All language subtitles for Murder.She.Wrote.S09E05.The.Dead.File.WEBRip.x264-ION10.

Never met a comic strip
character before.

Well, I've never been one.

[Jessica] Tonight, on
Murder, She Wrote...

Stan stole the idea
for that strip from me.

The main suspects
are a chicken, a horse

and a couple of cows.

He’s crazier than
a longhorn on local weed.

Tell me why you are saying
these things about me.

Oh, my God.
What’s going on here?

Thanks to you,
we are being sued.

I kind of like the roundness
of the 40 million

you mentioned in your cartoon.

I am not that
cartoon character.

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

[Sid] So how was your trip,
Mrs. Fletcher?

[Jessica] Gorgeous, Sid.

If you don’t mind me saying,
that character

they got you playing in
the Hatterville comic strip,

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

What did you say
about a comic strip?

That’s right,
you’ve been away.

Here, see for yourself.

You’re the fox, aren’t you?

Jessica Fox.

This fella Hatter,
who draws the strip,

he’s pretty clever, huh?

"Oh, come now,
lieutenant Derodent,

it was you that stole

100 pounds
of fish powder from..."

She’s accusing
this Police Officer

of stealing evidence

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

I never met a comic strip

character before,
Mrs. Fletcher.

Well, I've never been one.

[Stan on answering machine]
Hi, this Stan Hatter’s machine.

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

[beeps]

[woman on phone]
I’ll say something, all right.

Stanley, you miserable coward.

Look, I know you’re there.

If the roof and the plumbing
aren’t fixed

by tomorrow morning,
you’re dead meat.

Ciao, darling.

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

Number one?

Ah, four.

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

Hey, that guy’s
still out here.

Teddy, you’ve seen
too many old movies.

Get back in here.

He’s been out there
for three weeks

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

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

Five.

Two already owns
more of me than I do.

[phone ringing]

Yes?

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

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

Mr. Whiting,
I already told you,

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

Now listen, Jerry,
I’m paying for--

Hey, Mr. Whiting,
since your retainer,

I have not received
dollar once.

So I’m quitting.

Now wait a minute.

Uh-uh, I’ll see you around.

Monday, all right?

Plus one more
week in advance.

All of it.

I want results.

Even if you have
to create them yourself.

You understand?

Hey, hey.
I’m not that kind of a--

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

Police, Mrs. Fletcher.

I’m lieutenant
Peter DiMartini,

as if you didn’t know.

Lieutenant,
if that’s what you are,

unless you have a warrant,

I want you out
of my apartment right now.

Ah, not yet.

Not until you tell me
why you are saying

these things about me.

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

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

Where are you
getting your information?

Wait. Wait.

This-this-this rodent character that I--

that she seems to be
threatening

to blackmail,
is supposed to be you.

Oh, come on.
Enough already.

And the Three Moose Ears
that she refers to,

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

the Three Musketeers,
wasn’t it?

Mrs. Fletcher.

And you were one
of the arresting officers.

Right.

And the drugs
that we seized

were stolen
from the evidence lockup.

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

And you were suspected
of the theft.

Not were, are.

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

There’s a lot of people
that would kill

to see me take the fall.

All the way
from the DEA

to Internal Affairs
to the wise guys.

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

Lady, are you telling me

you don’t know anything
about this comic strip?

That is exactly
what I’m telling you.

Then it’s got to be
this guy Hatter.

I've never met Mr. Hatter.

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

they were all released,
weren’t they?

Yeah, lack of evidence.

Twenty million dollars worth.

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

about this offer
that you’re gonna make--

I mean,
she is gonna make me?

I suggest you talk
to Mr. Hatter about that.

Oh, yeah, right.

All I get is his
answering machine.

Lieutenant, tell me...

Yeah.

Did you steal those drugs?

Hello, Gloria.

Yes, I got in just
about an hour ago.

Gloria, I have to see
Mr. Yorke.

I mean, does he have
a few minutes--

He’s coming here?

[Gloria] Yes.

Three more papers canceled
Biff Banyon last week.

Dayton honey,

you have got to start
living within your means.

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

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

Darlin', it is all serious now.

You are down 64 papers.

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

You can’t go in there.

All right, Paige.

How the hell
did this happen?

And you call yourself
a features syndicate.

What I want to know is,
how did a strip

that I didn’t draw,

and didn’t even
ever see before,

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

Stan.

Day.

This cop, DiMartini
has been screaming

into my telephone
answering machine all morning.

And I can’t say
I blame him.

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

Damn straight, it’s not.

Stanley, honey,
don’t hustle a hustler.

Okay. Okay.

Let me put it this way.

Until you can tell me
how this happened,

and guarantee that it will
never happen again,

no more Hattervilles.

So long, Paige.

I’m finally gonna take
that vacation.

Try it, Stanley,

and I will nail you
for everything

from breach of
contract to cruelty

to those stupid little
critters you draw.

And while we’re at it,

we’ll just see
how many alimony payments

you can afford to miss.

Stan Hatter thinks
he is indispensable.

He’s crazier than
a longhorn on local weed.

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

Right.

Teddy...
Teddy something.

Teddy Gray.
Is that it? No.

Teddy Graves.
That’s it.

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

Yeah, I think
I heard that too.

You figure he could
take over the Hatterville?

Maybe.

With a little help
from the right person.

Just to refresh your memory,

Stan stole the idea
for that strip from me.

[man on phone]
That’s right, Mr. Melton.

In order to pay
the takeover costs,

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

raid the pension fund
and issue junk bonds.

And the upside?

[man on phone]
The upside, after taxes,

depreciation and greenmail
and legal, is an instant

outfall of 78 million
and change.

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

Do it.

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

It had nothing to do

with that preferred
livestock swindle.

[woman on phone]
Yes, Mr. Melton.

Get me Paige Kindle,
the empire feature syndicate.

[woman on phone]
Yes, Sir.

[knock on door]

-Hi, Jessica.
-Russell.

I knew you were due
in today

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

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

Oh, lawyers don’t hear
that very often.

-Please, sit down.
-Thank you.

How was your trip?

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

I wish I could say
the same about my homecoming.

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

Hatterville?

Yes, and a police officer named
lieutenant Peter DiMartini.

And the wall street buyout
artist, Roger Melton.

I've heard of him, yes.

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

Where did you get this?

Melton’s attorney
faxed it to me.

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

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

comic strip, are gonna
be sued for libel,

invasion of privacy
and quite possibly extortion

to the tune of several
million dollars each.

But, Russell,
this is ridiculous.

I know absolutely
nothing about all this.

And I certainly didn’t
give permission to--

Jessica, whether
or not you did,

I’m afraid you’re gonna be

faced with
some difficult choices,

to defend
yourself or settle.

Settle?

Of course, you can sue
Mr. Hatter.

But even if you win,

even if you can prove
that Mr. Melton

has no case whatsoever,

your legal fees could amount

to upwards of
a quarter million dollars.

Plus for your emotional
expense.

And with an out of court
settle, who knows?

I think I better
go lie down.

Totson Brothers
got a package here.

Hey, kid, how much
time we got left?

Twenty, 22 minutes.

That’s all right,
we’ll make it.

[knock on door]

Oh, man,
how’d they get in here?

Would you get rid of them?

Sure.

I’m sorry, Mr. Hatter--

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

Well, ma’am, he’s...

Mr. Hatter?

Hi.

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

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

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

Ah, Mrs. Fletcher,
I didn’t draw it.

I checked with
the syndicate.

A messenger showed up
with the artwork,

they threw it into
the hopper, who looks.

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

-It?
-The DiMartini strip.

He’s telling the truth.

What about the strip

where you accuse Roger Melton
of a stock swindle?

Oh, my God.

What’s going on here?

What is going on is,
that thanks to you,

we are being sued
for millions of dollars.

Why, Mr. Hatter?

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

but I swear I had nothing
to do with this.

But how can you say that?

I mean,
there is Jessica Fox.

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

Honestly.

But this makes
absolutely no sense.

I mean, why would
somebody want

to counterfeit
your comic strips?

I don’t know,
maybe it’s a nutcase

or maybe somebody just
wants to get me in trouble.

Coffee?

Oh, no, no.

Mr. Hatter, I realize that

because I am considered
a public figure,

I can’t prevent
you from creating

a cartoon character
that looks like me,

but when the words
coming out of her mouth

are libeling people...

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

When I came up
with the idea

for this Barnyard
murder mystery thing,

I thought who better
to solve it than Jessica Fox?

I mean, Fletcher.

Look, see, the main suspects
are a chicken,

a horse
and a couple of cows.

This is Lorraine,
she suffers from MPS.

Multiple personality
syndrome.

A cow?

Oh, yes, yes,
seven distinct personalities.

But she’s not the killer.

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

Now I never meant
to complicate your life

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

I want to get
to the bottom of it.

I’ll call my lawyer
and get you off

the hook just
as soon as I get out from under

my deadline problems.

Stan, 14 minutes.

It’s okay kid,
we’re gonna make it.

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

Hey, I’m only a week ahead.

Before you know it,
Jessica Fox will be history.

I’ll have you bitten
by Rex Rattlesnake.

Or maybe devoured
by Leroy Lion.

Or maybe one of
the other characters.

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

These characters,
these animals,

they’re kind of
like his friends.

He takes it
very seriously.

"I won’t print
the Hatterville strip

that will prove your guilt

if I get $250,000
by the weekend.

Time and place will follow."

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

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

but what I don’t understand,

is why you are
showing it to me.

I mean, this is
a matter for the police.

You want to know why?

I will tell you why.

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

because my alibi,
my former partner is dead.

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

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

Cabot Cove Gazette?

That’s right,
Mrs. Fletcher.

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

The only thing
I can’t figure out

is why you would
try to blackmail me.

Look, lieutenant,

I can almost understand
your paranoia,

but last Tuesday
I was in Italy

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

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

and now blackmail?

What I want to know,
is how much more

this is going to happen?

Honest to God,
Mrs. Fletcher,

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

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

I’m sure you understand

that it is
very difficult for me

to believe anything
that you say.

But I’m telling you that--

Look, it’s a wonderfully
clever scheme.

You know, dragging me into it
and diverting suspicion

away from yourself.

And the Cabot Cove
newspaper, I mean,

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

And it turns out that
there’s a news stand

at Grand central Station
that carries it one week late.

Mrs. Fletcher,
I can prove the cartoon

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

Can you?

Now look
at the characters’ eyes.

You notice there are
little highlights in their eyes.

Yes.

Now these are
on the upper right hand side.

Well, mine are
always on the left.

I can show you thousands
of my drawings,

always on the left.

You could have done it
intentionally.

But I didn’t.

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

Stan’s thumbs always have
a little inward curve

right about there.

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

Besides, why would
I jeopardize my career?

Another couple of years
Hatterville will be

as big as Peanuts
or Calvin and Hobbes

and then I’m home free.

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

that somebody who draws
cutesy little animals

that spout political
philosophy, would be

twisted enough
to pull a stunt like this.

But someone like you,
Mrs. Fletcher.

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

I presume your comic strip
refers to my investment

in the Compu Champ Corporation.

I told you,
I didn’t draw that.

Which you are implying,
Mrs. Fletcher,

to be a major swindle
on my part.

A kind of crime that,
were I proven guilty,

could send me to prison
for a very long time.

Mr. Melton.

Miss Kindle, I've had
my people looking

at your publishing operation

and I find them faced
with a truly difficult choice,

whether to take over
your company

and pillage it,
or to simply buy up

your many, many debts
and demand payment.

I can assure you,
my decision will be based

solely upon which option
will cause you the most pain.

Now, as to the
amount of money

I intend to sue you for,

I kind of like the roundness
of the 40 million

you mentioned
in your cartoon,

in dollars, of course.

I’m just telling
the both of you

that whatever I suffer
because of you two,

I will make you pay for.

May I suggest you discuss
your differences

on own your time?

Look, stop, both of you.

I am not that
cartoon character.

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

decision to feature a fox
that looks like me,

I wouldn’t be here at all.

Mrs. Fletcher.

Mr. Melton, would
you please sit down?

Ever since I got back
to New York today,

I have been threatened
and shouted at.

Now I think it is time
to try to find out

who’s really responsible

for whatever it is
that is going on.

Now suppose
we assume for a moment

that Mr. Hatter
is telling the truth.

Thank you.

The word was "assume."

Well, then
the question is why.

Why your comic strip,
why not another cartoon?

Well, like I said,

someone’s trying
to make my life miserable.

All right.

Can you think of
anyone that you know

who might want to cause
you this kind of trouble?

That could be a long list.

Actually,
any of my ex-wives.

The politicians I've skewered,
the celebrities,

then there’s always
that fading star Day Whiting,

genius behind Biff Banyon.

[Whiting]
The fact is, Mrs. Fletcher,

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

He knows it and I know it.

That was back
when he was your assistant.

Yes.

Add 25%
for yourself young man.

Thank you, Mr. Whiting.

Unfortunately, all my notes

and sketches were lost
some years ago in a fire.

Of mysterious origin
I might add.

So it’s his word
against mine.

Look, pal.

I can’t wait
until next week.

I need it this morning.

Mr. Bozell,
I’d like you to meet--

Now, Whiting.

No more stalling.

I understand
your situation.

Believe me.
This afternoon.

I promise.

All right.
You promise.

Forgive the interruption,
Mrs. Fletcher.

A failed journalist.

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

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

to get in touch with me,
why?

Because I have a great
deal of respect for you

and for your work.

And once I heard about
what’s been happening,

I wanted to offer you
a piece of advice,

protect yourself.

Sue Stan Hatter
for everything he’s worth.

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

I rather thought
you’d say something like that.

Look, you’re here
because you obviously think

that I might be responsible
for Hatter’s struggles.

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

You have to understand.

Stan Hatter is a sick,
desperate man.

He’s a pathological liar.

This whole scenario,

it’s a grand stand play
to gain sympathy.

He’s the victim.

At the same time on a truly
Machiavellian level,

that hype will boost
his readership,

the sales of all those
stuffed animals,

the viewership of the TV

cartoon series.

I never said
he wasn’t brilliant.

You know,
up until a moment ago,

you had me half believing
that Stan Hatter might be

responsible for all this.

You’re losing me.

Whatever Stan Hatter’s
problems are,

he regards his characters
as his friends.

I can’t believe
that he would be

capable of letting
his little cartoon creatures

say or do anything
that was unethical.

That’s a very shaky premise.

Is it?

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

I mean, would
you allow your...

what’s his name...

Biff Banyon to say or do
anything like that?

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

You and I live in
the real world.

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

Oh.
Thank you.

Excuse me, Day.

Mrs. Fletcher,
this is Mel Lazarus.

What a pleasure,
Mr. Lazarus.

How do you do,
Mrs. Fletcher?

Have you heard the news
about Ben Watanabe?

No.

[sergeant Martha]
All right, Mr. Hatter,

you still haven’t
answered my question.

Don’t you find it
a little strange

that Mr. Watanabe
was in your studio

at 3:49 in the morning?

Oh, I can’t--
I have told you before,

he always worked at night,

for me and for a lot of other
cartoonists.

Buckman, do you mind?

I’m sorry.

Check the bottoms
of your shoes.

I want every fragment out
of that wristwatch crystal.

Right, sergeant.

Come on, Mr. Hatter.

Let’s give a look
through your studio.

Excuse me,
sergeant Redstone.

Are you assuming
that this was a suicide?

Pending any evidence
to contrary, yes.

We are assuming cause of death
to be massive head

trauma caused by
impacting the pavement.

This is unbelievable.

He had everything
to live for.

He had a wife
and two daughters in Scarsdale

and a terrific career going.

Mrs. Fletcher,
what is your interest

in or your connection
to Mr. Watanabe?

And don’t try to
complicate things, please.

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

your obsession with murder.

Accusing me of being

obsessive is hardly polite,
sergeant.

Okay, all right.
I’m sorry.

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

All right.

Where is this Mr. Hatter?

Lieutenant,
what are you doing here?

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

I asked you a question.

It’s a personal matter.

Oh, really?

Oh, well,
I bet it’s fascinating.

A discredited former
narcotics cop--

Excuse me, sergeant.

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

statuette was cracked?

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

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

Teddy, did you
notice anything?

No.
Maybe it fell.

This is exactly
what I was talking about.

I’m not suggesting
anything, sergeant,

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

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

You are suggesting
that it wasn’t suicide,

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

And then what?

The killer threw
his body out the window,

so he could make it look like

he took his own life, right?

You know, that is
a very interesting possibility,

sergeant.

I mean, a fall
from the fourth floor

could certainly obscure
the real cause of death.

What is this anyway?

Oh, it’s the Reuben award.

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

Okay.

Let’s pretend this is
a murder investigation.

And in a minute
I’m gonna ask you exactly

why you are here.

But you first, lieutenant.

And unless you want

more trouble from IA
than you’ve already got,

I suggest you keep
the answers very straight.

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

No, sergeant, no way Ben
could have done those

counterfeit drawings.

He was strictly
into lettering.

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

I mean, sergeant,

when the killer intends
to kill someone,

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

What are we suggesting now,
Mrs. Fletcher?

Only the statuette,
if that is indeed

what Mr. Watanabe
was struck

with, was more a weapon
of opportunity.

Which would mean probably
that it was unpremeditated.

That’s good, Mrs. Fletcher.

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

a burglar or maybe
a crazed fan.

Except there was
no sign of forced entry.

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

simple solution.

Mr. Watanabe masterminded
the whole blackmail scheme.

He became disconsolate about
the fact that he dug himself

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

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

Or even better,
maybe he was murdered

by one of his
blackmail victims.

Someone knowledgeable
enough to make it

look like it was
unpremeditated, lieutenant.

Oh, that’s cute.

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

At least a dozen cops
will back me up.

If it is murder,
you better believe

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

In the meantime,
none of you take any trips.

And that includes you too,
Mrs. Fletcher.

Let’s go.

Oh, Jessica,
I can’t tell you

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

Well, thank you.

But the fact remains,

that whether Mr. Watanabe
was murdered or not,

there’s still a very malevolent
blackmailer loose.

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

some sort of thread
that will connect the victims.

[Melton]
So far you’ve used up

three of your five minutes,
Mr. Whiting.

So I suggest
your drop the tap dance

and get on with it.

Absolutely, Mr. Melton.

The point is, that
I’m terribly sympathetic

to the wrongs
that you’ve suffered

at the hands of Stan Hatter.

The man is arrogant.

He’s patently dishonest,

he’s a disgrace
to our profession,

and it’s time--

-Mr. Whiting.
-Yes.

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

a lengthy investigation
into Hatter and his activities.

This investigation is about
to bear serious fruit.

And it may well
benefit your case--

How much?

Mr. Melton, you have
to understand

that I have
poured a great deal--

I said, how much?

Ten thousand dollars.

But we should get results.

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

Dayton Whiting, with an H.

Dayton Whiting.

[woman on phone]
Yes, Mr. Melton.

Mr. Melton, you won’t be...

Something
to take to the bank

along with my check,
Mr. Whiting.

I’m accustomed to receiving
results for my money.

25, 26,

27, 28,

29... 3,000.

I honor my agreements.

Wait.

You said something about
an extra week in advance.

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

[inaudible speech]

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

I want to talk.

Call a 900 number.

What is
your problem, lady?

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

Wait a minute.

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

Who do you think
you are, Mother Theresa?

I seem to remember you getting
in over your head

on an officer
involved shooting about a year ago.

That was righteous,

Internal Affairs
cleared me on that.

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

and the IA looked
into everything,

including the color
of your skimmies.

So what?

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

You’re supposed to be innocent
until proven guilty,

but that does not
apply to cops.

Everyone in this building,
including you,

thinks I did it.

So what do you want?

Whoever drew
that rat comic strip,

they must be trying
to make me take the fall.

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

I have no money.

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

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

I might be able to figure out
who engineered

the Three Musketeer’s
drug heist.

So you clear your name,

you get your job back

and you live happily
ever after.

Something like that, yeah.

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

Still you could look
after that Fletcher woman.

I mean, at least
she talks to you.

Maybe she’s allergic
to your charm.

Okay. Ground rules.

You tell me everything
she does and everyone she sees.

You got it.

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

Killer?

I thought
you said it was suicide.

This came down from the lab.

[Jessica] But I think
that a semi-educated guess

describes it more aptly,
lieutenant.

Well, at any rate,

thank you
for letting me know.

It was murder.

Your Reuben award,
it was wiped almost clean.

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

But there were no
fingerprints.

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

Well, as I said,
I’m not sure

that the killer
really wanted to.

Find anything?

I’m afraid not, so far.

We’ve been through
every word

the Globe’s got on
DiMartini and Melton

and not even a comma
that cross references.

Except they apparently
have the same blackmailer.

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

That’s it.

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

[man on phone]
Operator 221.

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

Hello, Scuzz.

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

marked dead file, right?

No, I...

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

I checked with a couple
of your former editors

at the supermarket
tabloids, Mr. Bozell.

The material that you
submitted was so libelous

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

Oh, yeah?

Well, they are all a bunch
of spineless wimps.

Every damn word of
that was true.

Ah, not quite
every word, pal.

You simply
filed it all away,

until you had an opportunity
to use it for blackmail.

Wrong, lady.

Somebody stole them
out of my files.

Oh, sure they did.

The thing that’s
heartwarming to me,

is that you finally made
the big mistake.

No, I swear.

I never killed
that Lettering man.

You got the wrong guy,
DiMartini.

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

Because if you figured it out,

then sooner or later
all those people

who are being
blackmailed, are gonna

come after me too.

He’s got a point
there, lieutenant.

[Whiting]
He’s lying, Mrs. Fletcher.

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

Well, not according to this,
Mr. Whiting.

It’s one of several
that Jerry Bozell made

during the last few weeks.

Duplicates of the tape
that he sent you,

reporting
on his surveillance

of Stan Hatter’s activities.

I hired him three weeks ago.

To find something
that you could use

against Mr. Hatter,
some impropriety,

some sort of misbehavior.

Yes.

Yes, to get back at him
for the money

he’s making from my idea,

my intellectual property.

And all the millions
he stands to make.

Millions that are
rightfully mine.

I didn’t blackmail anybody.

And I didn’t kill
Ben Watanabe.

Oh, come on, Mr. Whiting,

you drew
that fake comic strip.

Are you kidding?

I couldn’t do that
cornball,

bigfoot stuff if my life
depended on it.

My style is realistic.

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

as a wrinkle artist.

Some critic.

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

And for the sake of
my health and her marriage,

I would be very grateful,

if you would not
bring her into this,

unless it’s absolutely
essential.

Then who drew the comic strips
and who killed Watanabe?

I think I know, lieutenant.

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

Except that it may have
gotten just that much easier.

There.

I didn’t imagine it.

When we were
at the Cartoonist Club,

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

And it reminded me.

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

from the window.

Now plants usually reach
for the light.

Yeah, I know,
it’s called heliotropism.

I raise orchids.

So somebody rotated it, so?

Rotating plants
can be good for them,

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

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

It’s one of those
artists’ gloves.

Watanabe’s blood.

Probably.

And with a little bit of luck,
laboratory analysis

should give us
the identity of the killer.

[Sergeant Martha] Now wait a minute,
Mrs. Fletcher.

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

that her husband stuck
to a very precise work routine.

Every night he would show up

at a half dozen
cartoonists’ studios,

but she insisted that he kept
the schedule in his head

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

Yes, that’s right,
sergeant.

Yeah, but now
you’re telling me

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

at his regular time.

I mean, how the hell
do you know that?

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

sergeant.

I... I almost didn’t think of it.

What, Mrs. Fletcher?

I telephoned
all the cartoonists

that he worked for.

It turned out that yesterday,

one of them
had called Ben to report

that he hadn’t finished
writing the dialogue

and his strips
wouldn’t be ready

for Ben to letter till today.

So what does this tell us?

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

with Mr. Watanabe’s schedule

and didn’t expect
him to show up

at Stan’s studio
when he did.

So when Watanabe got there

and discovered
that he wasn’t alone,

the killer figured
that there was no option

but murder.

The blood stains on the glove
are from the victim.

That’s it.

What? No hair,
no skin particles?

-Nothing.
-Damn.

Yeah. My sentiments
exactly, lieutenant.

I had to break a date
with my fiance.

And waste two very expensive
theater tickets

with very little gain.

Perhaps it’s not
so little, sergeant.

May I use your phone?

I need to leave
a message for Mr. Hatter.

Mr. Graves,
you’re under arrest

for the murder of Ben Watanabe

and for extortion
and blackmail.

[Teddy] Okay.

Yes, what
Mr. Whiting told you,

that part’s the truth.

He did hire me.

And gave you scripts
based on the material

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

I don’t know
where he got it from.

I just drew the pictures.

You know,
the subtle differences

between your drawings
and Stan’s,

that was very clever, Teddy.

When Stan was sick,
I ghosted all the strips.

Nobody ever knew.

[Jessica]
Until you told day Whiting,

which gave him the idea.

It was also very clever
of you to use

the Cabot Cove Gazette
for the blackmail notes.

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

Anyway, Mr. Whiting told me

I could keep whatever
blackmail money came in.

What a guy.

He’s okay.

He paid me more than Stan did

and treated me
like I was somebody.

And exposed you
to a great deal of risk.

Risk?

Blackmail victims frequently
kill their tormentors,

particularly if the victims
are really guilty as charged.

I guess I never
thought about that.

Don’t look at me, kid.

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

I never meant to kill Ben.

Honestly.

[Teddy] I was working on the
last batch of phony strips.

[Jessica] And wearing those
white gloves

to prevent leaving
fingerprints on the drawings?

[Teddy] Yeah.

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

My eyes were tired

and my back was
starting to complain.

I needed to stretch.

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

so I took a break

and went to the kitchen
for some coffee.

Then suddenly,
I heard the front door

being unlocked.

It was Ben.

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

He saw the false strips
and knew something was fishy.

Then I accidentally bumped
something and he turned.

Ben had a black belt in karate

and he looked like
he was ready to kill.

So I grabbed the Ruben award
and swung at him.

Then I realized how much
trouble I’d be in

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

So I decided to fake
his suicide.

There was a commotion
in the street.

If the police stopped me
and asked me questions,

I didn’t want the glove
found on me,

so I hid it then and there.

Why, Teddy?

Stan Hatter told me that
you’re brilliantly talented,

that you were on your way

to a superstar career
in the comic strip business.

Maybe in ten, 15 years.

Eight months working
as Stan’s gofer,

and I had it up to my skull.

And that music
he played day after day...

Mrs. Fletcher,

that phone message
you left for Stan

about how the police knew

it was murder
and they were coming in

to really go over
the studio tomorrow morning?

It was really
a message for you, Teddy.

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

Because the only way
that we could prove

that you were the killer was
if you incriminated yourself.

That’s pretty good,
Mrs. Fletcher.

That’s pretty good.

Mrs. Fletcher,
I got to tell you.

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

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

Thanks, Stan,
but I’d really feel guilty

if I contributed to you
missing your deadline.

Oh, thanks a lot, Jessica.

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

see you in the funny papers.