All language subtitles for Murder.She.Wrote.S03E19.No.Accounting.for.Murder.WEBRip.x264-ION10

[screaming]

[Jessica] Tonight, on Murder, She Wrote.

There's no such thing as ghosts.

Banshees, maybe.

And, of course, there's the little people.

You buy me out right now,

or we go to court and you open your books.

The Internal Revenue Service
does not wait.

We act quickly and decisively.

With compassion
and understanding, of course.

Do you want to get rich
or do you want to pay taxes?

I hope he knows what he's doing.

Tax shelters, and I missed that semester.

The stories I could tell you.

Suicide, murder.

Who is it?

[cheerful orchestral music]

[instrumental version of
"New York, New York" playing]

[horn honks]

[tires screeching]

Mr. Giles, I told you,

Mr. Whitman is tied up
and can't be disturbed.

That's a lot of garbage, honey.

You go tell Ralphie boy
I want to talk to him now.

If you'll just take a seat, sir,

I'm sure it won't be
more than 15, 20 minutes.

Twenty minutes?

I left my brother-in-law
running the store.

Another 20 minutes, I could be bankrupt.

[intercom beeps]

Yes, Mr. Whitman.

Grady, could you step
into my office for a moment?

Yes, sir.

Here, you might take these two as well.

And get to know these clients.

If you have any questions, ask.

Yes, sir.

We're very pleased with your progress,

both Mr. Carlisle and myself.

We feel you've-- you've earned
this added responsibility.

Thank you, sir.

Ah, forget the sir. It's Ralph.

Ralph, right.

Thank you, sir Ralph.

I mean, just Ralph, sir.

Thank you.

Yoo-hoo, Mr. Fletcher.

I brought what you told me to bring.

Hi, Mrs. Ellis. Come on in.

Nice young man.

I hope he knows what he's doing.

What the--

[clears throat]

I hear your aunt is coming for a visit.

That's nice.

You show her a good time.

You know, aunts are
very neglected these days.

Not this one.

Now, let's see.

Let's start with medical.

Here.

Here's a letter from my brother Irwin.

He had an operation

and he asked me to come and help.

So I did.

God rest his soul.

Um, I'm afraid the IRS

won't consider this a proper deduction.

It's medical.

You said medical.

But your medical expenses, Mrs. Ellis.

You said bring, so I brought.

Here.

You go through them,
and let me know what's what.

There you are.

Are you sure?

Tax troubles, I don't need.

Believe me, government agents

won't be banging down
your door with a warrant.

[chuckling]

That's what Nixon thought.

[chuckling]

Good night, Mrs. Ellis.

Good night.

Grady, your aunt called from her hotel.

I told her quitting time was sixish,

so, she should be coming by anytime now.

Oh, thanks, Connie.

Yeah.

Well, I gotta go put on some war paint.

Good.

[screams]

[screams]

[screams]

Oh, it's him! I saw him!

It's him, it's him!

Grady?

Aunt Jess.

[chuckling]

So you finally got him, Caldwell.

Congratulations.

Grady, are you all right?

-Yeah, yeah., I think so.
-Where's Connie?

I-I better see if she's okay.

Better luck next time, Caldwell.

If you run into your ghost,

you be sure to let us know, huh?

Ghost?

It's-- it's a long story, Mrs. Fletcher.

It is J.B. Fletcher, isn't it--

Grady's illustrious aunt?

Yes. How do you do?

Ralph Whitman.

Come on, let me show you around.

I know Mr. Carlisle is dying to meet you.

J.B. Fletcher-- Grady's aunt.

She's a very famous writer.

Oh, Mrs. Fletcher.

How delightful to meet you at last.

Why, thank you.

I can see where Grady gets
his sharp mind from.

I've been a fan of your books
for 20 years.

Oh?

Yes. Well, thank you very much.

I always say there's nothing like

a good, old-fashioned love story

to help you forget your cares.

Well, actually, sir, she--

Oh, I quite agree with you, Mr. Carlisle.

I mean, where would we be
without Barbara Cartland?

Well, come on, Grady.

We have a reservation for an early dinner.

It was so nice meeting you, Mr. Carlisle.

The pleasure was all mine.

Thank you.

I'll walk you to the elevator.

Oh, Paul, the Hammond account.

The file's in my office.

Would you like
to take a look at it tonight?

No, no, no. I'm leaving
myself in just a minute.

[door closes]

I apologize, Mrs. Fletcher.

Mr. Carlisle's not much of a reader.

Oh, he was very gracious.

He wasn't the only one.

What I really want to hear about, though,

is the ghost.

Oh, him.

Harry Caldwell, our security guard,

and also our resident ghostbuster

swears we have spooks running around.

[laughing] Unbelievable, right, Grady?

Right, sir.

I'll explain it to you
over dinner, aunt Jess.

Ah, Whitman.

Good, good.

Trying to catch you. Mr. Grimshaw.

I've been trying to interface
with you now for several days.

Look, it's nearly 6:30. Can't this wait?

The Internal Revenue Service
does not wait, Whitman.

We act quickly and decisively.

With compassion
and understanding, of course.

Of course.

You know the way, Mr. Grimshaw.

Excuse me.

[sighs] Well, have a nice dinner.

I have a feeling mine's going
to be a bowl of cereal

at midnight.

Oh, I gotta get my coat.
I'll be back in a second.

Feeling better after your scare?

A little.

I've never been much
of a believer in ghosts.

Neither was I, until I went
to work in this place.

Good night again, Mrs. Fletcher.

-Good night.
-Good night, Mr. Carlisle.

He seems nice.

Oh, yeah, real swell.

[door closes]

Okay. Let's go.

Oh, no, no, thanks.
I've got to work tonight.

Oh, Grady.

It's that time of the year, aunt Jess.

For the next couple of months,
it's 16 hours a day.

Boy, being an accountant

sure isn't what I thought it would be.

I am really bushed.

Well, it doesn't show. You look wonderful.

And there's nothing wrong
with your appetite.

That's because somebody
or something stole my lunch.

What?

Not Mr. Caldwell's ghost?

You know, there is something.

Weird noises,

sounds in the wall I can't explain.

You know, Caldwell says
a lot of stuff's been taken

in the past few months.

You know, food, bits of clothing.

Well, sounds more like a petty thief

than an apparition.

That building really is kind of weird.

You know, the day of the '29 crash,

a couple of stockbrokers
went up to the roof

and... splat.

Oh, dear.

I mean, maybe there's no connection but...

Grady, the only things that go
bump in the night in this city

are the taxicabs, believe me.

Good night, Grady.

Thanks a lot, aunt Jess, see you tomorrow.

Mm-hmm.

Taxi.

Mr. Whitman?

Mr. Whitman?

Mr. Whitman, are you still here?

Mr. Whit--

Oh, my gosh.

Operator, send help.

Send the police.

Oh--

Hello?

Sir? Hello?

Send the police where?

Sir, are you there?

Hello.

Sir, sir, are you there?

[humming]

Is the lieutenant here?

Ah.

Lieutenant Rafferty?

That's Hanratty, ma'am.

Oh, I'm sorry.

I was looking for Grady Fletcher.

Ah, then you must be the lad's aunt.

It's a pleasure to meet you.

Timothy Hanratty at your service.

Oh, how do you do? I'm Jessica Fletcher.

-I wonder if I could-
-Now, calm yourself, ma'am.

The lad is fine.

He's just givin' a statement
to one of me men.

He'll be along in just a few more minutes.

Tell me, Mrs. Fletcher.

Did you know the victim?

Oh, no, I-I just met him this evening.

Ah... terrible way to die.

The lad found him there in his chair

with the lamp cord
tied tightly around his neck.

And as you can see,

the perpetrator left behind
his calling card.

But that doesn't make any sense.

I beg your pardon?

Well, it-it makes it seem

as if Mr. Whitman
had been killed by a madman

or a stranger.

But if a stranger had walked
into his office,

surely he wouldn't have remained
seated at his desk.

Ah, an interesting observation.

And if he had been working
alone in the room

with the outer door locked,
he would have had to get up

to go and admit whoever it was.

Ah, your nephew's right, mum.

You do have a keen mind for police work.

But Mr. Whitman wasn't the only one here.

That is to say,
your nephew was on the scene.

Yes, he told me
that he had reported the crime.

That he did.

So obviously, he didn't kill Mr. Whitman.

Well, it's unlikely.

Unlikely?

Now, now, Mrs. Fletcher.

Let's not be giving ourselves a bellyache

until after we've tasted the stew.

Wait.

It seems that our killer has left

more than just a message.
In all likelihood,

that's Mr. Whitman's hat and coat.

Most likely, but...

Then what's that on the floor?

I think the killer forgot his hat.

Mrs. Fletcher...

this is mine.

I bought it this morning. [chuckles]

It must have fallen to the floor
in the confusion.

-Sergeant.
-Yes.

Seal up that room.

Let no one in without my authorization.

-Yes, sir.
-Oh, and, Joe...

Mm-hmm.

When you finish with young Fletcher,

tell him his aunt is here.

Sure will.

Are you sure?

No, no, no, thank you.

I am absolutely devastated
by Ralph's death.

He was like my right arm to me,

as well as a very close personal friend.

Now if there is nothing more, lieutenant,

I really should get to my office.

Oh, then you'll be open today.

So hard on the heels

with the death
of your close personal friend.

I'm a CPA, lieutenant,
not a sentimentalist.

Can you believe this?

Opening the office after last night?

Oh, wait till you've been here
as long as me, Grady.

Nothing will surprise you.

Must have been awful,
finding him like this.

Yeah, I felt like tossing my dinner.

-That's nice.
-What?

Well, I just mean, most guys
would try to act tough.

Act like it didn't get to them, you know.

That's what I like about you, Grady.

Really? Thanks.

Ah, Fletcher, we have some
important matters to discuss.

Your office?

Mr. Grimshaw, we've had
a murder here last night.

Mr. Whitman--

I know about Whitman,
I listen to the radio.

That's why I'm talking to you now.

Come along, I haven't got all day.

Bottom line, Fletcher.

You've got 48 hours
to come up with the figures.

Figures? What figures?

[laughs]

Don't play dumb with me, pal.

It's been tried by experts, believe me,

some of whom are doing
three-to-five in Leavenworth.

I don't know what you're talking about.

Neptune Ventures.

Whitman said you're the engine
driving that crummy tax dodge.

Me?

Save the dumb look.

All I want is one thing.

Facts, figures, names, dates, places--

the whole megillah.

After you.

Oh, geez.

I took the liberty of pullin' a small file

we have on your activities, mum.

The young lady murdered
by that cosmetic executive,

your very own publisher

sent away because of your ingenuity.

I'm surprised the department
hasn't given you a gold badge.

[laughs]

Well, it's- it's just
a quirk of mind, really.

The way I see things, you know.

You see them quite clearly.

[chuckles]

It's a gift.

My dear Kathleen had it,
God rest her soul.

Oh, you're a widower. I'm sorry.

Oh, she's happy enough, I'm sure.

Hobnobbin' with the rest
of the saints in heaven.

But I suppose the thing
I miss most about her

is the evenings
we'd be discussing my cases

and me sittin' there listening

to her clear, logical observations.

Be a fine thing to have another
intelligent woman

to share my thoughts.

Lieutenant.

And I'd deem it a great personal favor

if you'd call me Timothy.

[laughing] Timothy.

Have you ever been within kissing distance

of the Blarney Stone?

Never had the pleasure.

[laughs]

Tax shelters?

Sorry, Grady, those were Whitman's babies.

Who's the IRS agent?

Mr. Grimshaw.

That figures.

Years ago, Grimshaw tried to
nail Ralph on a tax fraud case,

and Ralph made mincemeat of him
with his supervisors,

so Grimshaw's been after him ever since.

Well, maybe he got him.

I mean, last night.

He was with Mr. Whitman when we all left.

Yes, I told the lieutenant
that this morning.

He said he'd check it out.

Listen, Grady.

My advice to you is
to show Grimshaw everything,

whatever you and Ralph were working on.

But, sir, we weren't working on anything.

I mean, at least not--
none of his tax shelters.

Really?

I was sure that Ralph said--

Oh, I'm sorry.

I must have misunderstood.

Well, just do the best you can,

and if there's ever any trouble,

remember this firm is behind you 100%.

[stammers]

Morning, sir.

Good morning, Joe. Any luck?

Not yet.

Ghost hunting.

sir, that IRS agent Grimshaw was here.

I took the liberty to question him.

He admits he was with
the victim until about 7:00.

Then he left.

Caldwell, the security guy, saw him go.

Oh, any word about Whitman's wife?

We're still trying to find her.

Mrs. Whitman has been strangely missing

for the past 18 hours.

Well, if you'll excuse me, Timothy,

I'm going to try and locate my nephew.

Fine, fine.

But if you come up with one
of those famous inspirations...

I'll find you.

Mr. Caldwell?

Your guys are wasting
their time, lieutenant.

This-this old building
is like a Rabbit Warren.

Now your spook could be hiding anywhere.

Spook, is it?

Mr. Caldwell, you're not telling me

that you believe in ghosts.

You know, I don't know what
I should believe in anymore.

I understand you saw Mr. Grimshaw

leave the building last night.

When was that?

Around 7:00, you say?

Right.

And what time did you leave?

8:00.

Mr. Whitman was alive
and alone when I left.

Easy, man.

I'm makin' no accusations.

The coroner says he couldn't
possibly have died

before 9:00, so if you're
tellin' me the truth,

you have nothin' to worry about.

Tax shelters...

and I missed that semester.

And this Neptune Ventures
isn't in anything I've got.

The files must be
in Ralph Whitman's office.

Oh, great. The police have got it sealed--

This is ridiculous.

I have every right to go
into my husband's office.

Lana, the police have it locked up.

There's nothing I can do.

Paul, you make me sick.

Hello again, Mrs. Whitman.

Do I know you?

Well, we haven't actually met,

but you tried to commandeer
my taxi last night.

Down, outside this building...

Oh, no, I wasn't
at this building last night.

Excuse me.

Mrs. Whitman.

You were here.

And under the circumstances,

I-- I feel obligated
to tell lieutenant Hanratty.

Wouldn't you rather
just come along with me?

I mean, I'm sure there's some
very reasonable explanation.

Sure, why not?

I guess I have to talk to him eventually.

Catch you later, Paul.

Grady, the Hammond file is in my office.

You may need it for that meeting
this afternoon.

Yes, sir, thanks.

Okay, I was here to see
my husband last night.

What of it?

Now, now, Mrs. Whitman.

There's no need to be testy.

I did not kill my husband.

Perhaps not,

but we had a great difficulty
in reaching you.

I had a late engagement.

Very late.

I also got up very late.

Not in your own apartment?

No.

Look, lieutenant.

I had my life, and Ralph had his.

Our marriage was a convenience
for both of us,

financially and otherwise.

Well, we-we took our own vacations.

My taste ran to the Riviera and Grenoble,

and he liked the Cayman Islands,
of all places.

And on those few occasions
when he needed me on his arm,

I smiled at all the right people.

Any other questions?

Mrs. Fletcher?

I just wanted to ask,
at the time that I saw you,

I assume that your husband
was still in the meeting

with the Internal Revenue agent.

Well, yes.

Okay, I actually didn't talk to him.

I got to the office door.

It was locked, I knocked,
nobody answered, so--

Excuse me, sir.

We got trouble.

Upstairs.

I-I saw it, soon as
I walked in with my cart.

There are ghosts here, sir...

hiding in the walls.

Every place.

I can hear 'em, smell 'em.

Now, there, there.

There's no such thing as ghosts.

Banshees, maybe.

And of course, there's the little people.

But ghosts?

No, no, no.

It looks fresh, lieutenant.

I can tell you this,
it wasn't here last night.

Where's that lead?

The office next door.

Let's take a look.

You must have had quite a fright.

Oh, I still can't get used to it.

The things that you see
and hear, Mrs. Weems,

is there any particular place

where the spirits seem stronger?

I've worked here
nearly 40 years, Mrs. Fletcher,

girl and woman.

The stories I could tell you
about what's gone on

within these walls--

robbery, suicide, murder.

Would you mind if I looked around?

Do as you like.

I've had enough of this place.

[knocking]

Who is it?

Just stay right where you are, ma'am.

Don't you come any closer.

Who are you?

It don't matter none.

I ain't gonna hurt you.
I haven't hurt anybody.

Then it was you who scrawled
the warnings on the walls.

No, it wasn't me.

I live here.

I wouldn't do that to my home.

Live here? Where?

There's places.

Warm places.

It's better than being
out there in the cold.

I find enough to get by.

Some pieces of clothing,
food, things to read.

I get by.

You write real nice stories,
Mrs. Fletcher.

You tell 'em, you tell 'em
that I ain't hurt anybody.

Then you know about
the murder of Mr. Whitman.

I been watchin' all day
from here and there.

This old building's got passageways

that even I ain't found,

with all the remodeling
that's been done over the years.

If you know anything,
you should come forward.

No, I don't know nothing!

Now you tell 'em that.

Now, you just walk straight
the way you was going.

It will take you to the fire stairs.

Wait-- Don't go!

Oh...

Timothy, I believed him.

The resident ghost of that building

is definitely not a killer.

I think maybe his Blarney
works better than mine.

Oh, no.

Look, if he was a crazed killer,

he could have easily killed me

and left me there in the passage,

and no one would have been any the wiser.

That seems to leave
a problem for both of us.

Oh?

Well, if this phantom isn't our killer,

and there was no one else
in the building last night,

that seems to leave
only one possible suspect.

Grady?

Well, he certainly had
a great deal to gain

from Whitman's death.

New responsibilities, a promotion.

That's ridiculous.

The thought gives me no pleasure, Jessica.

But perhaps you have some idea

that hasn't as yet occurred to me.

Well, I'm sure that Lana Whitman

has occurred to you.

Yes, yes, the merry widow.

Yeah, I mean she may have been lying

about the door being locked.

And I have this feeling

that she had a very strong motive.

Oh, yes, indeed.

The lady is involved
with some Bulgarian poet

down in the village.

Aha!

And since Ralph Whitman
was right up there financially,

perhaps his death gave Lana

the best of both possible worlds.

I'll check into that.

Is there anything else?

What are you talking about? He's crazy.

No, no, no, no, no.

No, you defer capital gains
with a trust fund.

You borrow against the trust
and use the cash

to leverage the buy of the condo units.

Look, Myron,

if you'd prefer to take
tax advice from your son-in-law,

be my guest.

Just a minute, Myron.

We've unsealed the Whitman office,

Mr. Carlisle. You can use it.

Oh, thank you.

Would you tell Mr. Fletcher that?

-Already did.
-Good.

Myron. [sighs]

Myron, let me ask you a question.

Do you want to get rich
or do you want to pay taxes?

Which is it?

[sighs]

Nothing, absolutely nothing.

It's as if this Neptune Ventures
doesn't even exist.

But it has to, doesn't it?

I mean, isn't that what Mr. Grimshaw wants

to know about?

He must know something.

Well, if he does, he's not telling me.

Maybe there's something here
in his appointment book.

My goodness.

He's certainly had a very busy schedule

these past few weeks.

You know, I don't get it.

Mr. Whitman really was a pretty good guy.

I mean, who would want to kill him?

Marty Giles.

What?

Grady, who's Marty Giles?

Well, he's a client but...

Well, look.

He was here yesterday.

Yeah, mad as hell too.

And there's a penciled-in
notation next to his name.

NV.

NV...

Neptune's Ventures.

But I checked the files.

There is nothing in here on Neptune.

Are you sure?

Yeah, I'm positive.

That's very odd.

Unless Neptune Ventures
was the kind of thing

that you don't keep a file on.

I think we should pay a visit
to this Mr. Marty Giles.

Oh, 60 bucks a pop?

Come on, Marty, you're killin' me.

That's 20 bucks below
what I paid for these things.

Come on, Charlie, paid? What paid?

You got a receipt for those?

Who do you think you're talkin' to?

All right. I lost it, huh?

Speakin' of gettin' lost--

Okay, okay.

Sixty bucks, but you're a thief, Marty.

[laughing] No kiddin'.

See Elsie.

-Pardon me, lady.
-Pardon me.

Excuse me, Mr. Giles?

Yeah, what you selling?

I beg your pardon?

Anybody who calls me mister is selling.

Excuse me.

If you could just spare me a moment,

I'd like to talk to you
about Ralph Whitman.

Who are you, his replacement?

What?

Well, I heard he got knocked off.

I just figured they'd be sendin' over

somebody else to bust my chops.

Elsie, call those creeps
over in the Bronx.

Ask 'em where's those watches?

Mr. Giles, I'm not
from your accounting office.

Well, that's good.

Those ganefs, they were
the start of all my problems.

Oh, you mean you're going out of business.

Going out of business?

What are you talking about?

Oh, I'm sorry-- The sign in the window.

Lady, that sign has been
in the window since 1968

when I bought this place.

If I wasn't going out of business,

I couldn't stay in business--

not in this neighborhood.

What are you, from out of town
or something?

-Actually, yes.
-Yeah, figures.

I'm Jessica Fletcher,

and my nephew works
for Carlisle and Associates.

And I'm not interested.

Look, I know you're very busy,

but I want to ask you
about Neptune Ventures.

Whoa, whoa, here.

Who told you about that?

Well, an agent from the Internal Revenue.

That's it, lady-- case closed.

-I'm busy.
-Oh, but Mr. Giles--

Look, I got nothing to say
to you about nothin'.

Now do yourself a favor and take a hike,

because I don't wanna do
or say anything ungentlemanly.

Excuse me.

Okay, folks, this ain't no library.

There's no readin' here.

Do it and move out.

Okay, thank you.

Sorry, Mrs. Ellis,

Mr. Fletcher's going to be a little late.

So I'll wait.

I've had plenty of practice.

-Where is he?
-He's at the IRS.

Then they're making trouble?

Not at all. It's very normal for a CPA

to be at the IRS.

So many initials.

I'm sure that means trouble.

I've held inquiries

where the taxpayer was
accompanied by his accountant.

But I've never had an inquiry

where the accountant
was accompanied by his aunt.

Well, actually, Mr. Grimshaw,

I am working with the police
on the Ralph Whitman murder.

Unofficially, of course.

I see.

And what does Whitman's death got to do

with my investigation
of your nephew's involvement

with fraud against the government?

But that has yet to be proved.

Proved?

Madam, we are the Internal
Revenue Service.

The burden of proof is on your nephew,

and it is my considered opinion
that he is the architect

behind this amateurish boondoggle.

Sir, I-I don't even know
what Neptune Ventures is.

No?

Well, neither do I, precisely.

But it has been used for a write-off

for large, so-called losses

on the returns of six Carlisle clients.

One of whom is Marty Giles.

Perhaps I'm interrogating
the wrong Fletcher.

I did try to talk to Mr. Giles about it,

but he refused to speak to me.

And he told me he knew
nothing about it, it was--

How did he put it?

"Something Ralph Whitman put me into."

And since you've been Whitman's assistant

for the past few months,
and now have all his accounts--

[phone rings]

Grimshaw.

Really?

Yes, yes, excellent news. Excellent.

I'll expect a full report
by close of business today.

Huh.

Ah, despite what you may think,
Mrs. Fletcher,

we are not without heart here at the IRS.

We've just made a hairdresser

in Greenpoint a very wealthy woman.

She supplied us with information
that resulted

in a $2.6 million tax evasion.

Her 10% informant's fee
will net her a tidy $260,000.

You mean, you actually pay people

to inform on their friends and neighbors?

I prefer to think of it
as a reward for patriotism.

Now then, Mr. Fletcher,

let me ask you this one more time:

What is Neptune Ventures?

You deal in dollars and cents, Paul,

so let's talk bottom line.

My marriage to Ralph, as you know,

was something less than blissful.

All five years of it.

And since I didn't get much in the way

of love or companionship,

I think I'm entitled to something tangible

for all those years
of ignominious existence.

Lana, I'm very busy--

Ralph owned five percent
of this money-making machine,

and now it's mine, and I'm ready to sell.

Are you?

Zoltan wants us to move
to the coast of Spain.

He says New York no longer inspires him,

and I think we can manage
very nicely on $500,000.

You have an inflated opinion

of what this business is worth.

A hundred thousand dollars
a year, five years.

I may have sold out cheap,
but at least let me collect.

Lana, I have someone waiting for me.

Listen to me,
you arrogant horse's patootie.

You buy me out right now,

or we go to court and you open your books.

Somehow l-- I have this big, big feeling

that you really don't want to do that.

Am I right?

Ah, there you are.

I was just upstairs,
looking for you, Mr. Fletcher.

Me?

Gives me no great pleasure, son,

but I've got to bring you in
for questioning.

-What?
-Lieutenant!

The gentleman from the Internal Revenue,

Grimshaw,

he just called with information

that ties your nephew to a tax fraud

and just possibly to a motive for murder.

Come along, son.

Have you ever been
to the Cayman Islands, son?

Well, yeah, a couple of times.

Grady, I never knew that.

Well, it was just business, aunt Jess.

Mr. Whitman sent me down a couple of times

to meet with some investors.

I was only there a day or two.

And did you do business

with the new Commonwealth Bank and Trust?

No!

The Neptune Ventures setup

was set there about six months ago.

It's being held in your name
and the late Ralph Whitman's.

This is crazy.

And they've got
your signature on the card.

Then it's a forgery.

I never signed anything.

Wait, I seem to remember

that Mr. Whitman spent
his vacations in the Caymans.

If anyone's behind this clumsy attempt

to frame Grady, I'm sure it was him.

Well, I'll have a bit o' trouble

askin' him about that, now, won't I?

Look, son, between you and me
and these walls,

I also am having a bit of trouble

believing you're involved.

But the commissioner--

Oh, Timothy, hang the commissioner.

Since when is an Irishman
intimidated by a bureaucrat?

Now, look, you asked for my help.

Now I'm asking for yours.

Now let's have one more
look at those files

back at Whitman's office.

Again?

Aunt Jess, we've been
through them a dozen times.

But at least now we know
who and what we're looking for.

Mr. Grimshaw gave me a list of six clients

who were involved in Neptune Ventures.

Concentrate on these.

Meanwhile, I am going
to have a chat with one of them.

And this time, I am going
to get some straight answers.

Lou, stop busting my chops, will ya?

I mean, look, you want
to make a deal with Shelley,

make a deal, just--

Look, the last load of toasters
you shipped me: junk.

You bring me a gross,
I'll go maybe nine fifty.

Otherwise, give Shelley the headache.

Lady, I got no time.

Make time, Mr. Giles,
or would you rather do it.

Oh, no, someone nice as you

shouldn't go around makin' threats.

I'm sorry, but I don't have
time for the niceties.

You said that the people at
Carlisle Associates were what?

What was that word-- ganefs?

Ganefs, thieves, crooks.

While you are the soul of honesty.

I'm a businessman, not a social work-

I suppose you're taking in a lot of money

that the government doesn't know about.

What is this, 20 questions?

And of course, your
accountants know all about it.

They might even want
a piece of your action.

If you think I'm going
to make a comment on that--

They might even offer some protection.

You've been watching
too many cagney movies.

Mr. Giles, at the moment,

my nephew is under suspicion of murder.

If I have to, I will gladly
trade you for him.

Now, how about the truth,
just between you and me.

Okay, somebody got wise
to what I was doing here,

maybe those Carlisle creeps.

I was told to make
a certain investment or...

or they'd go to the IRS
and collect the reward.

You were told by whom?

I don't know. Everything
was done through the mail.

And the investment was Neptune Ventures.

Yeah.

How did you know that?

That's not important.

So all the checks that you made out

were to Neptune Ventures.

Yes, and mailed to a PO Box.

Believe me, it was a lot cheaper

than what the IRS would have done to me.

Blackmail by long distance,

by someone who was very knowledgeable

about your finances, Mr. Giles.

Thank you very much.
You've been very helpful.

Listen, lady,
you're not gonna have to tell

the government about this, are you?

Oh, I'm sorry. They already know.

[laughs]

Well, that's great.

Now I really am going out of business.

Neptune Ventures.

We're not even sure
it ties in with the murder.

The killer could be
someone else altogether.

Maybe even your ghost.

[yawns]

I'm going to go splash
some water on my face.

You take a look.

Maybe you can find something in this.

-Oh, hey, Grady?
-Hmm?

Could you do me a favor?

Yeah, sure, anything.

-Um...
-Oh.

I guess I'm kind of spooked.

Do you mind walking me to the subway?

It'll only take a couple of minutes.

Yeah, I'll get my coat.

Okay.

-Okay, let's go.
-Okay.

Hammond, Charles S.

Hammond...

Where have I heard that name before?

Oh, dear.

It can't be.

Or can it?

Can it what, Mrs. Fletcher?

Mr. Carlisle, I thought
you'd left for the day.

Oh, the weather's turning ugly,

and I came back for my umbrella.

"Hammond, Charles S."

Is this what can't be, Mrs. Fletcher?

Oh, uh, well, for a moment I thought--

I thought it was
a friend of my late husband.

He and his wife lived
in Cabot Cove for years.

And then I remembered
it was Charles M. Hammond.

M for Maurice.

Not that gentleman at all.

Hmm, interesting coincidence.

Yes.

You're very quick, Mrs. Fletcher.

I'm surprised

and a little saddened that you caught it.

I caught what?

Such a little mistake.

And yet so stupid.

Well, I-I really must be leaving.

Finding a cab will be
impossible in this weather.

You won't be needing a cab, I'm afraid.

I just can't believe how careless I was

that first evening.

Ralph was just about to walk
you to the elevator,

and then he turned to me and said...

Oh, Paul, the Hammond account.

The file's in my office.

Would you like to look at it tonight?

No, no, no, no, no. I'm leaving myself

in just a minute.

No, I'll check it in the morning.

Then the next day, that's when I slipped.

The Hammond file is in my office.

You may need it for that
meeting this afternoon.

I'm sorry, I-- I don't remember.

Of course you do.

And you knew that
because this office was sealed,

there's no way I could
have had that file unless...

I had come back here

after I'd supposedly left for the night.

Oh, I'm sure you had
a perfectly good reason.

You probably wanted to chat
about business or something.

Actually, I came back here

to kill that second-rate blackmailer.

Neptune Ventures.

Oh, you had that figured out too.

Well, not-not exactly.

I mean, I just have a theory.

Grady!

Oh, I don't think he can
hear you, Mrs. Fletcher.

I spotted him walking Connie to the subway

as I was coming in.

And knowing Grady,

I doubt very much if he'll hurry back.

Tell me about your theory.

Well, I think that Mr. Whitman

was threatening some of his clients.

I mean, his tax cheaters.

And instead of coming right out
and demanding blackmail,

he suggested, strongly suggested,

that they should invest money
in Neptune Ventures.

Ah.

Correct in all respects except one.

Neptune was my scene.

Ralph found out about it,
and he started blackmailing me.

He said he wanted in or else,
so I let him in.

I even let him put his name
on the account.

Yes, and Grady's.

Ah, that was Ralph's idea.

He wanted a patsy to take the heat

in case the deal fell through.

Well, I suppose I could have gone along,

sharing the bounty with Ralph.

But you know, there is something about

having a blackmailer's knife
at your throat.

I'd have been at his mercy
for the rest of my life.

Mr. Carlisle, you certainly can't expect

to get away with another murder.

Oh, no? Why not?

I have the perfect suspect, our ghost.

Another strangling,

another message scrawled across the wall.

It's worth a try.

Besides, what choice do I have?

Learned this working my way
through Texas, ma'am.

-You okay?
-Oh, yes, yes, I'm fine.

-Aunt Jess, you all right?
-Oh, Grady, in here.

I thought I heard a crash.

It was Mr. Carlisle.

Wow!

Did you do that? Oh, no, no. It was--

Well, now, imagine that.

Popped right out of nowhere.

And saved my life, believe me.

You know, lieutenant,
I don't see any real need

for you to continue
your search for him, do you?

I mean, you have
Mr. Carlisle's confession.

And he never really
took anything of value.

Not really.

Well, I could be searchin'
for months and come up empty.

It's like tryin' to find
one of the little people.

Nah, I wouldn't worry about him at all.

Then how about lunch?

I saw a little place around the corner

that has a special
on corned beef and cabbage.

You don't say.

-I'll get my coat and hat.
-All right.

Oh, no, oh.

Timothy, what is it?

Some thievin' bugger's pinched me new hat.