Original subtitles

Yes, I'm calling from the church. I'd like to confirm... Hey, I've been

the wrong amount for two hours. Well, can you tell me approximately how much

money was missing?

Was it over a thousand dollars?

Here's the guy who wants to know what happened to little Abner. He retired,

didn't he? Yeah.

And Dogpatch went condominium.

Here, you break the news to him.

Don't let anyone tell you L .A. doesn't have great bars.

Morning, Jack.

Why are you yelling?

Listen, can I make a minor request?

What? Can you not have everyone typing at once?

It's nine in the morning, Jack.

Everyone's out on assignment.

Hey, anything interesting come in? I got a column, Joe.

You can always use the yellow pages.

What do I do? Look under notions?

I'm serious.

I once knew a reporter who used the yellow pages when he ran out of ideas.

Just open it at random.

Come up with a column on ice sculptors or incense manufacturers.

Didn't you do a column on incense manufacturers last year? Cute.

Why don't you write a column on how to write a column?

I did that.

Twice.

You guys have got it made. All you have to do is sit here and wait for things to

happen. I have to be creative.

Five days a week, 50 weeks a year. It's an impossible job.

And you prove it. Five days a week, 50 weeks a year.

It's lonely at the top.

Fun, but lonely.

Boy, the weirdos will write to the paper.

Oh, did you get my letter?

To City Desk, LA Trivium.

The man was in trouble, but a Samaritan who was traveling came upon him and was

moved with compassion when he saw him.

Quote, unquote.

Let me see that.

But as you know, I do not always show compassion.

Sometimes I am an avenging angel in the hand of God that kills.

Now I am back.

Samaritan. Who is it?

Samaritan. About five years ago, six unsolved murders, each one followed by a

letter like the one you're holding.

Samaritan took credit for all of them.

No punctuation, no capitals, words left out, printing like a child. This one's

like the others.

And you haven't had one in five years?

No. It's like a nightmare that all of a sudden stopped.

We better show it to the police.

Right. And then I'd like to get... Jim McRae's opinion on this. Why McRae? He

covered this five years ago. Samaritan was his story.

I've got him down in San Pedro on that oil pipeline thing.

Better get him back up here. We're going to need him.

Samaritan back.

I'd hate to think this city is going to have to go through that trauma again.

Give me Captain Jack Tanner, police department.

He's a homicide.

Yeah.

You know...

There was another guy in charge of the Samaritan task force.

Bergman. Berg.

Something like that. I forget his name.

Do you know that there were 30 or 40 detectives on this case at his peak?

And this Samaritan guy just one day disappeared?

Yeah.

Yeah, hello, Jack.

Listen, we have something here.

A letter that looks like it could be from the Samaritan. You remember him?

Well, we want to make sure, so we're sending it over to you.

It just came in the mail, right?

Right. It was addressed to my city editor.

Where was it postmarked?

Glendale. Did you get that?

Okay, I'm sending it over.

You can let 20 of your detectives climb all over it.

Of course I touched it, but I was wearing gloves.

That's a joke, Jack.

Yeah, okay, bye -bye.

Why do cops always put you on the defensive?

He made me feel like I was an accomplice of the Samaritan.

I know what you mean.

I'm dating a cop.

Should I pretend I didn't hear that, or would you like to talk about it?

Nancy Roden. She was in the press office downtown when I met her. Now she's an

homicide. It's an unusual job for a woman.

Unusual woman.

The other night I hugged her, and I felt cold steel.

Nothing from the police yet? Not a word.

What about Driscoll?

Oh, he's down in El Segundo. Policemen are on his track.

He's covering it? He's robbing a bank.

I know a cop downtown. Maybe I can find out something.

That's worth a shot.

Sergeant Roden in Homicide, please. Extension 56.

Sergeant. I was wondering if we could hold hands at lunch today.

What have you heard of the Samaritan letter?

Is it genuine or not?

Are you asking me to release information prematurely?

I'm not asking you to release anything.

Just leak a little bit of it. As a matter of fact, by the time you get back

your office, you'll find out what the police analyst thought of it. Would you

excuse me while I run back to my office? Never mind.

I hate to eat alone.

The impression is that it's the real thing.

Huh.

I just don't get it.

Why another letter now?

What's Samaritan been doing all this time?

Where has he been until he sat down to write this letter?

It's not unheard of that a personality like that could go into a dormant

Dormant period?

And come back just like that?

Yes. Or he could have been in jail or something else or operating in a

part of the country.

It's always great to come back to L .A., isn't it?

Tell me what this guy would be like.

What do you mean?

Give me a profile on him.

How would I know him if I met him? Probably you wouldn't. He could be...

A passive time? It could be anything.

It could be a baby food salesman, an architect, a hat designer.

I see.

A city editor.

How's the writer's block, Jack?

I've done it again.

It amazes me. I always come through.

Well, about that. Two o 'clock in the afternoon and he's finished. And for

he gets what? A hundred grand a year?

Yeah, but think of all the research he has to do night after night in McKenna's

bar studying human nature.

Yeah, I know. Nothing comes easy. Joe, McCray's back from San Pedro. Can you

come in for a minute?

What do you think, Jim?

I'll have to go along with the police. It's got all the touches.

So it really is Samaritan, huh?

This is his style.

He wants you to think he's illiterate or at least uneducated, but he's not. Just

criminally insane.

What is this?

Samaritan thing actually mean?

All six murder victims were either motorists whose cars had broken down or

hitchhikers. He would evidently stop to help or pretend to, the way the original

Good Samaritan helped a traveler in trouble.

Then he'd do his job and write to us about it, always with a quote from Book

Luke, Chapter 10.

Not much of a Samaritan. Well, that's the crazy thing about this guy.

Sometimes...

In his letters, he claimed actually to have helped distressed motorists or

hitchhikers and then let them go on their way without ever suspecting who he

was. Yeah, but did anyone ever come in and actually say such a thing had

happened to him? Well, no. You'd have to take the Samaritan's word for that.

He was a real sicko, all right. She's coming back to me now.

I remember an instance.

In one of his letters, Samaritan said there was this woman who ran out of gas.

He drove back to a gas station, got her a couple of gallons.

When she tried to pay him, he killed her.

He said she wasn't accepting his help in the spirit in which he had offered it.

I guess that taught her.

The question is, should we print the letter?

Hell yes. I say we run it. Well, I don't think we should. It isn't really news.

You don't think six unsolved murders is news? Those murders took place five

years ago. Right now he's not making news, but we are. We print it. Don't you

think the fact that someone has actually written a crazy letter like this is

news? What scares me is the idea of getting an unstable person to publicity,

feeding his sickness, and maybe pushing him into an unstable, insane act.

There's also the possibility, Lou, that if we don't print it, that'll anger him

and provoke him to the same act. Maybe the publicity is all he's after.

Oh, why didn't he pick us? Why didn't he pick the Times or the Health Examiner?

Maybe he wants to help our circulation.

Listen, when we ran those letters last time, our circulation was never better.

In fact, I recall a rumor going around that Mrs. Pinchon wrote them.

We're trying to outthink a crazy man, and we have no idea how his mind works.

Well, we've got someone right here who knows him better than his own mother.

Yeah. Jim, what do you think?

Well, there's something to be said for both sides.

Whichever way we go, there's bound to be a lot of nail -biting.

Still, it's time we make that choice.

It's not for me to tell you what to do, but since you asked, I'll have to go

along with Lou.

Run that letter, and you're playing with fire.

Who thought this kind of writing went out with Walter Winship?

Oh, boy.

What is it?

Angel Town by Jack Town.

I don't think you're going to want to hear this.

I'm sure I'm going to want to read it.

An open letter to Samaritan.

Today, five years after you savagely took your last victim, your letter

in the offices of the Los Angeles Tribune.

Have you returned to us to spill more blood?

To return our citizens to a state of fear and terror?

I personally appeal to you, Samaritan.

Refrain from inflicting more tragedy on the people of this city.

Please, no more blood.

Put down the knife.

Give yourself up. Or talk to me. Call me.

Write me. Anytime, anywhere.

I'll meet you in the dead of night.

For God's sake, spare the city your terror.

Enough is enough.

Shall I go on?

As the man says, enough is enough.

Lou Grant will continue in a moment here on A &E.

I don't usually read Jack Town's column.

I don't either.

But after the mayor, the sheriff, and the chief of police called me, I thought

I'd better read it. I thought you'd better read it too.

I wish I had read it before we ran it.

I just hope Samaritan has the good sense not to read his column. I don't think

we can count on that. I'm afraid our friend Jack has succeeded in getting the

whole city to read his column this time.

There's no accounting for taste, is there?

Now that the cat's out of the bag, I don't think there's any choice but to

it. Especially after it's been splashed all over the TV news.

Not only did the city have to relive this terror, the families of the victims

are going to have to suffer it all over again. But you're right, we have no

choice, have we?

Go run the letter.

I'll run the story on how to write it in the newspaper.

We'll need some background. I'll get Jim McCrae to write us something.

What about that pipeline story he's been working on?

I'll swing it over to Billy. She loves pipeline stuff.

Why me?

I thought you'd like it. Oh, Lou, it's about...

I hate it.

Besides, I'm already three weeks into this hospital story.

Why can't you put Rossi on it? Because whoever takes over the story will have

work very closely with Jim. Share notes, share information, communicate.

I need someone who can cooperate.

And that lets Rossi out.

I'd be starting this pipeline story from scratch.

Jim can bring you up to date. He knows it better than anyone.

I'm sorry, Billy. I know how you feel.

The pipeline stuff is pretty interesting.

I'm not blaming you, Jim.

I'm blaming him.

I'll make it as easy for you as I can. Come over to my house and we'll go over

my notes.

I'll even make dinner for you.

Okay, I'll bring over some cake. You warm up the coffee and we'll go over the

stuff.

Billy, you see why it has to be you?

Rossi would never think of cake.

Oh, everybody was buying me drinks last night.

I hate to pass up a free drink.

I hate to pass up any drink.

I'm not in the mood to hear about your hangover, Jack.

Yeah, neither am I.

Don't you realize what you did?

Yeah. I mixed vodka and bourbon. But they were buying them so fast, I

tell. I'm talking about your famous Samaritan column.

Your irresponsible, overblown, pretentious 750 words.

Does that mean you didn't like it, Lou? First you blew the fact that Samaritan

was back.

Then you virtually challenged him to kill someone.

I did a profile on a killer.

And I alerted the public to a potential danger. You needed a column.

This was close at hand, and you didn't care about the consequences.

What kind of journalism do you do, Lou?

I was always taught when a story comes my way, I'd jump on it with both feet.

What do you do when there's a fire?

Send your reporters to the other side of town?

No. But I don't send them out there to slosh it with gasoline, either.

Look, my responsibility as a journalist is to turn in the most effective column

I can.

And that's exactly what I did.

What about the fear and grief you stirred up? How about the agony of the

families of the victims?

Maybe they were starting to forget some of that horror until they saw your

column.

That's just the point, but... I don't want anyone to forget what he did.

Ever.

Boy, the Trib did one hell of a job covering Samaritan five years ago.

Who was your city editor then?

We won't see the likes of him again. He was really sharp.

Wait a minute, Charlie. Wasn't that when you were city editor?

Oh, was I?

I think you're right.

Well, what was it like then? I've never lived in a city that was being stalked

by a maniac.

Did it bring people closer together?

If anything, it drove them further apart.

Nobody trusted anybody. Forget about girls. I didn't score once that whole

summer. You blaming him for that?

Yeah, it's amazing that one crazy person can change the way a whole city thinks.

Maybe we'll be lucky this time.

Cop house just called. Looks like Samaritan paranoia has already started.

What do you have?

Well, a guy saw a motor stop by the side of the road. He stopped and got out to

help. Got blasted with a shotgun.

Nice. Just like in the Bible.

He's in a recovery room in stable condition, but we should get somebody

there to talk to him. I'm on my way.

Look, I was brought up in a small town, and if ever anybody got in trouble,

you'd stop and help them.

I think I just got introduced to big city manners.

Did the guy say anything? Did he give any hint of what he was going to do? No,

no. I pulled up in back of him, got out of my car, and I still can't believe it.

So exactly what happened?

Well, he was looking under his hood, and as I come up to him, I think I said

something like, can I help you, fella?

Well, he looks at me like he's seen Bigfoot. He runs around to the passenger

door and pulls out a gun, and I am talking about a shotgun, and he fires at

He thought you were Samaritan.

That's what people have been telling me.

But how is I supposed to know?

I'm from Bakersfield.

And it doesn't exactly give me a very warm feeling about Los Angeles.

But the police have cleared you.

Yeah, yeah.

But now I am a guy who was suspected of being Samaritan.

The nurses watch me very carefully when they come in.

You're probably standing here right now wondering if I am Samaritan.

Even my wife is looking at me funny.

You know, I've just been reading Rossi's piece on this mistaken Samaritan shoe.

Can you believe this?

They're so twisted.

Now, anybody who tries to do something nice for somebody is going to be looked

upon with suspicion.

Yeah, bushy guts like me are going to be out of style.

I'm going to hit the freeway.

I just hope on the way home I don't get a flat.

Listen, if a little...

Gray -haired lady pulls up in her car and offers to change your tire. Check it

out first. Be on your guard for hairy arms and tattoos.

Oh, it's easy for you to be smug and secure in times like this. You're going

with a cop.

Only person I've ever dated that I was sure could beat me up.

Do you want me to follow you home?

Why on earth would I want you to follow me home, Ross?

You sure it's really not out of my way? No, thanks. I'll be okay.

Why do you have to be so independent? The whole city's afraid of Samaritan.

Fellow worker offers to see you home safely.

It's not a sign of weakness to accept.

It's a very nice offer, Rosie, but believe me, I'll be all right. I can

care of myself.

Hey, Billy, ready to go?

Try to make this pipeline stuff as interesting as I can.

I'll lie if I have to. Okay, okay. I'm sorry about the way I acted. But I do

think Lou was kind of arbitrary taking me off that story.

Hey, I agree. I know what it feels like to be on a story and then get bumped.

But that's the game.

You want to eat first and then get to work?

I'd like to eat first and then go home.

You know, if I were an insecure guy, I could take that personally.

Okay, I'll stop.

When I say I'm fixing dinner, I mean it.

All right.

You know, it's funny. When I was married, I used to like to cook.

Now, I never seem to want to bother. I know what you mean.

Are those two file cabinets just for Samaritan?

I'm one of those people who can never throw anything away.

I wish I was that organized.

I can't throw stuff away either, but most of my old files end up under the

Well, I've always been neat.

Teachers loved me. Always got A's in needness and comportment.

Samaritan was kind of a hobby of mine for a while.

I lived that story day and night.

Some hobby.

More like an obsession.

You know how these stories can get under your skin.

Didn't help my marriage a lot.

In fact, I guess that's what finally broke things up. That's too bad.

Yeah. She was a terrific woman.

I guess I didn't treat her very well when this Samaritan stuff was going on.

This business can really chew up a relationship.

I don't know. Maybe you found some way to work it out.

Oh, yeah.

I've got about five guys who told me to call them as soon as I quit being a

reporter.

I think journalism school should offer a course.

How to prepare your spouse for living with a news hound.

I think it's hard for people on the outside to know how it feels to be on a

story. To eat it, sleep it, drink it.

You ever think maybe sometimes it's not worth it?

Yeah.

Then something comes in off the wire and I don't see daylight for the rest of

the week.

It could happen to you with this pipeline stuff.

You know, everything about Samaritan is in those two files. If only someone knew

how to put it all together.

Does anybody?

No. You know something else?

I was halfway through a book on Samaritan. But publishers like books

endings and Samaritan didn't have an ending.

Well... After dinner, we can get to this pipeline stuff.

You think there's a book in it?

Lou, I can't believe your food editor gave that restaurant three spoons.

That's right.

She's usually chintzy with her spoons.

Maybe we didn't order right.

How can you ruin chicken fried steak?

There's no one on the street.

Just you and me.

It's Samaritan.

Terrible. Are you kidding? This is L .A.

There's never anybody walking on the streets at night. I could tear off my

clothes and go running down the middle of this road and nobody would notice.

I would notice, Lou.

Aw.

Thanks, Nancy.

And haul you in on a 311.

You know something?

What?

Samaritan or no Samaritan, I feel a lot safer these days since I started dating

a cop.

We'll continue in a moment here on A &E.

Are you going as far as Alvarado?

It's a couple blocks out of the way, but I can take you there. Oh, thanks.

You're a doll.

I've been standing there for 20 minutes.

How do you know I'm a doll?

Huh?

How do you know I'm not a guy who drives around looking for girls like you?

You don't know who I am, but you get in my car. Oh, come on. I can tell if

you're safe.

You even got your seatbelt on.

You think I'm safe, huh? You're really an expert on safe.

I know. I always check out a driver before I get in a car. I can tell if

safe. I could be Samaritan, you know. Who?

Come on. You've heard of Samaritan, haven't you? No. Who's that?

Don't you read the newspapers?

I don't do a lot of reading.

What about the TV news?

I'm too busy.

Well, you listen to me, young lady.

You better stop hitchhiking and start taking buses.

Because there's a psycho driving around in this city.

And you could wind up in the trunk of a car someday. You know that? There's no

guarantee you won't. And they might never find your body. Never.

All because you thumbed a ride with a stranger.

Hey, wait a minute. Wait a minute. I'm not the guy who's always trying to scare

you.

Morning, Lou.

Did you meet with McCray?

Yeah, we went over six folders of material. I now know more about oil

than most Texans.

McCray's very thorough, isn't he?

Yeah, and he makes great Chinese food. Good as in a restaurant.

I knew you'd end up thanking me.

What? They want you in Mrs. Pinchon's office.

Now? Another Samaritan letter came in.

I am back with you. For sure, say hello to that pig Bergen for me.

How does it feel, Bergland, to hear my voice again? The grave is open, bird

brain. Want to step in?

It's frightening. It's just frightening.

And it closes with the usual Samaritan quotation and all.

Bergen, Birdman, Bergland.

That's just to denigrate Bergen. He obviously hates him. He keeps twisting

name to show his contempt.

Who is this Bergen, anyway?

He was the detective in charge of the Samaritan task force.

Oh, yes, I remember now.

A sort of a personal duel developed between him and this lunatic.

Do I remember correctly, Mr. McCry?

Yes, ma 'am, you do.

Anybody locate Bergen yet?

We've been trying to track him down, but without much luck so far. He retired

somewhere up in the Sierras.

Nobody's quite sure where.

Somebody on the force must know.

He didn't have any close friends on the force. He was always kind of a loner.

His pension checks have to be sent somewhere.

Dead end.

Just a box number up in Bishop.

Main matter at hand is, do we print this second letter or don't we?

I think we know what we have to do.

Lou, I could take a shot at tracking Bergen down.

I think you're too valuable here, Jim.

I still got a couple of leads on him. You're the only one I've got around here

who really knows Samaritan. I can't even chase him around on something like

that. Turn the leads over to Rossi. Let him go after Bergen.

Whatever you say.

Thanks. Know Bergen well?

We spent a lot of time together back then.

He must have been pretty big stuff when Samaritan was around.

I'd say so, yeah.

Page one, interviews, predictions.

Must be tough for a guy like that to just fade away.

I don't know. I never felt that he was ever really that comfortable being a

celebrity.

Bergen was kind of an unusual man.

He had very little vanity.

I think he was a guy who liked doing his job and was frustrated when he couldn't

get Samaritan.

He had to quit with the case still unsolved.

And you were trying to write about the time Samaritan disappeared?

Not exactly. There was a brief period in between.

How long?

I'd say a couple of months.

And now, five years later, Samaritan's name is back in the news, right?

And so is someone else's.

Bergen interesting.

Yeah What

can

I do for you well there's something I have to do

I want to give myself up.

I'm Samaritan.

Okay, thanks.

I walked into Hillside Division a couple of minutes ago and confessed to the

Samaritan murders.

Get Rossi over there and find Jim McCrae. He's somewhere in the building.

Oh, come on, Rossi. You know better than that.

I told Lou. I can't give you information like that.

You don't have to say anything.

Look, just do this.

Blink one time for yes, two times for no.

Cute. Seriously, just tell me what's going on back there.

Look, do you think that guy Samaritan had just another loony?

I can't say anymore. I'm getting a headache.

The Lord

commanded me to go among the people and do good works.

When I went among the people, I saw evil.

I couldn't do as the Lord commanded.

So the Lord commanded you, but you didn't obey, is that it?

I saw evil everywhere.

And then what?

I mean, what made you come here today and confess?

The Lord commanded me again. He commanded me through the words of Jack

Jack Town, the columnist?

Yes. I saw myself and all my evil through his words.

Lou, I know this sounds incredible, but it's true.

God commanded the guy to prove Jack Town.

God spoke to Jack Town?

Not directly.

God spoke to the guy, but he used Jack Town as his interpreter.

This isn't going to make him any easier to live with.

God or Jack Town?

What do you do?

Keep your eye on this place until you see me go in?

Now, if somebody calls me and lets me know... Listen, Lou, just because you

one bad... call. You shouldn't get down on yourself.

You're too good a city editor to let one mistake affect your news judgment now.

Thanks, Jack. You don't know how much that means to me. I'm serious, Lou.

I kind of lucked out, I know that.

I followed my instincts and I came up a winner.

I'm just lucky to have such good instincts.

Can I go now?

I've written my column and recognized himself.

Got to him. And tonight he's off the street.

That's not all bad, is it, Lou?

Lou? I mean, what do you say?

A kid you hated in school grows up and finds a cure for the common cold.

I mean, you still hate him, but you gotta hand it to him, don't you?

Something like that.

I used to like Towns Call when I was a kid. Listen, I used to like peanut

and jelly on white bread, but I outgrew that, too.

Hey, Jim, over here.

Listen to this.

The guy who confessed is not Samaritan. He's just an obsessive confessor. You're

kidding.

I just turned the story in. They took him over to County USC for psychiatric

evaluation. It turns out he confessed to the Black Dahlia killing, the Lindbergh

kidnapping, and the murder of Dr. Richard Kimball's wife.

You mean that he is definitely not Samaritan? That's what Jim seems to be

saying. Samaritan is not a functional illiterate. He just fakes it. The guy

brought in could hardly write his name, and he couldn't read Towne's column when

they stuck it in front of him.

I have that same trouble.

Hey, that's great.

Gee, Town's column for tomorrow is just one long pat on his own back.

Should we pull it?

No, no, no, no, no. We don't want to be censors.

I mean, let him express himself.

We don't want to stifle a columnist's creativity.

So Town was way out of line, huh?

Oh, that's a moment to savor.

Yeah, except, of course, there's still a dangerous lunatic walking around loose,

isn't there?

Lou Grant will continue in a moment here on A &E.

I'm telling you, it was dumb. How can you say that? I was doing you a favor

you say it was dumb?

You didn't know who I was.

I could have been another nut with a shotgun.

Guy gets out of a car looking like you. Hey, all right. Next time I'll leave you

there. Just drive right on by.

What happened?

Oh, my car overheated about six blocks from here. Animal stopped to help me.

Yeah, I already said I was sorry.

Morning, fellas.

Say, Jack. Sorry, fellas. I can't talk about anything B .C. before coffee.

Haven't seen you for a couple of days. Keeping kind of a low profile, aren't

you? I was in Montecito.

The distillery owner's convention.

I go every year.

Worth a few columns, anyway.

No, but it's worth a few free drinks.

How's it going, Lou?

Aren't you even going to say you made a mistake?

Never look back, Lou. That's my motto.

Don't you feel any remorse even now, Jack? I mean, what did your column

accomplish?

Samaritan is still out there. The wrong guy turned himself in.

Some guy read the words I'd written and they touched him. How can I feel bad

about that?

The wrong person.

All you did was persuade a pathetic, troubled guy who was trying to make a

living driving a truck to confess to crimes he didn't commit and end up in

custody.

Yeah. But look at the bright side of it. I got some nut truck driver off the

street.

Have you got a minute? These oil company conducts are driving me crazy. Just a

second.

Look at this.

There's a street in Westdale called Jericho.

On Luke 1030, quote, Jesus answering them said, a man was once

traveling from Jerusalem to Jericho.

I was trying to see if all the old victims had been traveling in the

of Jericho Street.

Maybe get a fix on where Samaritan might strike again.

Seems like kind of a long shot, doesn't it?

Yeah, but it's worth a chance.

This one here may prove more promising.

I may have uncovered a witness in San Dimas where the fourth murder took

I'm seeing him at 11.

Oh, I've got to run. I'm just hazy on the original contract between the oil

company and the city of San Pedro. Yeah, well, it should all be in there.

Well, maybe it is, but I don't understand it.

Billy, I can't talk now.

Okay, Jim, remember, I've got a deadline.

Well, see how far you can get on your own, and I'll get with you when I get

or in the morning for sure, okay?

Yeah.

Thanks.

This is soft in the middle.

I don't get it.

Well, it's good, it's good.

You've done some solid reporting, but there are too many missing pieces.

It's sloppy for you, Billy. I can't run this. Okay.

Give me more time.

It shouldn't take more time with a groundwork McRae laid.

For instance, can't he fill you in on this Environmental Safety Commission

thing? Yeah, I think he can.

Well, lately, Jim's been a little hard to pin down. All he can talk about is

Samaritan. All anyone in this town can talk about is Samaritan. Right, but

obsessed with it.

Oh, look, I'm sorry I said that. He's really just involved.

It's a big story, and I'm on kind of a routine story and getting a little testy

about it.

I take that back. Jim's not obsessed.

Sure he is.

You can't do a story like Samaritan without becoming a little obsessed.

Yeah, right.

But I know McCray is really running with this thing. But have you read the

pieces he's turning out? Of course.

Pretty good stuff.

Goes well beyond the usual crime reporting. I know. And knowledgeable.

You get the feeling that McCray knows more about Samaritan than the police.

But he's not a cop. He's a reporter trying to get out stories just like the

of us. Or is that my imagination?

No.

Here I go again. I'm sorry.

I think Samaritan's got me irritable.

Yeah.

Me too.

You know what's the weirdest part?

The waiting.

When I wonder where he's going to strike.

It's been over a week since the first letter.

City desk.

Lou, I've got a lead on Lieutenant Bergen. Where is he?

Up in Lone Pine. He moved up there after he retired with his pension.

He has a little trading post type store for campers and fishermen.

I have an address, but apparently he doesn't have a phone.

Okay, I'll put a sign on your desk. Gone fishing.

Lou, doesn't that strike you as a little strange?

The guy has his stories and business, but he doesn't have a phone?

You want me to send someone else, Rossi? No, no, no, no. I'm on my way.

Look, do the best you can with this. I'll have a talk with Jim.

Okay.

Look, he's really a good man. If I said anything... Don't worry about it.

Joe Rossi, Los Angeles Tribune. Hi.

You don't believe in the telephone?

I took a lifetime's worth of phone calls when I was in homicide.

People want to see me around here, they just stop by.

Kind of a nice setup, Lieutenant.

Oh, don't call me Lieutenant.

People up here don't call me that. Most of them don't even know what I used to

do. What do they call you?

Well, kids around here call me Uncle Bill.

Don't call me Uncle Bill.

Okay. Just Bill.

Okay, Bill.

So,

Why does a young reporter drive all the way up to Los Angeles to talk to an old

retired copper?

It's about Samaritan. Do you remember Samaritan?

Why don't you ask me if I remember how old I am?

He's back.

He's back?

Or at least we think so.

I thought maybe you'd have read about him. You should have made the papers up

here. Reading the newspapers was another thing I stopped doing when I left the

force.

Are you surprised about him turning up again?

Nope. I was more surprised when he disappeared.

See, usually a psychopath like that will kill with increasing frequency.

Until he makes a mistake and gets caught.

Well, Samaritan was following that pattern.

The time between killings kept getting shorter.

Then suddenly he was gone.

And that was in... October 73.

I remember well because I retired at the end of the year.

You know, if he'd stayed around...

Maybe I would have stayed on.

I really wanted to get that bird.

The whole good Samaritan idea was so... so diabolical, so vicious.

Well, he speaks well of you. He always mentions you in his letters.

Yeah, he always did.

It's funny.

What is it?

Well, if I were in your shoes, if I had spent six terrible months playing cat

and mouse with a killer who mocked me in letters to newspapers, I think I'd be

very anxious to find out what his latest letters said.

Unless I knew what they said.

Mr. Rossi, how would I know what they said?

You tell me.

If they're from Samaritan, I know what they're saying. If they're not, I don't

care. In any case, I know you're going to be sticking them under my nose any

minute now.

His latest literary efforts.

Yeah, what?

Samaritan never wrote these.

These are fakes.

Lou Grant will continue in a moment here on A &E.

My dad has been my dentist since my first... Do you have a Bible?

Sure. Now, with me, it's at home.

But I could find one. How long have you had it?

You're calling all the way from Lone Pine to ask me how long I've had a

I guess since I was a kid, why?

Yeah, well, isn't that the way it is with everyone? You have a Bible, you've

it for longer than you can remember, and it's your Bible.

Well, Samaritan changed Bibles. In the old days, he used King James when he

quoted St. Luke. Now he's using a modern language version.

And nobody noticed.

Except Bergen.

Darwin, where are the old clips on Samaritan?

Stuff came up for you.

Put it there.

How much longer do you think you're going to be?

A while, I guess.

We were supposed to do something tonight.

Press club.

Letter said important meeting, nomination of officers.

You planning on running for something?

Mm -mm.

Either of mine.

But, uh, Rossi's going to try for sergeant at arms again.

Oh, and you think we ought to be there to vote for him?

No, I think we ought to be there to vote against him.

Ah, there'll be plenty of votes against him.

I think I'll just finish up here. What is it, Lou?

You on to something, aren't you?

It's a hunch, and it's crazy.

I want to talk to McCrae about it.

What kind of a hunch?

Never mind. I'll let you know if it pans out.

Okay. The frosty winds by one boat.

It's on your head.

Come on in.

Can I get you a drink?

Scotch, right? Thank you.

Glad you dropped by.

This has been a frustrating day.

I had a lead on Samaritan. It turned out to be nothing.

Where do you go from here?

Well, I just keep slugging away.

Yeah.

Care to join me in a toast?

What for?

My book deal came through.

Congratulations. Oh, I may need a little time off to write it. Ah, we can work

it out. Thanks.

Sit. I'll clear some of this away.

Jim,

tell me, what sort of man wrote these letters?

Well, I always had a picture of Samaritan as a guy with a job in an

somewhere, putting in his eight hours every day.

And nobody around him having the slightest hint of who he was.

Interesting. You know, I've been reading over your Samaritan

pieces. Not just the recent things.

I also went back over all the original material.

Really good work.

Hey, thanks.

I get a sense of Samaritan as someone who's alone, reaching out.

Someone who thrives on the attention.

Someone who loves the rush of being in the spotlight.

And someone who is a psychopath.

You have to be a psychopath to kill. I don't think you have to be a psychopath

to write these letters.

I don't follow.

These last letters weren't written by Samaritan. Samaritan always used the

James Version of the Bible.

This new Samaritan doesn't.

Wow.

That's an interesting angle. I'll have to run that down.

Bergen's the one who spotted it. Bergen? Yeah, we found him up in Lone Pine.

Oh, is that where he is?

Yeah. Then I got to wondering, if Bergen is right, that these letters are fakes,

who could be writing them?

It couldn't be just anybody.

It would have to be somebody who knew Samaritan as well as anyone, right?

Makes sense.

Someone who could duplicate his style of letters so that even the police would

be fooled.

A person whose involvement in the case was so intense, so intimate.

That he could impersonate Samaritan.

You, for example.

I didn't do it, Lou. Do you realize the pain that was caused?

Terrifying a city?

Turning friends into strangers?

Wait a minute.

This was not a harmless act.

It wasn't me.

It was someone else. Someone I didn't know.

Who wrote those letters.

At my desk, with my hands.

I couldn't stop it.

I wanted it so much.

I missed Samaritan. Who?

I hated him.

But I missed him.

When he was around, the world was so much more alive.

When you think back on it, there were a lot of signs.

His files on Samaritan, the way he wouldn't let go of this story. I don't

understand how I could have missed it.

But then, when I think about the guy, I just can't make the connection.

I know.

I wasn't sure myself until he actually admitted it.

This is one time I'm not very happy to be right.

You read Jack Towns, Colin? It's all about Jim McRae. For God's sakes, that

vulture, he'll really pounce on anything.

Well, read it.

In the newspaper business, we are forced constantly to rub elbows with life

tragedies and we become hardened, callous, even cruel.

Sometimes we are hardest on our own colleagues.

Because in this business, we tend to use people up.

We take the best from them, their best writing, their best ideas, their best

years.

Then discard them like yesterday's classified section.

Some of us never get a chance to show what we can do.

Some of us are tough enough to survive the passing of that glorious moment.

Jim McCrae is one of our casualties.

I hope we don't forget him.

Nice.

Yeah. You think the police and the DA's office will nail him?

Maybe we should show them that.

Um...

Why are city rooms always so bright?

You wrote a good column, Jack.

Yeah? What did I say? I was pretty wrecked when I wrote it.

Someday I'll read it to you.

Anything interesting come in, fellas?

I'm really dry.

Spin kind of slow.

Tell me what you're working on, Billy. No, I'm working on...

He's credited with being the first European to have landed on North

Great Explorers We continues tonight with the colorful son of Eric the Red,

Erickson, on an all -new biography.

Now, a cop goes undercover in Mexico to stop the sale of stolen goods.

Join us for a police story next on A &A.