All language subtitles for Murder.She.Wrote.S03E16.Death.Takes.a.Dive.1080p.AMZN.DD2.0.x265.HEVC-Bearfish_track3_[eng]

Now I find myself
the manager of a prizefighter,

and you're under arrest for murder.

[Jessica] Tonight on Murder, She Wrote.

his gun was used to kill Mr. Talmadge.

That's very incriminating.

A roof might just fall in on your head.

-Is that a threat?
-Well, if it isn't,

I must have said it wrong.

Got a light?

Whatever it is you're selling,

you better peddle it someplace else.

McGraw was warned. Now I'll warn you.

If you think that Blaster
is going to lose intentionally

to, uh, that shillelagh--

[cheerful orchestral music]

[music playing]

Will ya move? Okay, okay. Now jab, jab.

Cover up, cover up!

Yeah, yeah, way to go, Blaster.
Keep that right tucked in.

Okay, okay. Now jab, jab.
Move in, move in.

Come on, come on, Blaster, combinations.

You know what a combination is?
One, two, jab, then the right.

Right. There you go.

Will ya move?

He's makin' meat loaf
out of your belly, big guy.

There you go. Isn't this guy somethin'?

I mean, look at that right hand.

Look at those moves. First a left,

then a quick right.

The timing, footwork.

I'm telling you, in six months,

the Blaster's gonna be right back on top.

A genuine contender.

He's something, isn't he, Jessica?

I mean, the guy's a mountain.

Oh. Uh, yes. Uh, Harry, I--

In three weeks,
the Blaster's gonna get a shot

at Sean Shaleen, the Irish shillelagh.

Oh, uh, yeah.

Come on, Jessica,
don't you read the papers?

We're talkin' about the
number eight grand contender

in the continental boxing federation,

which isn't exactly the WBA

or the IBC or even the WBF,

but it's not exactly chopped liver either.

Uh, oh, yes, but I--

Harry, I don't know what I'm doing here.

That's it! Come on.
Way to move, way to move!

Tuck in the left, Blaster.

Sanchez, keep those punches up, huh?

Hey, old man!
Why don't you give it up, man?

You ain't got nothin' left.

You couldn't lick a postage stamp.

I've seen statues
move better than you, man.

Come on, now. That's it, that's it.

Come on, man! Get the punches up!

Hey, you're a tub of turkey fat.

Ain't got nothing left.

[grunting]

[spectators chattering]

Come on, Blaster. Get out of there, man.

Hey, hey.

[chatter continues]

All right, Blaster.

That's the way to give it to him!

Oh, dear.

Harry, I thought you said
they were only practicing.

Yeah, yeah, you're right, Jessica.

Hey, Blaster, take it easy!
What are you doin'?

Hey, Blaster, back away!

Blaster, that's enough!

Hey, what are you, crazy?
Boyle, leave him alone.

-Hey, are you deaf?
-Hey, Blaster!

What's the matter with you, huh?

-He made me mad, Harry!
-All right, all right.

Hey, come on, McGraw,
get your animal out of here!

-All right.
-He started it, Mr. Ponzini!

Yeah, sure.

All right, come on, Blaster,
get yourself a shower now.

Yeah, yeah, you'll take a shower,

change clothes,
and we'll get somethin' to eat.

[panting] All right.

I'm sorry, Mrs. Fletcher.

I guess I just kind of lost my temper.

Come on, let's go.
I got to look at that eye.

No, Harry. No, no, no.

Jessica, you haven't heard what I--

I've heard enough, Harry.

Oh, for pity's sakes. You phone me.

You tell me you're in terrible trouble.

I take a bus all the way down
here from--From cabot cove--

I am in trouble.

And then I find that you want me

to invest in a boxer in a boxer!

Harry, you lied to me.

On my mother's bones, I never lied.

And when I tell you I'm in trouble,

I'm talkin' with a capital "t."

Okay, I got a salad here,
burger with everything,

a couple of steaks, three baked potatoes,

two corn on the cob, and a side of chili.

Jessica, if I don't
get this fight off the ground,

I'm gonna get picked apart
like a thanksgiving Turkey.

Oh, I've heard that before.

Can I help it if for once I'm
telling you the truth?

-And that'll be a first.
-Look,

there's this fat goon
with more muscles than brains

who thinks I owe him five big ones,

which I don't, by the way.

Oh? Well, why in the world would he--

Because with Benny Falcone,
you don't ask questions.

Harry, stop, stop, stop, stop, now.

Now, very slowly, I want you

to tell me exactly what is going on.

Okay, now, this is the straight skinny.

A few months ago,
I take a job from this guy,

Benny Falcone, to Chase down his daughter,

who's run off with some saxophone player.

He gives me 5,000, and off I go.

Only a week later,

the daughter and the sax player

show up on his doorstep
and move in with him.

Now, not only is Falcone
steamed at his kid,

but he's not too thrilled with me.

And he wants his five thou back,

which I can't give him,
because I no longer have it.

-But he can't do that.
-So I explained.

Except he suddenly developed
a loss of hearing

and threatened osteopathic damage

to my legs unless I cough up.

So I went to this major creditor of mine,

a fight manager named Pinky Schultz,

who happened to owe me a few bucks.

Only pinky was not in
the very best of shape

when I found him.

Sixty years of good living and bad booze

had finally put pinky down for the count.

I was standin' there thinking,

"Harry, that's gonna be you in the box,

as soon as Benny Falcone
catches up with you,"

when this guy comes up to me--

Lawyer, never did catch his name.

He hands me this contract for the Blaster.

It was pinky's way
of setting things right.

He'd left me the only thing in the world

that counted to him, his prizefighter.

Now, what do I know about the fight game?

Nothin, but I figure,

"okay, maybe I can turn this
contract into a few bucks."

So I take Blaster to Ponzini's gym,

figurin' maybe I can sell
the contract to some fight guy.

And what do you know soon as I walk in,

I can see the irish shillelagh
is workin' out in the ring,

which means maybe Wade Talmadge
the promoter

is around someplace.

-That's it, come on.
-Meanwhile, the owner

of the gym, Cosmo Ponzini,

is having his problems with a
muckraking reporter

named Dave Robinson.

-Get outta here, Robinson.
-I'm a reporter doing my job,

Ponzini. I have every right to be

you want to dig up dirt on Mr. Talmadge,

you do it someplace else.
You ever heard of freedom

of the press, fella? Oh, yeah.

And I also heard of private property,

which this is. You see that sign?

Can you read that sign?

You ever heard of the supreme court?

The sign's unenforceable, and you know it.

Hey, you're a pretty smart guy,

ain't you, Robinson?
You know everything, huh?

Well, let me tell ya. You know garbage.

You try to take down the fight business,

and a roof might just
fall in on your head.

You understand? Ooh, is that a threat?

Well, if it isn't, I must've
said it wrong.

Leo, Tony, show these two the door.

What're you hidin', Ponzini?
I mean, why are you so loyal

to a guy like Talmadge, huh?

Hey, watch it, you big creep!

You're gonna get a face
full of fingernails, you jerk!

Good, kid, good! Now keep movin'.

Move! That's it.

Hi.

Come on, kid, move.

Throw the jab, now, jab!

Sean looks good, Mr. Talmadge.
He's in real fightin' trim.

Just don't over-train him, Dennis.

The gates fight is still three weeks away.

Not to worry, Sir.

The boy's comin' along just fine.

A network tv fight--
we want to see him do his best.

Funny, he looks great to me already.

You an expert on the manly
art of pugilism, darling?

No, darling, just the manly art.

Uh, hi, Mr. Talmadge. Harry McGraw.

Listen, I'm new to the fight game.

But you probably heard of
my boy here, Blaster Boyle.

I've heard of him. I thought he died.

[laughs] Blaster?

You got to be kidding.
No, he's been real busy.

I got myself a real contender here.

Maybe, a couple of years ago.

Right now, all you've got
is a burned-out pug.

Hey, you got this irish powder puff

fightin' a has-been like jocko gates,

and you call my boy a pug? Mr. McGraw.

I could arrange to have
the, uh, powder puff

rearrange the contours of your jawline.

Oh, come on now,
what are we arguin' about?

I mean, I'm just here
tryin' to do a little business.

That's all. Like I said,

I'm new to the fight game, and I figured

maybe I can't give Blaster
the kind of representation

he really deserves.

That's why I'm bringin' him to you.

I'm a promoter, not a manager, McGraw.

Yeah, but you haven't heard my deal yet.

I'm not interested in your deal, McGraw.

[snapping fingers]

And I don't like being
hustled by cheap grifters.

-Trouble, Mr. Talmadge?
-Yes, Cosmo.

Mr. Boyle and his keeper
need directions to the door.

Yes, Sir. Okay, boys.

All right, all right,
we're goin'. No problem.

Take it easy. Take it easy, Blaster.

Hey, you're missin' a great bet, Talmadge.

In a few months, don't come cryin' to me.

I spent the rest of the day
hustlin' Blaster

from gym to gym.

But gettin' the bum's rush
from Wade Talmadge

hadn't helped much.

The word got around.

It also got around to Benny Falcone,

whose blood pressure
was rising as high as his voice

when he finally got me on the phone.

He said somethin' about cement
boots and the Charles river,

and then he hung up.

I was staring into a dead phone

when there was a knock at the door.

[knock at door]

Talmadge. Good evening, McGraw.

Mind if I come in?

Uh, hey, listen,

if the cockroaches
don't care, why should I?

Doc, Blaster.

I'll cut to the bottom line, McGraw.

I've reconsidered.

You want a fight for your boy here,

you've got it.

Three weeks from Friday with Sean Shaleen.

Here's the contract. The TV fight?

Well, what happened to jocko gates?

Oh, his old lady caught him

playing hopscotch
on somebody else's sidewalk.

She, uh, broke his jaw
with a coffee maker.

I'll expect your boy
to put up a good fight.

Naturally, I don't expect him to win.

Oh, you don't, huh? Hey, what's this?

You call this a purse?

Slavery went out a hundred years ago.

Those are my terms, McGraw.
Take 'em or leave 'em.

Let me know in the morning.

Bye, Mr. McGraw.

Oh, and McGraw,

our arrangement is strictly business.

There are no fringe benefits.

You know what they used to do
to people who poached

on somebody else's preserve?

Look it up.

That guy Shaleen and TV and all

That'd be a good fight for me, Harry.

Yeah, yeah.

I'd take that man seriously, Harry.

That Talmadge can be a rough customer

when it comes to his women.
Especially that one.

Jessica, don't you understand?

With my cut of this purse,

not only can I pay back Falcone,

I can make a few bucks.

Yes, I can see that.

But what's it all got to do with me?

Trainin' for a big fight costs money.

There's a lot of expenses. And, well

Frankly, my credit is about
as flat as a can of stale beer.

Look, I need a few thousand bucks.

That's all.

-Oh, Harry, please.
-You'd be in for half.

Partners, right down the line.

Look, Harry, I don't know anything

about the fight business,
and I don't want to know.

[sighs]

But if you're in some sort
of trouble with this, uh,

Falcone gentleman,

I certainly wouldn't
want to see you get hurt.

Suppose I lend you 5,000, huh? Lend?

Jessica, a gentleman does not
borrow money from his friends.

Besides, this isn't just the money,

it's an investment,
a chance at the brass ring.

I mean, Blaster's gonna knock
that shaleen kid silly.

Trust me. Look, here's a check.

It's a loan, like it or not.

Do with it what you want,

but the less I know
about what you're up to,

the better I'll like it.

Thanks, Jessica. You won't regret this.

Uh, excuse me. I got to make a phone call.

Get things rollin'.

That sure was nice of you, Mrs. Fletcher,

but I feel real bad about that 5,000.

That's the last time
you're ever gonna see it.

Oh, don't be so sure, Blaster.

I have great faith in you and, uh, Harry.

Why, uh, I even think you might

have a chance at your big comeback.

Comeback?

Oh, no, ma'am. I couldn't win that fight.

I mean, that'd be
the worst thing I could do.

Uh, I'm sorry, am I missing something?

Ma'am, the only reason
anybody ever hires me anymore

is 'cause I make 'em look good.

You see, I used to be
a pretty good fighter,

so when somebody whips me now,

it looks--It looks pretty good
on their record.

But, shoot, ma'am, if I beat Shaleen,

nobody'd ever fight me again.

But that doesn't make any sense.

It does if you know the fight business.

You see, I-i don't try to lose, but

Well, I know I'm never gonna be the champ.

I know that.

So I got to make my money while I can.

But, Blaster, you--

You can't go on being
somebody else's punching bag

for the rest of your life.

I don't intend to.

See, I've been sendin' my money
to this fella

down in tennessee.
I'm buyin' myself a dairy farm.

I almost got it paid for too.

Just two or three more fights,
I'll have it paid for clear.

But win that fight with Shaleen?

If I did, how'd I ever be able to retire?

[phone ringing]

[music playing]

[phone ringing]

-Hello?
-Mrs. Fletcher?

-Yes.
-My name is David Robinson.

I'm a sportswriter for
the boston evening tribune.

Yes?

Yeah, well, I'm curious to know

how you got involved
with an over-the-hill pug

named Blaster Boyle and
a hustler named Harry McGraw.

Mr. Robinson,

not only do I resent
the tone of that question,

but frankly, it's none of your business.

Wrong, Mrs. Fletcher.
You see, boxing's my beat.

And when a world-famous mystery writer

gets involved in the fight racket,

well, that's news. Well, you're wrong.

And I'm not involved in anything.

That so?

Well, the massachusetts
boxing commission's

gonna be very interested in hearing that,

because as of 5:00 p.m. yesterday,

you were listed as Blaster Boyle's
manager of record.

-What?
-Any comment, Mrs. Fletcher?

Uh, yes, uh uh, I'll get back to you.

Manager of-- I'm gonna kill that man.

Oh, dear, what am I saying? Harry McGraw.

Harry. Oh.

-Hello.
-Harry?

Uh, no. Who's this?

Oh, uh, this is Jessica Fletcher.

Well, well, well, Mrs. Fletcher,

how interesting to hear your voice.

This is lieutenant Casey.
Maybe you remember me?

Oh, yes, yes. Of course, lieutenant.

But what are you doing there,
in Harry's apartment?

Well, I just dropped by
to conduct a little business.

Well, may I please speak to Harry?

I'm sorry, Mrs. Fletcher, no can do.

You see, me and a couple of the boys, uh,

we're takin' him down to headquarters.

He's under arrest, Mrs. Fletcher.

The charge is first-degree murder.

Wade Talmadge had more
enemies than there are beans

in boston.

Just too bad Harry's the one who got him.

Well, I'm sorry, but I just can't believe

that Harry is responsible. Believe it.

Listen, uh, this gives me no
great pleasure, believe me.

I happen to like the guy.

Even though he is something of
a scuzzball.

I assume that you have some
sort of proof, lieutenant?

Motive, means, opportunity,

something besides just speculation.

Proof, yeah. Uh, by the way,

what is a nice lady like you
doing in the fight game?

Well, believe me, it wasn't my idea.

In-in fact, I, uh-I have no
idea how it happened.

Uh-huh. I guess Harry needed somebody

to front for him, huh?

The boxing commission never
give him an okay.

Too many years hangin' around
with too many undesirables,

right?

Lieutenant, just exactly
what proof do you have?

Harry!

Aw, Casey,

what'd you have to drag her into this for?

Her idea, McGraw.

She's got some cockamamie idea
maybe you need her help.

I'll give you 15 minutes.

Look, Jessica, I can handle this.

Yeah, so I see, Harry. Sit down.

Hey, I'm tellin' you.

The whole thing is a big frame-up.

So far, you haven't told me anything.

But the last time I saw you,
I gave you a check for $5,000.

Now I find myself the--
the manager of a prizefighter,

and you're under arrest for murder.

Harry, I want answers.

Answers, yeah. [clear throat]

I wish I had some.

Oh, about the fight commission thing,

I'm sorry about that. I, uh--

[chuckle] I sort of signed your name

to the contract.

-Sort of?
-Well, I had to, Jessica.

I mean, they didn't want
anything to do with me,

and after all, it was
your dough I was puttin' up.

All right, Harry, tell me.

Okay.

Last night, I went down to Ponzini's gym,

to talk to Talmadge.

He was in there, in the office,
with Ponzini and shaleen.

I could hear 'em arguing

while I cooled my heels outside the door.

I'm not lyin' to you, Mr. Talmadge.

I'm ready. Honest. I can take anybody.

Of course you can, son.
Who says you couldn't?

Look, what I mean is,

I don't need any help
fightin' them palookas,

you know? And I'm gonna prove that to ya.

I just don't want, all of a sudden,

somethin' to happen, you know?

Well, like what, for example?

Like what happened to Cosmo here.

You know, makin' it to the big fight

and, all of a sudden,
bein' told to take a dive.

Hey, you watch your tongue, kid.

I can still handle you.

I know you're a good fighter, Sean.

We're just making sure
you're not lucky-punched.

That's all. Dennis said my fights--

They were all setups.

Dennis talks too much.

Look, Sean, I picked you up
off a minnesota farm

because I thought you had talent.

Now, you either stick with me,

or you go duck hunting
for the rest of your life.

Look, I'm grateful for
all you've done for me,

Mr. Talmadge, but you gotta give me

a chance to prove myself. Got a light?

Sorry, doll face, I'm fresh out.

Oh, funny. You strike me as the type

that plays with matches.

Not me. I don't like gettin' burned.

You only get burned when you're careless.

Me, I'm very careful.

Honey, whatever it is you're sellin',

you better peddle it someplace else.

Right now, I'm interested in
only one thing:

self-preservation. Excuse me.

Sorry to bust this up, fellas.

I told you to wait, McGraw.

Hey, if I wanted to cool my heels,

I could go ice skating.

Now, you got your fight, Talmadge,

but it's not gonna
be one of your tea dances.

My boy Blaster
intends to come out smokin'.

Yeah, well, that's fine with me.

-But not me.
-Hey, tough t-bone, Charlie.

Me and Blaster had a long talk,
and he's gonna win this fight.

Don't worry, Mr. Talmadge. I can take him.

Sean, be quiet.

Let me spell it out for you, McGraw.

You got a nice bonus coming

if your boy puts up a good fight

and if he lays down in the third round.

-No way.
-I'm not asking you, McGraw.

I'm telling you.

And if anything dumb should happen,

it could get unhealthy for both of you.

-Don't threaten me!
-Take your hands off me.

My boy takes a dive for nobody.

Excuse me, Mr. Talmadge.

[blow landing] Ugh!

I sure hate to mess up a pretty face.

[gunshot]

That's enough.

At the risk of repeating myself, McGraw.

I'm not intimidated by
your threats or your firearms.

Your fighter loses this match,

or you both lose a great deal more.

Show the gentleman the door.

The Shillelagh and the pizza-belly

were havin' their jollies.

I just wanted to crawl into a hole.

That night, I was reloading my
piece and polishing off

the sole survivor of a second six-pack

when there was a knock.

When I opened the door,
she was standin'there.

Wade Talmadge's squeeze.

A hundred and twenty pounds of trouble,

soft as a London fog,

and smellin' like an armful of gardenias.

Not bad, doll.

Where's your boyfriend?

He's got a place out in marblehead.

Tonight I wasn't invited.

You're trouble. I can smell it.

Oh, if you want me to go,
Harry, just say so.

Hey, I'm cautious, sweetheart, not stupid.

Harry, you can, uh-spare me
the blow-by-blow description.

Jessica, will you let me finish?

Anyway, I figured Talmadge
sent her to see me.

You know, to find out what
I was gonna do about the fight.

But, hey, what do I care? You know,

when you're rollin' sevens,
you don't ask to see the dice.

Okay, okay. Anyway, the next morning,

all I could think of

was gettin' Benny Falcone off my back.

But no matter what Talmadge pulled,

I wasn't lettin' Blaster
take a dive for anyone.

Win, lose or draw,
it was gonna be his fight.

Lois came out of the bedroom,

lookin' for another round
of bedsheet bingo,

but I had more important things
to worry about.

I called Doc Penrose
and arranged to meet him

at gilhooley's.

Doc convinced me Blaster had
a real shot against shaleen,

who we called a real zero as a fighter.

All I had to do was

talk Blaster into really trying to win it,

because despite what I told Talmadge,

the big guy wasn't all that convinced.

I spent the next couple of hours

drivin' around lookin' for him.

When I caught up with him,

Blaster kept talkin' about
that dumb diary farm

he was buyin' in tennessee.

And how maybe it'd just be
simpler if he took a dive.

He finally changed his mind

after I told him what a chump
shaleen said he was.

One thing about Blaster--
don't get him mad--Ever.

Anyway, we headed back to my place,

where a reception committee
was waiting for me.

Two guys in blue, and lieutenant Casey,

who immediately confiscates my gun,

while he tells me Wade Talmadge

was found dead
behind the wheel of his car,

parked under a bridge

a couple of miles outside of town.

Killed with a .38, McGraw,
not more than an hour ago.

You're crazy! I didn't kill him.

Come on. You threatened him.

My gun hasn't even been fired.

So you cleaned it.

Nobody ever said you were stupid.

Take this guy away.

Which is when you phoned, Jessica.

But, Harry, that doesn't make sense.

Lieutenant Casey must have something

besides an idle threat.

Yeah. I have no alibi.

[sighs] While Talmadge was getting iced,

I was drivin' around
tryin' to find Blaster,

but go try to prove it.

What was Talmadge doing
parked under a bridge?

Oh, Casey's got that figured out too.

He says I called him
at his house in marblehead

and arranged to meet him under the bridge.

Then when I got there,

I plunked him in the chest
with a single shot from my .38.

-Is that it?
-How do I know?

Look, Jessica, I know Casey.

He's bullheaded,
but he's a pretty good cop.

He's got something.

He's just not telling me what it is.

Maybe I'll have better luck with him.

Meantime, you better get
yourself a lawyer.

-Lawyers cost money.
-Harry.

Oh, come on, Jessica.
With you carryin' the ball

for me, what do I need with a lawyer?

I got the utmost confidence in you.

Here's a photo from the crime scene.

Wade Talmadge slumped behind
the wheel of his car.

So you're saying what, that
Harry called him at his home,

lured him to this secluded spot
under a bridge,

where he could kill him?
That's the way it reads.

And the Butler and whoever
answered the phone

recognized Harry's voice?

No, actually it was
the housekeeper's day off.

So you don't even know for sure

that there was a phone call.

There had to be.
Otherwise, what's he doing

under the bridge?

Oh, I see. Maybe there was a phone call.

Maybe Harry placed it.

Lieutenant, if there was a call,

anybody could've made it.

-Mrs. Fletcher.
-Did you check Harry's phone

to see if there was an outgoing call

made to Talmadge's home?

So he used a pay phone.

Did you check anybody else's phone?

Lois Ames?

The phone at the gym?

Uh, Dennis Mcconnell's?

Mrs. Fletcher, Harry killed the guy.

Harry McGraw, do you understand?

I'll tell you something else too.

Don't even think about bail,
because the d. A. Says

he's going to the mat on this one.

Something just doesn't make any sense.

Ma'am, I've got the guy dead-bang:

means, motive and opportunity.

Now, this says

that there were no powder Burns
on his shirt.

Maybe Harry fired from a distance.

Inside a car?

Oh, that doesn't make any sense.

Mrs. Fletcher, he threatened the guy.

I've got two witnesses.
I know. Mr. Ponzini

and Mr. Shaleen. That's right.

Also Harry doesn't have an alibi.

Yeah, well, what about the
rest of the people involved?

You said yourself that Mr. Talmadge

was not a very popular man.

-Mrs. Fletcher.
-What about Mr. Shaleen

and his manager, Dennis Mcconnell?

Now, maybe they were very happy

to be rid of the arrangement
they had with the victim.

And Lois Ames.

What happened to her when she
left Harry's apartment?

Does she have an alibi? No.

She doesn't need an alibi.
She doesn't happen to own

a .38 caliber police special.

Oh, I see. Is that it?

Your "means."

Just because Harry carries a .38

just like the rest of the Boston police

and Lord knows who else.

There are .38s and there are .38s.

The D.A. would have my neck if he knew

I was showing you this,
but the hell with it.

Anything to get you off my case.

I had ballistics run a comparison

between the murder slug and
the one fired from Harry's gun.

Take a good look, please.

That's right, Mrs. Fletcher,
an exact match.

Talmadge was killed with Harry's gun.

But Harry's gun
was never out of his sight!

Now you got the picture.

Lieutenant, I've gotta go back
and talk to Harry.

No, no, no, no.
No, you've had your 15 minutes.

Now, Mrs. Fletcher, it was very nice

seeing you again, but good-bye.

-Yeah, but-
-Good-bye!

Uh, Ponzini's gym, please.
I think it's on 9th street.

[door closes] Yes, ma'am.

[tires screeching]

-Okay, move it!
-Excuse me.

Hope you don't mind sharing
a ride, Mrs. Fletcher.

Well, indeed I do. And how do know me,

because I-i certainly don't know you.

We talked on the phone.
Dave Robinson, boston tribune.

Oh, yes.

Lady behind the wheel is
my photographer, Pam Collins.

Hi. Sorry for the detour. It was his idea.

Yeah, well, since
you clammed up on the phone,

I wanted a chance
to talk to you in person.

It's for a series of articles
I'm writing on Wade Talmadge.

Well, isn't that, uh,

somewhat academic now, Mr. Robinson,

since Mr. Talmadge is dead?
What, are you kidding?

That's the first thing they taught me

at the Scranton school of journalism:

murder makes a great headline.

Not that murder was such
a big deal in scranton.

Tough town, tough people.

Anyway, now that Talmadge is gone,

maybe people won't be
so afraid to talk about him.

Well, still it seems
a bit gamy to rip him up,

after a man is dead. Of such things

Pulitzer prizes are made, Mrs. Fletcher.

Epitaph for a snake.

The King of the fix goes down
for the long count.

Yes, well, if you're looking
for dirt from me,

you're out of luck.

What I know about him,
I learned secondhand.

From Harry McGraw.

It's a shame he had to be the
one who got him.

I kinda liked the guy.

Surely Mr. Talmadge wasn't

as reprehensible as you paint him.

The guy was a real sack of garbage.

Everybody hated him.

His manager, Dennis mcconnell,
Sean shaleen.

He was bleedin' those two guys dry.

You see, Talmadge was fattenin'
up the kid's record,

so he could throw him to the
wolves at a price.

Like he did to Cosmo Ponzini
a few years back.

Really? Mr. Ponzini was a prizefighter?

You're kidding me. Fifteen years ago,

Ponzini had a shot at the title.

But Talmadge yanked out the rug.

Made him dump the fight, or else.

You mean he threatened him physically?

Now you got the picture.

'Course, Ponzini got a bundle
for goin' in the tank.

Talmadge set him up with that
gym, so he could develop

a bunch of new fighters. Dumb farm boys,

like Sean shaleen, who,
if you want to know the truth,

is about as tough as a wad of silly putty.

I see. Then it is possible--

Wait a minute, wait a minute.

I'm supposed to be interviewing you.

Yes, but Mr. Robinson--Dave you know,

when you talk about Mr. Talmadge,

I sense the most terrible
bitterness in your voice.

And I wonder,
is your interest in the story

strictly professional,

or if you have another reason

for wanting to expose Wade Talmadge?

I'm a sportswriter, Mrs. Fletcher.

This is strictly a story. That's all.

Come on, put your shoulder into it.

Harder, come on!

Oh, no, you tired already?
Kid, you're out of shape.

Come on, denny, man,
you know what this is.

It's a big waste of time.

With McGraw in jail and Talmadge dead,

they're gonna call this fight off.

Maybe, but there's plenty
of others down the road.

Listen, kid, I know
you look great in the mirror,

but this isn't a beauty contest.

You need all the work you can get.

You know your problem, denny? Huh?

You don't recognize talent
when you see it.

16 and 0, remember?

You're 16 and 0
against a bunch of green kids

and some over-the-hill beer bellies.

I could've beaten those guys.
Listen to me.

You come up against a real fighter, kid,

you're gonna get your head handed to you.

Like who, Denny? Huh? Blaster Boyle?

The guy couldn't beat eggs unless somebody

cracked the shells for him.
Don't be so sure.

Denny, I can beat this guy.

It's you and me, man, right to the top.

Hey, didn't you tell me once
we got out from under Talmadge

that we'd get a real shot
at the title, huh?

Instead of just some setup for a payday?

Hey, I'm not sayin' you haven't got guts.

I'm talkin' experience here.

I'm not windin' up like Ponzini,

a never-was that nobody remembers.

Hey, come on, denny.
Talmadge is dead, man.

Don't sell me out.

I'm not gonna do that, kid.

Trust me.

Yeah, right.

Hello?

Excuse me, uh, Mr. McConnell?

-That's right.
-My name is Jessica--

I know who you are. Mrs. Fletcher.

As soon as I saw the fight contract,

I made it a point
to check out the competition.

Boxing's, uh, a little
far afield for you, isn't it?

Oh, more than a little, I'm afraid.

Not that we don't welcome fresh blood.

You know Sean?

Sean Shaleen, the Irish shillelagh,

Mrs. J.B. Fletcher. How do you do?

Blaster Boyle's new manager.

-You got to be kiddin'.
-I wish he were.

It's a long story, Mr. Shaleen.

Well, you'll have to tell us
all about it some time.

Come on, Sean, let's hit the showers.

Uh, yes, uh--

Excuse me, uh, just one thing.

The other morning
when Mr. Talmadge was killed--

What a terrible thing! Tragic.

Someone must have telephoned him

at his house out at marblehead,

then met him under that bridge.

Not someone, Mrs. Fletcher, the killer.

Yes. Now, let's see,

that was, uh, 9:00, 9:30, I believe.

And you want to know where I was.

Uh, maybe both of us, is that it?

-Well--
-I can tell you where I was--

We were out doing roadwork between 8:00

and maybe quarter to 10:00.

Roadwork.

Oh, yes, of course.

Hey, Dennis! Ah--Oh--

Hey, I just got off
the phone with the tv people.

See? What'd I tell you? The fight's off.

No, you're wrong, kid. The fight is on.

I guess they figured
that with the killin' and all,

the fight'll get big ratings.

Anyway, I'm gonna be,
uh, fillin' in for Talmadge,

you know, promotin'.

So you need anything,
you just call me, huh?

-Okay.
-Excuse me, Mr. Ponzini?

You see the sign? No women allowed.

-Uh, yes, but I, uh--
-Hit the showers.

I'll be with ya in a minute.

Uh, Mrs. Fletcher.

Uh, looks like your boy and my boy

are gonna be goin' at it after all.

My boy?

You're his manager, aren't you?

Oh, dear. I better do something

about that right away.

Uh, listen, even though Talmadge is dead,

nothing's changed.

What I mean is,

I got a lot of time and money
invested in Sean shaleen,

and I don't expect him to lose
to the likes of Blaster Boyle.

Oh, now, now, just a moment.

If you think that Blaster is
going to lose intentionally to,

uh, that shillelagh--

[chuckles] you better think again.

Lady, McGraw was warned.
Now I'll warn you.

You tell Blaster
not to do anything stupid,

like winnin' that fight.

It could be, uh, exceedingly
dangerous for both of you.

This is Doc 29. Give me 500 on the nose,

lady gypsy, fifth at suffolk.

What do you mean, you can't take it?

Al, you gotta give me
a chance to get outta the hole.

I been feedin' you a lotta
years. I'm good for it.

Okay. Thanks.
Look, if it doesn't work out,

I'll settle--I'll settle up
with you tomorrow.

The whole thing. Right.

Thanks, guy.

Well, Blaster, we got it, the whole thing.

Five hundred, right on his buzzola.

You got it, Doc. I don't bet horses.

You shouldn't either.

Well, I shouldn't have got
married four times either.

What can I say? I'm a pushover.

-Doc, Blaster.
-Oh, hi, Mrs. Fletcher.

-Oh, sit down, Blaster.
-How's Harry?

Oh, in a lot of trouble, I'm afraid.

His gun was used to kill Mr. Talmadge.

That's very incriminating.

Yeah, except that Harry says
that the gun was never

out of his sight.

Which means that someone
figured out a very

ingenious way to frame Harry for murder.

Sounds to me like they're succeeding.

Look, Doc, we've just heard
from the television networks.

They want to go ahead with the fight.

That's good!
Harry says I can beat him, Doc.

Harry's in jail, Blaster,
and not very likely to get out.

You got no manager. Well, not exactly.

Ma'am?

Well, Doc, uh, I am the manager.

You know, on the record of the
boxing commission.

Ma'am, you-you don't know
anything about the fight game.

Oh, no, I don't. But you do.

Oh, no, ma'am.
I'm a trainer, not a manager.

And besides, I'd feel funny
workin' for a, uh--

-I know, no women allowed.
-Yeah.

Somethin' like that.

I'd pay you well, Doc, win or lose.

Oh, no, it's not the money, Mrs. Fletcher.

Excuse me.

It's rosy posy, leading by a
length, misty girl on the rail,

and Stan's pride, raging up on
the outside,

gap of two lengths, ain't he brave,

followed by boxcars where's lady gypsy?

Lady gypsy fading to last,
heading to the eighth pole,

it's rosy posy widening out
to two lengths,

followed by misty girl, Stan's
pride, and down the stretch--

Hey, I wanna watch wheel of fortune!

Ma'am, uh, about that job--

You think you could manage to give me

an advance on my paycheck?

"Promoter Wade Talmadge

"went down for the count,

"nailed with a .38 slug to the body.

"Authorities are holding ex-P.I.

turned hustler Harry McGraw,
47, of boston."

Forty-seven? Where does he get 47?

-Harry!
-Now, wait, wait,

it gets worse! "The fight between

"up-and-coming Sean shaleen,
the irish shillelagh,

"and one time contender Blaster Boyle

"remains scheduled for the end
of the month,

despite widespread rumors of corruption."

That makes it sound like I was
in on a fixed fight,

which I wasn't! Harry,

will you please calm down?
You're gonna pop a blood vessel

at this rate. Look, you've got

more important things to worry
about than some sportswriter.

Like a murder charge.

Now, what have you done about a lawyer?

Nothin'. Public defender's office

sent me some geek fresh outta law school.

He took one look at Casey's
report and asked me

to plead temporary insanity.

-Oh, dear.
-Yeah, I guess

he had trouble gettin' past
the part where Talmadge

was killed with my gun,
which just happened to be

in my holster at the time
Talmadge was offed.

Well, that part is a puzzle, Harry.

Now you sound like the geek.

Jessica, tell me. Did you or didn't you

find out who hung this frame on me?

Well, uh, no, uh-- not actually, Harry.

Well, what were you doin' all day?

Sorry, but it, uh, doesn't look promising.

Sean shaleen and his manager,
Dennis mcconnell,

said they were out doing
roadwork at the time that, uh,

Mr. Talmadge was killed.
Now, I don't believe that.

Now, let me see, now, Cosmo Ponzini

went to his gym early.
He was there before it opened,

and his employees will verify that.

-Sure. What else?
-Lois Ames claims

that she returned to her apartment

after she left your place,
and her doorman saw

her come in. And Doc Penrose says that

he went to the track early to watch

the early morning workouts. So he says.

Jessica, I think we have to
call off this fight.

Oh, no, Harry. The fight stays.

-What?
-Look, maybe whoever killed

Mr. Talmadge wanted to prevent
the fight from happening.

So, if it stays and is still scheduled,

maybe that will draw the killer

out of the woodwork.
Oh, great thinking, Jessica.

Only this time he's gonna be after you.

Oh, don't worry about me.

I'll have Blaster with me all the time,

and it'll give me a chance to
poke around the gym some more,

no matter what that sign
on Mr. Ponzini's wall says.

-Nah, I don't like it.
-And how do you feel

about spending the next 30
years of your life in jail?

You'll be 77 years old,
you know, when you come out.

Jessica, you shouldn't believe

everything you read in the papers.

The death of boxing promoter Wade Talmadge

hasn't stopped the career
of the up-and-coming slugger

Sean, the Irish shillelagh, Shaleen,

as he goes after win number 17

at the arena a week from Friday

against one-time contender Blaster Boyle.

The former wisconsin farm boy
is a perfect 16 and 0

against some pretty tough competition,

and Boyle just doesn't look
like much of a threat.

Raised on his family farm

a few miles East of sheboygan,

Sean learned the meaning
of hard work early in life.

But it wasn't long before the Shaleens

discovered pugilism.

Actually, Sean's first love
was duck hunting,

and he became a real
wizard with a 12-Gauge,

outshooting oldsters three times his age.

But at age 16, he'd already won

the junior athletics boxing championship,

and from there,

it was a quick hop
to a professional career

under the tutelage of his manager,

Dennis mcconnell.

An up-an-comer? You bet.

And as we said, Blaster Boyle,
good as he used to be,

will be no match
for this fighting irishman.

One reason is because get this, folks--

Blaster Boyle's new manager

is not a grizzled old veteran
of the fight wars,

but a very sweet and charming lady,

a writer of murder mysteries

who doesn't know a left jab
from a right cross.

Sorry, Blaster, you were a good fighter,

but in this reporter's opinion,

it's time for you to hang 'em up,

you and your manager.

[tv shuts off]

[uplifting instrumental music]

Easy on that stuff. Easy.

You look beat.

You're not gonna last till Friday.

Oh, come on, Doc. I feel great.

Wasn't talkin' about you.

[chuckles]

Well, if you're worried about me, Doc, I--

I can go on like this forever.

Yeah, if forever comes tomorrow morning.

You know, you don't have to do this.

You're not the one
that's fightin' shaleen.

You know, I'm gonna beat
that guy, Mrs. Fletcher.

I'm gonna do it for you and Harry.

I mean, it is okay, isn't it, ma'am?

I mean, to win?
Oh, yes, of course, Blaster.

I, uh, I was just thinking--

I had an idea that, uh,

maybe someone wanted the fight called off,

and maybe that was the reason
that Talmadge was killed.

But, uh--

Well, I-i think I was wrong about that.

Well, whoever killed Mr. Talmadge,

I can't get real mad at him.

I mean, killin' isn't right,

but, well, Mr. Talmadge,
he was a real bad man.

Makin'people lose fights.
I mean, that was real bad.

Well, apparently you weren't
the only one that he pressured,

Blaster. There was Mr. Ponzini.

And a lot more than that.

I can name you a dozen fighters

that creep chewed up and spit out.

Gutty guys like Carlos Montenegro,

Willie Brandeis,

Mickey Brewster, hell of a lightweight.

Lou Robbie, the Scranton scrapper.

Tommy novinski,
nice kid with a great right.

Whoa, Doc, back up a bit there.

Uh, this, this fella from Scranton?

Oh, Lou Robbie, the Scranton scrapper.

I never heard of him, Doc.

That was a few years ago, kid.

A real solid middleweight,
right on his way to the top

till he ran into Wade Talmadge

and lost a fight he should've won.

Let's see, that was 15 years ago.

I remember the night of the fight

seein' Talmadge and
a couple of his enforcers

comin' out of Robbie's dressin' room

just a few minutes before the fight.

That night, robbie got
beaten silly for 10 rounds.

He wouldn't defend himself,
just kept takin' punches.

And after every round,
he'd go back to his corner

and stare down at Talmadge
and just give him this look.

What happened to him, Doc?

After the fight, he collapsed.

Wound up in the hospital for a week,

while Talmadge's boy
got a shot at the title.

He was never the same after that.

Then Lou Robbie is still alive?

Yeah. Last I heard,

he went back to scranton,

workin' in some bowlin' alley
as a janitor.

Come on Charlie. Don't give me that.

No, no, look, I know what
happened in memphis.

I'm just trying to get
confirmation, so I can use it.

What are you afraid of?
I mean, the man is dead,

for cryin' out loud!

No, Charlie, Charlie, I'm
not tryin' to embarrass you.

Fine! I'll get it from somebody else!

Geez!

Charlie pendelton used to
manage jojo gutierrez, right?

Hear no evil, see no evil, speak no evil.

Pam, where's the one with
Talmadge and the senator?

Did you call A.P? Yeah, but

they couldn't find it. What do you mean,

they couldn't find it? It was on
their wire last year.

Well, they know, but they
couldn't find it, okay?

Would you get off my back?

Dave, Dave, Dave, this story--

I think maybe you should drop it.

There's something happening to you.

-I'm just tired, okay?
-No, no, it's not just that.

Pamela, lay off, all right?
I just don't need this.

Yeah, I know.

Guess you don't need much of
anything, do you?

[phone rings]

Hello.

Marty, Marty, what are you
doin' callin' me on this line?

I told you this is for outgoing only!

Yeah?

Yeah, okay, okay. What have you got?

There's a woman downstairs

looking through the record files.

Mrs. Fletcher!

Uh, excuse me, miss.

It's all right, Blaster. She's okay.

Mrs. Fletcher,
I heard that you were down here

looking through the back issues.

What are you looking for?

[music plays]

Look, uh, I don't know
what you're trying to prove.

I can't prove anything, Pam.

But one thing I have figured out,

your boss Dave Robinson's crusade

against Wade Talmadge
is personal, isn't it?

Very personal.

Dave was only 12 years old

when his father took that savage beating,

Mrs. Fletcher. Lou came home to Scranton

nearly a vegetable.

And is that why Dave became a
sportswriter?

To settle a score? I guess with Talmadge,

it was real personal.
But can you blame him?

No, I couldn't blame him for, uh--

Well, for writing about Mr. Talmadge.

Mrs. Fletcher, Dave didn't kill him.

Well, he certainly had good reason to.

No argument there,

but while Talmadge was being shot,

Dave was at my place,
and I will swear to that.

-And would you lie to it?
-If I had to.

As if you haven't figured it out,

Mrs. Fletcher, I love the guy.

Not that it's mutual.

Dave is so wrapped up in his
story and his career

that I'm just an accessory to his life.

But, yes, I would lie.

Only in this case, I don't have to.

It'd be the truth.

Well, I'd like to believe that.

Pam-- mm-hmm.

About Mr. Talmadge--

I did a little research,

and one thing I noticed, his clothes.

He seems to have been
something of a fashion plate.

Yeah, you mean the preppy look.

[chuckles] He worked real hard at it.

He came out of the Chicago tenements.

Guess that's why he always
tried to be Mr. Ivy league.

You know, with the tweed jackets,

the cashmere sweaters, the whole schmear.

You know, when they found the body,

he was wearing a pair of slacks
and a plain White shirt.

No. No, that doesn't sound like Talmadge.

Dave and I bird-dogged him for months.

He wouldn't be
caught dead lookin' like that.

Yeah, but that's just the point.

He was caught dead looking like that.

-Unless-
-What? What is it?

Oh, it-- it was just a thought.

Pam, thanks for everything.
I've got to run.

Come on, Blaster.
We've got to be on our way.

Bye.

Still tryin' to make
sense of the ponies, Doc?

Everybody needs a hobby. - expensive.

So's women and booze. I tried 'em both.

Horses don't talk back, and
they don't give you a hangover.

So, Doc, uh, I hear you're
helpin' the, uh, Fletcher dame

get Blaster Boyle ready for the fight.

-No secret.
-Your boy's gonna lose, Doc.

-We'll see.
-You're not hearin' me.

Your boy's gonna lose.

How come you suddenly sound
so much like Wade Talmadge?

I got an investment in Shaleen, Doc.

I don't want anything funny to happen.

Get outta here, mcconnell.

Come on, Doc, Sean's got a future.

Blaster's just, uh, markin' time.

The money's the same for him, win or lose.

Oh! You want me to sweeten the
Kitty a little something extra.

How much? You don't hear so good.

When did you suddenly get so damn Noble?

This is a dollars and cents business.

I just wanna make sure we all
come out ahead.

Look, the Fletcher woman bailed you out

with the bookies this time.
So how about a couple of weeks

from now? You need a cushion, Doc,

and I'm offerin'.

Come on.

You listen to me, you scuzzball.

I've spent my whole life
watchin' this game

get screwed around by guys like you

and Wade Talmadge, suckin' the
life outta fighters,

decent fighters, like Blaster,
who had to go along,

'cause they had no choice.

Well, this time we got a choice.

You tell Shaleen to keep his chin covered.

Is there a Dennis McConnell here?

Hey, there's a telephone
call for Dennis mcconnell.

Yeah!

McConnell.

What are you callin' me here
for? You crazy?

I wanted to talk to you, Denny.

It's been a couple of days.

I told you, I'll call you.

Look. I've been following Mrs. Fletcher.

She was talking to the photographer.

The-the one that works for Dave Robinson.

So what?

She's asking a lot of questions.

-So she's nosy.
-She's not giving in, denny.

Not while McGraw's still in jail.

Well, what are you worried about?

About cops, okay? Look, that night that--

That I spent with McGraw,
I did that for you, honey.

And didn't I express my appreciation, hmm?

Lois, cool it for a while.

And like I said, don't call me,
I'll call you.

Well, well, Mrs. Fletcher.

Just, uh, happened to be
in the neighborhood?

Uh, no, lieutenant. But I had a thought.

I wanted to talk
to Mr. Talmadge's housekeeper.

Is that right? Uh, about what?

Well, I think that my hunch

about the way
that he was dressed is valid.

I mean, he was just not the sort of man

who would wear
a shirt and a pair of slacks.

Clothes were very important to him,

almost like a status symbol.

You could say they were like a uniform.

Herringbone jacket
and a gray cashmere sweater.

-What?
-Same thing occurred to me.

I had the housekeeper
check through his things.

That's what's missing.
The jacket and the sweater.

Which means he was
wearing them when he was shot.

-Yeah, maybe.
-Well, of course he was.

There were no powder Burns on his shirt,

which means that the killer

removed the sweater and the jacket.

But why, and where are they?

Well, my men are looking
for them, Mrs. Fletcher,

and they're starting
with Harry McGraw's apartment.

Lieutenant, about that phone call

that you think was made to this house.

That is still the theory.

Well, have you checked
anybody else's phone?

We're work-- look, Mrs. Fletcher.

You and Harry can huff and puff
all you want.

It's not gonna change one thing.

Talmadge was killed with Harry's gun.

Harry had the gun
when Talmadge was killed.

Now, if you can come up
with an answer to that,

maybe I'll listen.

Will you excuse me?

It may have been my gun, but
I didn't kill him.

Harry, are you certain that
you had your gun with you

at all times?

It is always with me at all times.

Well, not all times.

I mean, I do not sleep with it.

Especially on those occasions

when I am entertaining a young lady.

Uh, Harry--Harry, when you,

uh, disrobed for the evening,
what did you do with your gun?

The same thing I always do.

I hung the holster on a hook
in my bedroom closet.

Aha. Question.

Is it possible that Lois Ames
might have come to your place

carrying another .38 police special,

which she substituted for your gun?

Nah, she wouldn't.

I said, is it possible?

I, uh, can't believe that you, uh,

stayed awake all night.

Well, no, no, Jessica, it doesn't work.

See, I put the holster on the
next morning.

Now, even if she made the switch,

she wouldn't have had
time to switch it back

because Casey arrested me later
that morning,

and it was my gun he took.

Something is missing.

Ah. The look on your face, Casey,

this has got to be good news for me.

Yeah, McGraw, it's your lucky day.

We just got a readout on outgoing calls

from a certain phone
the morning of the murder.

At 8:00, a two-minute call

was placed to Wade Talmadge's
house in, uh--In marblehead.

From which phone?

-From Cosmo Ponzini's office.
-There you go!

I was nowhere near that place.
Wait a minute, hotshot.

This doesn't prove anything yet.

Of course it does, lieutenant.

It proves that Harry was framed.

Ponzini, that barf-bag.
I knew it. Come on, Jessica.

I want a piece of that guy.

Wait a minute, just hold it, McGraw.

You're goin' nowhere
until I talk to the D.A.

-Come on, Casey.
-Which I'm planning to do

as soon as I have a little chat

with this, uh, Cosmo Ponzini.
Uh, uh, lieutenant,

it's just a suggestion.

Look, even if the phone call
was made from Ponzini's office,

that doesn't mean that he made the call.

I mean, from what I can gather,
that office is never locked.

So?

Well, uh, maybe we'd have more luck

if, uh-- well, if I just poked around.

I mean, none of them there
take me very seriously,

particularly Mr. Ponzini, and, uh--

Well, who knows, I might just, uh,

stumble over something

that they wouldn't let slip
in front of you.

No, um-- no, it's too dangerous.

Oh, but I'd have Blaster with me.

Oh, don't worry.
I would be perfectly safe.

Left up, keep it up, kid.

Slip the right, move inside.

Inside, Sean. There!

Hey, Blaster, what are you doin' here?

Come to spy on your opponent?

I've seen him fight already, Mr. Ponzini.

He didn't show me nothin'.
Yeah? We'll see about that.

Hey, lady, I told ya the last time

you was here that-- yes, I understand,

Mr. Ponzini, and I don't
intend to stay long.

The fact is,

I'm a little puzzled about some things,

and, uh, I want to ask you
a question or two.

About what?

The day that Mr. Talmadge was killed.

What time did you open up the gym?

7:00, 7:30.

And you were here at 8:00 a.m.?

And so were a lot of other people.

So what? Uh, what other people?

Look, lady, I ain't got time

to answer a lot of dumb questions.

Oh, oh, there's no need
to be upset, Mr. Ponzini.

I'm sure that you have nothing to hide

in Mr. Talmadge's murder.

Me?

You're crazy!

All right, you wanna know who was here?

Okay, there were two
club fighters from brockton.

Uh, there was moxey who
cleans the, uh, locker room,

and there was, uh, Doc Penrose--

He was just leavin' for the races.

And, uh--Oh, Dennis and Shaleen.

The kid had just finished out
workin' on the heavy bag,

and then they were goin' out
to do some roadwork,

and uh, that's it.

Okay? Any other questions?

Well, just one more thing.

Did any one of them ask to use
the telephone in your office?

Ask? Ha! Around here nobody asks.

The phone is there. They use it.

So Mrs. Fletcher, still at it?

Still trying to hang the murder
on somebody else?

Well, actually, I was inquiring--

No!

You were pokin' your nose
in where it doesn't belong,

and I'm gettin' a little tired of it.

Excuse me, Mr. Mcconnell.

There's no call to use that tone of voice.

You keep out of this.

I'm just sayin' you could be more polite.

Get your hands off him, Boyle.

I'm just tryin' to protect
the lady, that's all.

That's all right, Blaster.

Look, why don't you and
this busybody get out of here?

-Don't do that.
-I'm gonna tell you somethin'.

I'm gettin' kinda tired of both of you.

Hey!

Kid, kid, you all right? It's okay.

What, are you nuts or somethin'?

Look at what you did!

Come on, let's get him to the showers.

Does that mean there won't be any fight?

[phone ringing]

Look, I'm tellin' you.
I didn't make any phone calls

to anybody from that office.

Did you see anybody else use the phone?

Mr. Shaleen, you must tell us
what you know. Please.

Denny didn't kill anybody!

Denny? Dennis McConnell, your manager?

You saw him use the phone?

No.

I didn't see him exactly.

He went into the office a couple of times

to use the phone.

To call some woman, I think.

-What woman?
-I don't know.

He didn't talk about her much.

I knew he had somethin' goin'.

He tried earlier a couple of times,

but she wasn't answerin' the phone.

-Or she was out.
-Phone company doesn't show

any outgoing calls that morning

except for the one to marblehead.

Okay, so maybe he never did get through.

Look, all I know is denny comes
out of the office,

and he says
we was gonna skip the roadwork.

He had some place to go.

I figure he's gonna see the lady,

so I don't ask any questions.

So Dennis took off.
And I went back to my hotel

room to watch a little tv.

The first time you told me
you were out doin' roadwork.

You lied. I didn't lie.

Denny lied. I just kept my mouth shut.

There you go, Casey, your phone call.

You got the guy dead-bang.

I got nothin', McGraw,
except maybe a can of worms.

Hey, you don't believe
all that stuff about a dame,

do you? I do.

Jessica, you're supposed to be on my side.

I also think I know who the
lady is. Lois Ames.

Lois? You're nuts. She's crazy about me.

Like I told the cops, Miss Ames, uh,

she came in about a quarter to 8:00.

She was out all night, if-if
you catch my drift.

Uh, yes. Uh, now what I am most

interested in is a man
who may have shown up

a short time later.

Come on, lady, I can get in a
lot of trouble

talkin' to you like this.

Yeah, the guy, well, uh,
he was medium build,

about six feet, dark hair. That's him.

Yeah, well, I can't tell you his name,

but, uh, he'd been poppin' in and out

the past couple of weeks.

Always when the coast was
clear, if you catch my drift.

Yes, I'm-i'm still catching it.

And how long were they upstairs?

Well, long enough, I guess.
I mean, the guy came down

about 10:00 and, uh, miss Ames,
uh, she left about 11:00.

Uh-huh. And they were in her apartment

the entire time? Sure. I guess so.

I mean, they couldn't have left
without me knowin' about it.

Come on, Blaster.
We've got another stop to make.

Thank you very much. Nice seein' ya.

Come back anytime.

Uh, no, Blaster, you stay here.

Oh, gee, I don't know, Mrs. Fletcher.

I need some answers, and this time,

I don't think
that intimidation is the key.

[tv plays indistinctly]
Hello, am I interrupting?

Oh, not at all. Come on in.

Make yourself comfortable.

The, uh, corned beef's tough
and the linebackers aren't.

I don't want to bother you, Mr. Robinson,

but, uh, I need some information.

Possibly the kind
that only you can give me.

You wanna know about Lou Robbie, right?

Whether or not I hated
Talmadge enough to kill him

for turning my dad into a vegetable?

-Well, that's not why I came.
-No?

The way I figure it, I'm "a" number one

on your suspect list. Not at the moment.

Oh, you have a very good
motive, of course,

but I don't believe that
you're the killer type.

With a gun, or with this?

You see, Mrs. Fletcher, I, uh,

I killed the story. Pam was right.

Talmadge was dead and he was
still eatin' me alive.

Funny, huh?

Anyway, I gave the whole thing up.

The whole story, in the wastebasket.

And you know what?
For the first time in years,

I feel pretty terrific. Good.

Obsessions can be very poisonous.

-So what can I do for you?
-Tell me about Lois Ames.

Well, what's to tell? Uh, an ex-showgirl,

real hustler. Always has a
knack for latching

onto the main chance, you know?

Why do you ask?
You think she shot Talmadge?

I don't know.

She's the only one who had
access to Harry McGraw's gun,

and she was having an affair
with Dennis mcconnell.

[laughs]

Well, she never did have
much taste, but I mean--

Shoot Talmadge. I mean, what for?

He was her meal ticket.

Even if she'd fallen in love with Dennis?

Mrs. Fletcher,

that woman doesn't know
the meaning of the word.

Well, thank you, Mr. Robinson.

I'm sorry to have bothered you.

-Anytime.
-Flanked wide, Howard drops

back into the shotgun formation,

larussa's in motion,

the snap, he steps up.
Donaldson on a fly pattern.

Shotgun?

Oh, my goodness!

Lieutenant, did you find the
missing sweater and jacket?

Uh, no. I doubt if we ever will.

Sid, don't give me maybes.

Just tell me, could the guy and
his girlfriend

get out of the building without
being seen?

-Uh, lieutenant.
-I don't know.

Staircase, fire escape,
elevator to the garage,

whatever. Lieutenant,

what kind of powder Burns would result

if Mr. Talmadge has been shot
with, say, a shotgun?

What, shot with a shotgun?
He was plugged with a .38.

I tell you what, Sid, forget it.

What's comin' out of the
academy these days? Retards.

Well, it could have been a shotgun.

I think it was.

Oh, do you really?

Next class enrolls in three weeks.

You'll fit right in. Lieutenant.

Do you or do you not want to know

who the real killer of Wade Talmadge is?

-You know who did it?
-Yes. I think so.

But I need your help to prove it.

Help. Right.

Like the kind of help that
could cost me my badge?

Well, maybe, if I'm wrong.

What the hell, I'm nowhere.
What do you need?

Well, first, release
Harry McGraw from custody,

and second, make sure that
everyone involved

knows about it.

-So far, so good.
-Then you saw him too?

He picked us up around 4th street.

All right, Harry,

now, let's try to reconstruct
what happened.

Now, Mr. Ponzini hit you
and you fell to the floor.

Now, where was that? Right here.

Uh-huh.

Would you mind getting down
on the floor, please?

Oh, Jessica.

The same position you were in that night.

Yeah, okay.

Now, you--You start
to draw your gun, right?

Well, I'd like to oblige you,
but Casey confiscated it.

Well, then we'll just pretend.

Now, you draw your gun.

Now, Mr. Ponzini grabs your wrist.

-Right. Then he pulled me up.
-Uh-huh.

And in the struggle, the gun goes off.

Where? Uh, here.

Aha.

Well, the bullet must have embedded itself

either in the wall
or in one of these cushions.

Yeah, but where's the bullet hole?

There.

The bullet went right into the pillow,

and, mm-mm, it's gone, just as I thought.

It was dug out of here
by Wade Talmadge's killer.

I was right, Harry.

Someone took the slug

and packed it into a shotgun shell

and fired it at Wade Talmadge
at close range.

And because it was fired by a shotgun,

the ballistics markings weren't disturbed.

Even to a trained eye, it appeared

to have been fired from your pistol.

-A shotgun? You sure?
-Oh, I'm positive.

That's why the killer had to remove

Mr. Talmadge's jacket and sweater.

The powder Burns from a shotgun blast

would have given the whole thing away.

They'd be far more extensive

than those that came from a pistol.

Okay. So who?

Well, it had to be someone who knew

the slug was buried in this sofa,

someone who was here
when your gun went off,

someone who had a working
knowledge of shotguns,

someone who had access
to that phone that morning

to call Talmadge
and lure him to his death,

and someone who had no alibi
for the time of the shooting.

Someone-- someone named Sean Shaleen.

That was what you were getting to,

wasn't it, Mrs. Fletcher?

Yes, Sean. Actually, it was.

You know, you're a pretty smart lady.

A lot smarter than you, bozo.

Harry, this is no time to get him angry.

Angry?

No, no, I'm not angry.

To tell you the truth,
I'm a little scared.

-Why'd you kill him, kid?
-Why?

Can't you figure it out for yourself, huh?

He was gonna force me to dump
a big fight for a price.

And it was either that or get killed.

I guess you could kind of say
it was like self-defense.

You know? Him or me.

Yeah, but then you had to drag me into it.

I'm sorry about that.

Look, you threatened the guy, McGraw.

Man, you were beggin' to be set up.

And when that shot went wild, man,

and I-i realized what
I could do with that slug--

Being an expert with a shotgun?

I caught that sportscast
on television, Sean.

Yeah, I'm sorry you did.

You're gonna be a lot sorrier, kid.

Have you heard enough, lieutenant?

Oh, please, Mrs. Fletcher.

You came through loud and clear.

Freeze, Turkey!

You said Casey took your gun away.

So I lied.

Cows, Doc? You and a bunch of cows?

Yeah, I'm gonna be
a gentleman Farmer, Harry.

Me and Blaster.

Gonna be partners in his dairy farm

down in tennessee.
I give you three months.

No, make it two.

Okay, two eggs over easy ham,

whole wheat,
a denver with a side of fries,

two poached with bacon, White toast,

heavyweight special with sausage,

two slabs of ham, two english,
and a large O.J.

more coffee coming up.

All right, you can forget
about Dave and Pam.

What, they're too good to eat with us?

No, they're on their way
to city hall to get a license.

Marriage?

You know, I'd drink to that,

but I'm afraid it'd spoil my appetite.

Well, I'll drink to somebody.
Here's to Jessica.

The best legman a P.I. ever had.

Hey, Harry, you got that
a little screwed up, don't you?

Oh, incidentally, not only

did I get Benny Falcone off my back,

but, here you are, 5,000 clams.

Never let it be said
Harry McGraw welshed on a debt.

Oh, Harry, are you sure? I mean, how--

How?

I made a deal with the TV people.

But--But the fight has been canceled.

I know, but I sold them
something even better.

The inside story of a tough,
resourceful private eye,

who single-handedly broke open

one of the largest murder cases
of the decade.

Single-handedly?

So I exaggerated a little.

What's a little White lie between friends?

[all laughing]

[cheerful orchestral music]