All language subtitles for Murder.She.Wrote.S05E19.Double.Exposure.WEBRip.x264-ION10

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

[Jessica] 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.

[ringing]

-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.
[chuckles]

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.

[ringing]
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.

[door slams]

[locks click]

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

[locks click]

[Harry] 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? [chuckles]

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.
[clears throat]

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.

[tapping keys]

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.

[camera shutter clicking]

[engine starts]

-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.

[Jessica] 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.

[coins clicking]

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.

[ringing]

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.

[sighs]
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?

[woman] 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.

[Jessica] -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.

[Adam] 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.

[chuckles] 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.

[phone ringing]

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. [knocking]

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?
[forced chuckle]

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?

[ringing]

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. [tires screeching]

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.