

No. Why should I?

Well, for one thing, there's the matter of a forged death certificate,

and the other thing is

somebody's body was cremated last week, and it wasn't John Winslow's.

Feel free to discuss this matter with whomever your choose.

My sister and I have nothing to hide.

Now, good day, Mrs. Fletcher. And I'd appreciate it if you didn't call again.

That woman's gonna spoil everything.

- You know somebody with a blue car, lady? - I beg your pardon?

Look, I got two moving violations on my ticket.

So I keep one eye glued to the side-view mirror.

This blue sedan has been nailed to my tail since I picked you up.

Oh, yes. Yes, I noticed him parked

in front of the apartment building.

Drive me to one of the bigger hotels. It doesn't matter which.

And drive slowly. I don't wanna lose him.

Whatever turns ya on, lady.

- Hello. - Hi. Can I help you?

I wonder if you could tell me where the restrooms are located?

Sure. They're around the corner to the right.

- Thank you. - You're welcome.

Let me speak to Nathan Swarthmore.

Mr. Swarthmore? Ed Sloane.

Well, it seems our friends had a visitor. Well-dressed lady.

I followed her to the Marcroft Hotel,

but I, uh... I lost her.

I see.

Well, you needn't trouble yourself any further, Mr. Sloane.

Your services are no longer required.

- Our problem is just about resolved. - You mean...

I mean, don't call me again.

I don't know you, and you don't know me. Is that clear?

Yeah. Sure.

It's been nice doin' business with ya.

- Oh, and Mr. Sloane? - Yeah?

Be certain you excise my phone number from your files.

Gilhooley's.

Harry, phone call for ya.

Thanks, Cookie. McGraw.

- Harry? - Hi, Jessica. You come up with anything?

Only more questions, I'm afraid.

Maude is stonewalling me, but it's obvious

that she is terrified.

Hey, you ever think that maybe your pal John

iced somebody and his wife is covering for him?

No, Harry, that thought did not leap to mind.

- OK, so what do you think? - I wish I knew.

But I will tell you one thing which is a fact, and it has to be dealt with.

Last week, somebody died and somebody was cremated.

The big questions is, who?

- Is there anything I can do? - I don't know.

Maybe my spotting John scared him off. Maybe he's left Boston.

Say no more. I'll check him out.

Listen, uh, when are you coming back?

Tomorrow. There's someone here in Chicago

I have to talk to before I leave.

Bye.

Oh, geez.

Hello, Harry.

Hey, come on, Quinlan! Watch the threads, will ya?

- You're mine this time. - You got nothin' on me. Come on.

You know I didn't do this guy. You guys were staked out in the back.

What are you doin' here then? Sellin' encyclopedias.

Bad answer, Harry!

Take it easy, Roy.

Come on. You got nothin' on me. I'm not even carrying.

Wrong again, Harry.

I got you for, uh, breaking and entering, disturbing evidence,

and if I can hang it on ya,

workin' a case without a license.

Yeah, Carmen, this is Roy Quinlan.

Hey, Frank, what went down here?

Beats me. We just got here ahead of you.

Some neighbor hears a gunshot and called 911.

- Did you guys find a piece or anything? - Nothin'.

Looks to me like somebody nailed him

from the fire escape through the open window.

No, we got a suspect right here on the premises.

I'm gonna bring him in.

Now, why don't you tell me what you were doin' here, creep,

so I don't have to send you downtown

in that ambulance I just ordered.

I'm tellin' you zook, Quinlan.

You don't get anything out of me until I talk to my attorney.

- You got that? - Zook?

Why don't you cuff him, Frank?

I'm sorry, I... Well, I don't seem to see your name.

Mrs. Fletcher?

Did you have an appointment with Mr. Swarthmore?

Oh, no. No, I'm sorry. You see, I just came in from out of town.

I'll only take a couple of minutes of his time.

Oh, he's got a very busy schedule this morning, I'm afraid.

His plane was late arriving from Boston,

and, well, he's backed up...

Well, I suppose I could buzz through. That was Fletcher?

J.B. Fletcher.

You're kidding!

Mrs. Fletcher. What an unexpected pleasure.

I have spent many happy hours between the covers of your books.

Well, I'm very flattered to hear that, Mr. Swarthmore.

- Sit down, please. - Thank you.

Now, to what do I owe this honor?

I certainly hope you're in no legal trouble.

None that I know of. Actually, Mr. Swarthmore,

I wanted to chat with you about John Winslow.

- Who? - John Winslow.

I don't believe I know him.

Before I came here I did a little checking,

and I believe that you represent his employer...

Danford Data Systems.

Yes, they are a client.

Oh, yes, John Winslow. Now I recall.

A very nice man, and terribly bright.

I did meet him at a few conferences. He died recently, didn't he?

So I've been told.

Well, as I say, I barely knew the man.

So what is it you wish to know?

Well, for one thing, why is a rumpled little man named Sloane...

following me around and reporting to you?

You must be mistaken.

No, I don't think so.

Well, it's been delightful chatting with you, Mrs. Fletcher.

We must do it again when I have more time.

In the meantime, I apologize.

Other than the fact that I met him

casually at the Danford offices,

I know nothing about this John Wilson.

Wilson?

I said "Winslow".

No, I'm sure you said "Wilson".

You will excuse me, Mrs. Fletcher.

I have a client waiting.

Sorry I couldn't have been more helpful.

You may have been more helpful than you realize.

- Good-bye, Mr. Swarthmore. - Good-bye, Mrs. Fletcher.

Cookie, has Harry been in?

I'm glad you turned up, Mrs. Fletcher. They busted him.

Harry, arrested? For what?

Here.

Good Lord!

Cookie, could I leave this stuff here with you?

- Yeah, sure thing. - Thanks. I'll be back.

- Harry, are you all right? - Yeah, I'm fine, considering.

Listen, I wanna thank you for puttin' up my bail, Jessica.

And your money's as good as in Fort Knox. They got nothin' on me.

What happened? I mean, there wasn't much in the paper.

Just bad timing. I showed up lookin' for this guy...

20 minutes after somebody nailed him.

Check the contents and sign here, Harry.

Listen, Frank, you tell dog face that I'm filing for false arrest.

Not you... Him! And I'm 40 cents short here.

That's goin' in my complaint too.

- I'm really sorry that I got you involved. - Aw, forget it.

Oh, I can't. Do you realize that if I hadn't bumped into John...

I mean, if I hadn't insisted on nosing around...

Well, I may be partly responsible for his death.

You? Nah! Come on.

I mean, if I could find him, anybody could.

Well, I see you made bail, McGraw.

Who's this, your fairy godmother?

Listen, Quinlan, by the time I get through with you,

you're gonna be wearin' a day-glo vest

at some school crossing in Upper Ipswich.

Excuse me, Lieutenant Quinlan. Uh, we haven't met.

I'm Jessica Fletcher.

I'm glad to meet you, ma'am. I say that...

because if this yardbird happens to wriggle off the hook, you're next.

What?

We got a description of a lady hangin' around the apartment house,

yelling at the victim, makin' threats.

Fits you like a rubber glove.

I beg your pardon, but I have never threatened anyone.

I hear otherwise.

You wanna come with me, ma'am, please?

- Hey, lay off, Quinlan. - Oh, you too, Harry.

See, there's this guy in my office wants to question you.

The both of you.

F.B.I. Special Agent Phil Guilfoyle, ma'am.

Feds? What are the feds doing in this?

Well, now that Mr. Winslow is dead... I mean, really dead...

I can put you in the picture on a need-to-know basis

since you may have information we don't.

About a year ago, we enlisted Mr. Winslow's assistance...

in a case we were developing against his employer.

Danford Data Systems?

We had evidence of major fraud, hundreds of millions, against Danford Data.

Now, Mr. Winslow had given testimony in a closed grand jury hearing.

Security was very tight, but some problems developed.

Yeah, let me guess.

Persons unknown tried to get rid of Winslow, right?

Yeah, there were a couple of unpleasant and unforeseeable incidents.

Now, we were always suspicious of that heart attack story.

I mean, the rush to cremation.

We suspected that he'd skipped out,

but we were unable to locate him.

- Somebody located him, pal. - It wasn't us.

If we had had any idea where he was...

Well, obviously, we had a keen interest in keeping him alive.

Mr. Guilfoyle, I talked to a lawyer in Chicago.

He was a Mr. Nathan Swarthmore.

Swarthmore. Yeah, he was defending Danford Data against the charges.

You know, an interesting point is that...

during the course of conversation,

he inadvertently let slip the name "Wilson."

Wilson? Are you sure, Mrs. Fletcher?

Positive. Which means that the people in Chicago...

who didn't want him to testify had already found him in Boston.

They already knew where he was hiding.

- Precisely. - And another thing.

His receptionist mentioned

that Mr. Swarthmore had just returned from a trip to Boston.

But what I can't understand is why would a successful attorney

just get on a plane to go kill someone?

Are you kiddin'? I know lawyers who'd kill for a first-rate whiplash case.

Mrs. Fletcher,

we have been trying to nail Nathan Swarthmore for years.

But I'm afraid he's too careful to have done it himself.

Chances are he was havin' an expensive meal...

in a crowded restaurant at the time of the actual killing.

I see. Then Mr. Swarthmore was-what? The middle man?

Probably operating under orders from Danford management.

And the chances of our tracing that down are slim to none.

I'll catch up with ya in a bit.

I wanna make a couple of phone calls.

Oh, yes, of course, Harry.

There's something else I wanna tell Guilfoyle.

- I'll see you later. - OK.

Maude? I'm so terribly sorry.

Jessica, forgive me. I didn't wanna lie to you.

I didn't know what else to do.

Oh, I understand.

John and I were terrified.

We knew that once he testified there'd be a risk, but not this.

It must have been dreadful for you.

Well, I'm relieved that you finally know the truth.

Well, I'm afraid I don't know all of it.

At least, not yet.

John had to die.

Well, he couldn't just disappear.

They would've hounded him forever

because he would've always been a threat.

We'd sold our house months before and were leasing it back.

We deposited the profits in several banks

under false names, and there was no insurance.

John insisted that he cancel his policy.

He wouldn't be a party to fraud.

Yes, the John Winslow I knew would never cheat an insurance company

or anybody else for that matter.

It also forestalled any insurance investigation.

Anyway, John came to Boston, changed his name.

I was to join him in a couple of months.

We didn't have much choice. Believe me, there were risks involved for all of us.

Yes. The forged death certificate,

the, uh, cremated body.

A derelict died of a coronary

at the county hospital where I work.

Since no one claimed the body...

Yes, I see. But even so...

I don't know what we would've done without Adam's help.

I think John would've done the same for me.

Let's face it, Jessica.

There's no way anybody's gonna nail this guy's killer.

You mean, the one who actually pulled the trigger?

Well, we already know who's behind it.

Yeah. A bunch of slime balls in three-piece suits.

They hire some two-bit gunsel from Chicago or St. Louis,

or even right here in Boston.

- And there's no connection. - Not so's you'd notice.

The gunsel gets paid up-front in cash.

Then he pops your pal John from the fire escape with a cold gun,

which is in Boston Harbor five minutes later.

He gets on a plane for parts unknown before rigor mortis sets in.

Yes, if he was from out of town.

Look, Jessica, do yourself a favor

and keep your nose out of this one.

We're talkin' about a hundred million on top,

and at the bottom probably some goon

who'd snap your neck for the price of carfare home.

Well, don't worry, Harry. As much as I'd like to help,

there doesn't seem to be much that I can do.

Well, I'm glad you got that figured out.

However, I do feel badly about all this trouble

you're having with Lieutenant Quinlan.

He's been on my case ever since I caught him with his mitt in the cookie jar.

- You mean, taking a bribe? - Yeah. Get this.

Frankie Mulrooney gets a snootful one night in Rafferty's...

where Quinlan happens to be tossin' back

a few with one of his dollies, right?

So Frankie smacks this guy with a beer bottle,

and naturally Rafferty calls the cops.

But before they can show,

Quinlan takes him out the back way...

and proceeds to put the arm on him for five C-notes...

because there's a possible felony assault involved.

I didn't think that sort of thing went on anymore.

Yeah, Quinlan's from the old school.

Well, Harry, I don't know about you, but I'm tired and hungry.

You bought lunch the other day. Suppose I take you to dinner?

Oh, which reminds me, I left my bag at Gilhooley's.

Oh, forget about it. I... I took it to my place.

But you just reminded me of somethin'. Gladys.

You mean, the lady from the bank?

Yeah. I owe her dinner... her and her four kids.

Just grab a seat anyplace, Jessica.

Eight to five this is my date wonderin' where the hell I am.

- McGraw. - Hi, Gladys.

Yeah, I know what time it is. I just got a little tied up, that's all.

Anyplace you say.

- Maurice's? - Nah, you don't wanna eat there.

A... A guy I know almost croaked on the snails.

Really, the Board of Health has the place pegged as a real dump.

Hey, I got an idea. What about Gilhooley's?

Look, Gladys, where is it written that I gotta go broke

paying for this date?

All right, if you wanna cancel the date, that's fine, but...

All right, great. Yeah, Gilhooley's in half an hour.

You got it.

Listen, I won't keep you, Harry.

Yeah, I just got time to clean up and put on a fresh shirt.

Aw, geez.

- Oh, hi, Howard. - I have to talk to you, Harry.

Yeah, well, I'm in kind of a hurry right now.

I mean now, Harry...

Oh. I'm terribly sorry.

I... I didn't realize... I mean... I'll just leave.

Howard, relax, will ya? This is my friend, Jessica Fletcher.

Jessica, this is Howard Sternhagen.

Jessica? Oh, Jessica. That Jessica.

- So nice to meet you, ma'am. - Very nice to meet you too, Howard.

So what's the matter now, Howard?

Your dog die or somethin'?

No, Harry. Our friendship died!

- It's done! Gone! Terminal! Finito! - Again?

I am not a commissioner or a captain or even a lieutenant.

I am a sergeant. I am a records clerk. Harry, I need my pension!

It's one of Howard's problems.

He has a little trouble cuttin' to the bottom line.

You asked me to check out this guy.

A couple of minutes later,

he tells me to check out the same guy, and he winds up dead.

- Who? - Quinlan.

- Quinlan's dead? - No, Harry. John Wilson.

Excuse me, Howard. Did you say Wilson?

John Wilson. That's what he said.

Except the name wasn't Wilson. It was Winslow.

Harry, my pension!

Oh, hey, Howard. I mean, uh, relax.

- You're talking like it's a big deal! - As long as you understand.

No more information, no more special privilege.

Well, like I told you, Howard, it was a one-time only favor.

Besides, I'm out of the racket now.

So why don't you go home and have Irene fix you

a nice glass of warm milk?

Well, you've got a date, Harry. I'll, uh... I'll take a taxi.

Oh, fine, Jessica. Great. And, uh, listen.

Be sure to call me before you leave tomorrow.

Oh, of course. Definitely.

- Have a nice evening, Harry. - Thanks.

Oh, excuse me. Hope I'm not interrupting anything.

Only paperwork, Mrs. Fletcher.

It's just that I'm leaving in the morning,

so here's my number in case you need me.

- Thanks. - And there was one other little thing.

- Have a seat, ma'am. - Thank you.

It's about Mr. McGraw. I'm sorry,

but I'm afraid I'm really responsible...

for this trouble with Lieutenant Quinlan.

Look, I know he's a friend of yours,

but I don't wanna get involved in a local beef.

Excuse me.

Harry's not such a bad guy, just unlucky.

I mean, whatever he was doin' there,

why did it have to be Quinlan and me that got the call?

Yes, that was quite a coincidence.

How did it happen?

Luck of the draw, I guess.

Me and Quinlan stopped at this diner on Crenshaw...

about a block from the victim's apartment.

Oh, I see. You and Lieutenant Quinlan had dinner in the neighborhood.

Yeah. At least, uh, I had dinner.

Quinlan had to see somebody.

Police business?

There's this tootsie he knows, lives around the corner.

And, uh, when did the Police call come in?

Right after that. He comes back.

We were getting in the car, and the call comes in.

Since we're practically there, we take it.

Um, where is Lieutenant Quinlan now?

He got a phone call. Said he had to meet somebody.

May I use your telephone?

Gilhooley's.

Cookie, may I speak to Harry, please?

He ain't got back yet, Mrs. Fletcher.

He came in about a half hour ago.

Said he was expecting guests.

Then he made a phone call and left.

Sounded like he was meeting somebody.

I wish he'd get back. The lady's getting a little steamed.

Uh, Cookie, do you know where he went?

I heard him say the alley behind Rafferty's.

So I'm here, McGraw.

What do ya wanna talk about?

About, uh, callin' off this war, Quinlan.

See, I thought maybe you'd drop the charges against me.

Now, why would I wanna do that, Harry?

'Cause I need my P.I. license back.

Now, here's the deal.

You drop the charges, and I keep my mouth shut.

And I'm not even gonna try to shake you down

for part of the contract money.

You know, Harry, I think the cockroaches

finally moved back into your brain.

Now, see, Quinlan,

it took me a while, but I finally figured it out.

See, you were lookin' for a guy named John Wilson,

which happened to be the name that Winslow was using to hide out with.

Only those ganefs in Chicago already had the name

and they sent it on to somebody here

along with a contract to wipe him out.

And that somebody was you, Quinlan.

You been sniffing glue, Harry?

You'll never make that stick.

I don't wanna make it stick. All I want is my license back.

See, the way I figure it,

you don't need a lot of embarrassing questions...

when internal affairs starts an official inquiry.

Yeah. Well, let's, uh...

Let's say I'm interested.

Yeah, just one question. I got a little question.

Call it professional curiosity.

How did those guys in Chicago ever track him down?

Well, the wife.

She slipped out to call him on a pay phone.

It was a smart move, except she used the same pay phone.

It was a dumb move. They had it tapped.

McGraw, the guys you're messin' with, they build rockets.

They know what Gaddafi has for breakfast.

OK, I'm impressed. So do we deal?

Yeah. Yeah, we deal.

The deal is you give me that recorder you got in your pocket,

and I give you one of these right between the eyes.

Hey, hey! Take it easy, fellas. This ain't what it looks like.

Jessica, I really have to thank you for saving my bacon.

Well, maybe it's a sign, Harry, that your luck has changed.

Yeah, you know, that F.B.I. guy

says he's gonna get my license reinstated.

Isn't that nice, Jessica?

That means that Harry'll have a steady job again.

Well, I think it's only fair, Gladys.

I mean, Harry took a big risk going into that alley.

But it was worth it. Quinlan's singin' his guts out tryin' to make a deal,

and Swarthmore and the defense contractor are in deep trouble.

- Tommy, stop that! - Ralphie swiped my french fry!

Would you boys please try to behave yourselves?

Oh, I think they're just a little bit restless.

Cookie, how about some milkshakes for these kids?

And bring me some ice while you're at it, will ya?

You got it, Harry.

I never knew Harry liked kids.

Oh, Harry's full of surprises.

So, Jessica, you never told me. How did you know?

I first became suspicious when Mr. Swarthmore

let drop the name that John was using here.

It meant that they'd already traced him back here to Boston.

Yeah. Then when a crooked Boston cop

comes around askin' for the same guy

with the same phony name, all of a sudden two and two makes four, huh?

Yes. And then when Sergeant Coyle told me...

that Lieutenant Quinlan had slipped away from dinner...

only a block away from the victim's apartment...

And four and four's gotta be eight.

Well, this has been a wonderful meal.

But it's so expensive eating out.

Why don't I fix you a nice home-cooked dinner, Harry?

How about Saturday?

- Joey, stop that! - But he stole my napkin.

Saturday, Saturday... Oh, gee, I'd love to, Gladys,

but I'm startin' work on a new case.

A new case, Harry?

You didn't mention anything about a new case to me.

Well, no, actually, it's an old case,

but they need me to testify in... in Washington...

State... Washington State on... On the West Coast...

Uh, Tacoma.

See, the D.A. says that, uh...

this is gonna be a real can of peas though.

Jury selection could take, like, two weeks.

I mean, is that a lousy break or what?

You try to be a good citizen, and look what happens.

Harry?

Yes, Gladys?

Put a cork in it.

You got it.