Original subtitles

See you.

So you knew full well when this issue of the National Informer went to press

that this photo of my client would be featured on the front page. Of course. I

approve of everything that goes to press.

Did you bother to verify it?

Yes. Our staff talked to the doorman at the hotel who confirmed that Reverend

Masters was indeed there on the day in question with a woman.

We have just heard my client testify under oath.

that he was not with a woman on that day. How do you explain that, Mr.

Well, the hotel records show that he had two entrees and two drinks for lunch

that day. And how does he explain that?

He was hungry and he was thirsty.

Now, answer my question, please.

He's a married man.

And his TV ministry is worth millions. Well, he's not about to admit he's an

adulterer. That, sir, is a lie, and you know that it's a lie, and God Almighty

knows that it's a lie, and I know for a fact that you will burn in hell for

this. Seeing is believing, Reverend. That's enough. The plaintiff is

to sit down and warned to refrain from any further outbursts.

Actually, Mr. Buckley, seeing is not believing.

Not anymore.

Not when computer -generated dinosaurs can interact on screen with flesh -and

-blood actors. When objects can be added to or deleted from photographs with the

greatest of digitalized ease.

No, nowadays photos are all too easily faked, aren't they? That photo is not

fake. Then where'd it come from?

That is privileged information.

But it is someone who, like your staff photographers, spends his days lurking

the bushes outside the homes of celebrities or sneaking into popular

holes just so he can catch famous people on film doing something, anything that

might be construed as titillating. Right, Mr. Buckley? Even as we speak.

This is perfect.

Thank you.

Enjoy your meal.

I guess it's time for me to post all of you.

Since the defendant is unwilling to name or locate the person who allegedly took

this picture, the testimony of only one other person is relevant here, that of

this mysterious woman.

Now, it wasn't easy, but we managed to locate her.

Please call Miss Heather Hartley to the stand.

The stage calls Heather Hartley.

Is this you in this picture, Miss Hartley?

Yes, it is.

So, you were with my client, Wesley Masters, at the Crown Regent Hotel on

September 28th. No, I was not.

You weren't? I wasn't anywhere near the Crown Regent Hotel that day. I was up in

Charleston visiting friends.

Well, maybe somebody got their dates mixed up.

Maybe this picture was taken on some other day. Impossible.

Why do you say that? Because I've never so much as met Wesley Masters, let alone

had lunch with him or drinks with him or anything else with him.

The God's honest truth.

Praise the Lord.

That's enough.

Settle down.

I'm looking for that bully, that bully of

the town. Lord, I'm looking for that bully of the town.

Oh, yes, I'm looking for that bully. That bully can't be found. Lord, I'm

looking for that bully all the time.

I don't love nobody.

Don't nobody love me.

All they want is my money.

Ben? What?

Ben? What? Ben!

What?

I'm going to soothe their lousy, sadistic, mendacious little hind ends

into the ground.

Is that you?

Yes, it's me, but they were implying that I was drunk at the time, and I

You sure look drunk.

I lost my footing and lost my balance.

Is that a wine glass in your hand?

I was about to make a toast.

Oh, Carol Davis isn't running for the Senate. This is Cliff Lewis, attorney at

law, Jerry Stone investigator.

Running for Senate?

They can't run for Senate if everyone thinks you're smashed.

I wasn't smashed.

Speak to Mr. Ross Buckley, the editor. Have a seat.

I'll let him know you're here.

Mr.

Buckley, a friend of yours?

Oh, no, no.

Remember that story they did on the man who was having a love affair with an

alien from another planet?

Hell, I must have missed that one.

That was me.

How do these people think they can make up stuff like that and get away with it?

They can make it up.

I am sexually involved with an alien.

Yes. And I was quite happy to share my story with their reporter, but I wasn't

happy when I saw it in print. They made fun of me of us.

Kung Fu.

Could you just get me in now?

How about it?

A retraction?

Why on earth would we print a retraction?

You're implying my client was drunk. She wasn't. She slipped and fell as she was

about to make a toast. The wine steward told me that three bottles of Chardonnay

were brought to her table that day, and at least two other restaurant employees

saw her drinking. The wine was for her friend. She had a couple of sips. Not

according to this picture.

You're misrepresenting the facts, and you know it. Mr. Matlock, I realize the

million judgment we got hit with last week may make us seem like easy prey,

I assure you, it was a fluke.

We haven't lost a case in, what, 12 years?

Now, if your client wants to sue, well, that's her prerogative.

But you and I both know she hasn't got a leg to stand on.

No pun intended.

Okay.

Then we sue.

Well, Cal, suing's one thing and winning's another.

I was not drunk when that picture was taken, and that's the truth.

Isn't that the whole purpose of our legal system, to discern the truth?

Well, yeah.

So then, what are you afraid of?

Well, the problem is the burden of proof doesn't lie with them. It lies with us.

We would have to prove beyond a shadow of doubt that you were stone -cold sober

that day, and we can't do that.

So I'm just supposed to roll over and play dead?

Well, it's, uh... Hand me that phone before you go, would you please?

Thanks anyway, Ben.

Hmm.

Number for the National Informer, please.

I think you should not only pay for my pain and suffering, but Lee Talk's as

well.

Who's Lee Talk?

His alien lover.

Mr. Parsons, I really think we're wasting each other's time here.

Lee Talk is really upset.

Oh. Will you tell her that if I ever get to her planet, I'll make it up to her,

okay? Mr. Buckley, Carol Davis is on line one.

What do I tell her?

I'll take that.

Hello.

Mr. Buckley, I'd like to come in and talk to you today.

Well, I'm afraid my schedule's all filled up, Ms. Davis.

I can come in after your last appointment.

All right.

Seven.

Oh, I'll chill some wine.

How about a nice... Chardonnay.

Mr.

Buckley?

Mr. Buckley?

Ross, I got these proof sheets back. I'm not sure that you're going to...

I just thought if I could talk to him, I could appeal to his nobler instincts.

You should have called me.

What difference would that have made? I could have told you he didn't have any

nobler instincts.

I just talked to Lieutenant Sturge. They found the murder weapon.

What was it?

It was this crystal trophy thing that Ross Buckley had in his office. It was

long and sharp like a dagger.

They found it in your garage.

Well, I didn't put it there.

I never even saw it.

Any prints?

No, no, no. Just blood.

I'm being framed.

Let's not forget, as fond as we all were of Roth, his untimely death is news.

And news was his and is our business.

John, I want a new layout by 5 p .m. tomorrow.

A photo that Nate got of the body, front page, enlarged, so that it can be seen

easily from the checkout line.

Excuse me.

Ben Matlock, Carol Davis' lawyer. This is Clifford.

Miss Van Ness?

Yes, and we're rather busy here. Oh, I expect. But since I have you all here in

one room, how about I question everybody at once, save time, okay?

Okay.

Okay. Now, who knew that Carol Davis had an appointment with Mr. Buckley at 7 o

'clock the night he died?

Well, I know that both of you knew.

Mr. Buckley's secretary said that you were with him in his office when he was

talking with that man, you know, who was having an affair with that alien when

Carol called.

Yes.

Oh, I was there, too.

Um, Chet Sellers, photographer extraordinaire.

Hmm.

Iowa housewife gives birth to a 50 -pound baby?

What? It sits right here.

Is that all, Mr. Matlock?

Oh, did Mr.

Buckley have any enemies?

Of course. He ran a newspaper. He had hundreds of enemies.

No, I mean around here.

We all got along famously.

Sure. Absolutely.

How could a woman this small have a baby that big?

Goodbye,

Mr. Matlock.

Oh, goodbye.

Can you just imagine the doctor? Congratulations, Mrs. Jones, beautiful

boy, 50 pounds, three feet tall.

He'll be driving you home from the hospital.

Oh, out of curiosity, who will be the next editor -in -chief?

I am.

So you want me to follow him?

Oh, yeah, everywhere.

Find out where he goes, who he hangs out with.

I think our readers will be real interested.

So you get lots of nice, clear pictures, right?

No problem, Bob.

Hi, John Nash?

No, right there. Oh, oh, hi.

I'm Jerry Stone. I'm a writer. I'm looking for a job. Your job. Well,

your old job. Yeah, well, things are kind of hectic around here right now, so

I'm going to have to get back to you on these, okay? Oh, I don't know. There's a

piece in there on Sergio Franklin, the baseball player's ex -wife.

The real reason he divorced her is because he sleepwalks. Whenever she

dresses up in men's clothing, speaks with an accent, and says she's Henry

Kissinger.

It's true.

What else you got?

Uh, that's a piece on the chairman of the board of McAvoy Industries.

He likes to play with dolls.

You're kidding.

Nope. All confirmed, ready, go to press.

You give me a job, they're yours.

Here you go, pages 1 through 16.

Rest should be ready in an hour. Linda Kirsch, meet our newest reporter.

Jerry... Stone!

Hi. What do you do?

I'm an assistant editor.

Oh, that's what I'm going to do. Well, eventually.

All right, hot shot.

First assignment.

I want you to track down the bum who fabricated this.

We paid good money to a guy named Williamson.

His name turned out to be as phony as that picture.

You got it. Can I, uh... Get the guy that cost us six million bucks.

All right, Linda, just give her the nickel to her, take us through the

okay? Sure thing, boss.

Come on.

Police have Ross's office cordoned off. We're short of space.

You're going to be without an office for a while. Oh, that's okay.

So, uh, what was Ross like?

Well, he hired me.

He had good judgment.

He taught me everything I know.

He was brilliant.

He hit on me every once in a while. He had good taste.

Right in there.

You know, I really need... It's more red. I need rosier cheeks.

They don't seem to come out there.

Reverend Masters, I'm Jerry Stone with the National Informer. I'm trying to

out who counterfeited this picture.

Why, you people did.

No, actually, the National Informer thought it was the real McCoy until

Hartley took the stand.

I told them it was a fake. They wouldn't listen.

And the good Lord nailed them for it.

This was made by inserting a picture of Heather into a photo taking a view

outside the hotel. So my next question would be... Do I remember anyone taking

my picture outside the Crown Region Hotel last month?

Yes, I do. You do?

I know all four Gospels, the Book of Psalms, and the Book of Revelation by

heart, young lady.

I have nothing if not a good memory.

The photographer was plainly dressed.

Balding, rather short and overweight.

Why didn't you say something before?

None of you asked.

Excuse me.

I'm looking for a guy who likes to take pictures of people.

You know, without their consent.

He's short, fat, and going bald.

Sometimes goes by the name of Williamson.

Never heard of him.

Where else do you guys hang out?

All over.

Hey, there's Tony!

Hey, hey, there's Tony, Tony, Tony!

Hey, Tony!

I've got what you need.

You do?

Yeah, how about a nice 8x10 of Donny Osmond in a Speedo?

Nothing.

I'm Ben Matlock. We sort of met outside Ross Buckley's office the other day.

Yes, I remember.

I'm a lawyer, and I represent the woman who's accused of murdering him.

Carol Davis.

Could I... Oh, sure. Come in.

You live here alone?

Yes. We don't believe in cohabitation.

Oh, you mean you and... Oh, sit down.

Let me jump right to the point.

I understand that you were in Mr. Buckley's office at the time Carol

arranged to meet him that night.

Yes, I was.

I'll bet you anything that she was framed.

I mean, whoever actually killed Mr. Buckley had to know that she was going

his office at 7 o 'clock that night.

Nothing.

But where were you at that time? Just as a matter of course.

I understand.

As it happens, I was having a personal moment with my paramour.

You mean... Where were you sharing this personal moment?

In her spaceship.

She beams you up?

Don't be silly. That's only in the movies.

They parked out front.

The spaceship was parked out front?

Right.

Well, Mr. Parsons, if there was a spaceship parked out in front of your

7 o 'clock in the evening, don't you think your neighbors would have seen it?

Oh, they did. They see it all the time.

How come they never said anything?

Aliens make them forget.

They let me remember.

Oh.

Mr. Parsons, do you think maybe your friend is outside watching us now?

Oh, no, she and the others left hours ago.

Well, somebody sure is.

All right, cut it out.

I said cut it out.

Can you see the caption now? Ben Matlock caught an alien love triangle.

Funny. It's on me.

Uh -oh.

Hey, hey.

Hey, that's private property you just joined there.

No.

You're trespassing, so I guess we're even.

Wade Parsons had a gripe against him. Maybe he's the killer.

You have to have some grasp of reality to frame somebody for murder, and this

guy's, uh, maybe his alien did it.

Oh, hot dog.

Where you been?

Working. Hey, thanks for the dirt, Carol. I got the job like that.

What job?

At the National Informer.

You went undercover?

Yeah, why not? That's what I do.

I was a cop. I've been in drug busts. I've been shot at. Believe me, the

National Informer is not a dangerous place.

Don't be so sure.

I wanted to look around, but they've got me on assignment.

I wish you'd ask me.

I don't like you doing stuff like that without talking to me.

Why, would you worry?

Yeah.

Cliff.

Cliff, what are you doing?

Reading. You're reading the National Informer? You're not just looking at the

trashy pictures, you're actually reading this garbage?

Hot dog?

Yeah, a couple.

Pig parts.

It says here some brands of hot dogs have as many as 40 different types of

parts in them.

It says so right here.

I had Neil set up a couple sample pages in the new type style.

Good. What's going on?

I'm just trying to give the informer a younger look, that's all.

Try to pull in some of that MTV crowd.

Mrs. Van Ness can't stand the MTV crowd.

Well, you know she can now.

She and I have had a lot of nice long talks lately.

I'll bet you have.

What's your problem, Linda?

What the hell do you think my problem is?

This job was supposed to be mine.

Mrs. Fenness promised.

Well, I'm sorry. I guess she changed her mind.

You changed her mind.

What'd you tell her, anyway?

That Ross and I were sleeping together?

Of course not.

Liar. Linda, settle down.

At least you still got a job.

What goes around comes around, John boy.

Just remember that.

Excuse me.

I'm sorry. Is this a bad time?

I was just wondering about my car mileage.

Am I supposed to be keeping track of that?

You got anything on that photograph yet?

Nothing solid, but I... Well, get on it.

We'll sweat the small stuff later.

Right.

Hello, Mr. Matlock.

Mr.

Parsons.

Want to come in?

Thank you.

This is my associate, Cliff Lewis.

Wade Parsons.

Oh, nice to meet you.

Nice to meet you.

I have some very exciting news for you, Mr. Matlock. I would have called, but

the authorities have tapped my phone.

You need to come with me immediately.

What for?

One of the aliens has a crush on you. She wants to meet you.

Oh, that's very nice.

Come on, Ben, the least you could do is climb on the spaceship and have a glass

of Tang with the girl.

How does she know about Ben?

She overheard our conversation this morning. They hear and see everything

know. And she was very impressed by your mental acuity and physical grace.

His physical grace?

Yes, my physical grace.

Actually, she finds you very attractive.

Well, uh... Well, tell her...

Tell her I'm sorry.

Maybe we can meet in a couple of weeks. Come on, Ben. How often do you get an

offer like this? Why don't you go? She's not wild about me. She's wild about

you. Hey, wait. What does she look like?

Well, like all of them, she pretty much defies description.

But I can tell you, she has all the necessary attributes.

She does?

In spades.

Time's a -wasting, Mr. Matlock.

No, no, no. I'm too busy right now to have a blind date with an alien.

Then...

Not my dog.

He never bothers me because I know all his commands.

Oh, yeah?

Well, could you please get him off of me?

Down!

Home poochie.

Hi.

Afternoon. Is this you?

Yeah, my only claim to fame.

Aren't you the guy that told the informer that the Reverend Masters was

girl that day? No, I said he may have been with a girl that day, that he comes

here a lot with all kinds of people, on business, you know, and I guess they

took that to mean yes.

Did you happen to get a good look at the guy who took the picture of the

Reverend? I sure did.

That's probably why I can't remember whether Reverend Masters was with a girl

not. I was too busy looking at the photographer.

Short, fat, balding guy, right?

No, he was average height. He had, like, bushy eyebrows, a weird haircut.

And a great handlebar mustache.

That's why I was looking at him. You just don't see many of those anymore.

Thanks.

Hi,

how you doing? Want to talk to me for a sec?

Sorry. Gotta go.

Hey, wait a minute!

Hey, you know that guy that

just split the one with the funny mustache?

Yeah. You know his name?

I like it for Leo Harmon.

I lied.

Well, would you take a look at all this? Hey, get out of here.

Oh, look. Are you dummying up yet another picture on your electronic paint

What do you want?

Who paid you to forge that picture of the Reverend Masters?

I didn't forge any picture.

You can talk to us. You can talk to the cops. It's your call.

It makes you think I was working for somebody.

You sold that picture to the informer for peanuts, so either you're incredibly

stupid or you knew you'd be getting some real money from somebody else.

It was the Reverend Masters, wasn't it?

That's why he tried to throw me off the track with that short, fat, bald guy

routine. He didn't want me to find you, did he?

Maybe it was the Reverend, maybe it wasn't.

Well, a simple check of your bank records and his ought to confirm that.

Of course, there is a possibility that Reverend Masters figured out a way to

cover his tracks and leave this guy holding the bag, yeah, just in case

like us ever caught on.

It wasn't just that.

No?

Look, Ross Buckley and the Reverend were in on it together.

Buckley made sure the informer printed the picture I rigged. Masters sued. They

cut me a chunk of the six mil and they split the rest down the middle.

Ross Buckley defrauded his own paper?

Somebody didn't like that.

Thank you.

Thank you. Thank you.

And the cowboy who'll always choose the truth.

I can't believe Ross Buckley sold out his entire paper.

Just money.

Of course, I wouldn't give you three cents for the whole kit and caboodle and

national informer and all of them. I don't believe a word they print.

You like pimento in your bologna? It's okay.

Not me. I like bologna that tastes like bologna.

You know what I like summertime?

Tomato sandwiches.

Just bread, mayonnaise, and sliced tomato.

Come and sit by my side if you love me.

Do not hasten to bid me adieu. You sure like singing those old songs. Remember,

oh, yes.

Me too. Yes, I love the old songs. They relax me, ease my mind.

You need that in this business.

Yeah.

Of course, sometimes when I'm working on a case and I'm, you know, something

comes to me.

That happens to me, too.

Yeah? Yeah. Well, work and relax at the same time.

Down in the valley,

valley so low.

Have your head over, hear the wind blow.

Hear the wind...

Have your head over, hear the wind blow.

Good.

You know, Carol Davis didn't kill anybody.

Of course, I don't think she's going to run for the Senate either. If she does,

I'm not going to vote for her.

No?

She's got a brain.

Yeah, she is.

Jumping from one thing to the next.

Yeah.

So what are you going to do now?

Well, after I finish picking this pimento out of the bologna, I'm going to

this sandwich.

Well, maybe I'll go and see if I can find Cliff.

Why are you walking like that?

Oh, well...

You know this Wade Parsons that they wrote about in the Informer, the alien

girlfriend? Well, he said that his girlfriend has a girlfriend who

said she thinks I have a certain physical grace, and I was just checking

if I had him.

Well, I think you have a very nice physical grace for a man your age.

Ross Buckley was in cahoots with the good Reverend Masters, huh?

Yeah, he's trying to track the money now.

I don't know how he'll help us unless we find out that Reverend Masters has all

six million dollars and doesn't have a, you know, for the time of the murder.

He does have an alibi. I already checked.

Well, what is this?

Huh. Huh.

Huh.

What are you doing here?

Oh, we were just in the neighborhood and we thought we'd look around.

Any idea what this is?

No, I've never seen it before.

Down on the floor.

Wait a minute.

That's Ross's watch.

I was with him when he bought it.

You mean the other person that figures Ross Buckley?

Yeah.

What the hell would he be doing having a drink with Wesley Masters?

Where was this taken?

I don't know.

Huh.

But I have a damn good idea who took it.

A little gardening, huh?

Well, anything to keep my mind off of it. Yeah.

Who's that?

Photographer from the National Informer.

I don't want him taking my picture again, Ben.

He's not after you. He's after me.

Come on.

Where are we going? A little walk down the block.

Take five minutes.

There you go.

And you're a high school dropout, Mr. Sellers. That's right.

Why'd you drop out?

Well, I wanted to be a photographer, and high school was a waste of time.

But didn't your lack of education and experience get in your way when you

to find a job? For a while.

If the truth be told, you were turned down by every paper you applied to

the National Informer, weren't you?

Well, that's right, yeah.

Why'd the Informer want you?

Because they knew I was good, and Ross could see that.

Ross Buckley hired you?

Yeah, that's right.

He must have really gone to bat for you. Yeah, he went to bat for me, all right.

And you were loyal to him, weren't you? You bet.

You were so loyal that earlier this year, when another tabloid tried to hire

away, you turned them down, even though they were going to double your pay.

That's right.

And then your Mr.

Buckley... Cost your paper $6 million because of that lawsuit.

Yeah. Yeah.

What'd you do about it?

What do you mean? Well, I know firsthand how good you are at following people

around with a camera.

So maybe you started following Reverend Masters around. You know, a little

revenge. Catch him with something that really hurt him. No, I didn't do any of

that.

You didn't sneak out one night and take this picture of him.

Having a drink with somebody in his office?

No.

Both the new editor -in -chief of the Informer and his photo editor say that

this blemish right here, the blemish right there, they both say

that every picture you take with your long 200 -millimeter lens has this mark

in the lower left -hand quadrant.

Your lens is scratched.

So you must have taken it.

Somebody must have borrowed my lens, because I didn't take that picture.

Yes, you did, and I know why.

Because the man having a drink with Reverend Masters is Ross Buckley.

And that's when you first knew that the two of them were sharing six million

dollars, and you got none of it.

Yeah.

People who work for the informer,

I have a way of taking two different pictures and putting them together to

it look like something's happening when nothing is happening. Is that right?

What do you mean?

Well, like that picture of the Reverend and the girl.

That was a fake. That was two pictures put together.

Well, I didn't do that.

I know.

That's my point.

You ever heard the expression, honor among thieves?

There is none.

You didn't take that one.

Because you were passed over.

Mr. Buckley gave that job to somebody else.

Maybe he thought you weren't good enough or smart enough.

Six million dollars for just a little bit of work.

And you didn't get any of it. It went to another guy.

No loyalty to you.

So. You printed up this picture and you confronted Mr. Buckley with it, didn't

you? No, I didn't do that. I'm sure that he denied that he and the good reverend

were co -conspirators in a plot to defraud the informer of six million

but you knew he was lying, didn't you? No, I didn't, all right? No honor among

thieves. The man to whom you had been so loyal in destroying other people didn't

have enough faith in you to give you the job of stealing a little money from the

paper you both worked for.

He was just a scheming common criminal.

And... Unfair to you.

You must have felt betrayed.

Betrayed and mad.

Madder than hell. So mad, you tore up that picture and grabbed that crystal

spike off the shelf and stabbed it to death. No, I didn't do any of that.

Then panic set in.

You picked up as many pieces of the picture as you could find and ran to

car. And then, you remember, Carol Davis, you drove your car... to her

planted the murder weapon in her garage, didn't you? No, I didn't do that.

You didn't drive your car to Carol Davis' house the night of the murder?

No.

You ever been to Carol Davis' house?

No.

Okay, once, sort of. I parked across the street from her house yesterday.

So you could watch Carol and me walk down the block. That's right.

Well, the reason she and I... Walked down the block so her neighbors could

look at you and your little car.

See, I prearranged so that they could be peeping out of their windows when you

passed by.

So once again, were you at Carol Davis' house the night of the murder?

You might as well answer, because as soon as you get off the stand, I'm going

call one of her neighbors, and he's going to say yes.

He saw you.

and your van at her house a little after seven the night of the murder.

He even wrote, wash me in the dust of your back window.

You were there trying to frame my client for a crime you had committed.

No loyalty among thieves.

Mr. Sellers, Mr. Buckley, the good reverend.

No loyalty among thieves.

Mr. Parsons?

Mr. Matlock, hello. Hello.

I just stopped by to say hello.

Oh, hello.

Well, you know that big case I was working on, the Davis case? Well, it's

and we won.

Congratulations. Thank you.

And I thought, since I finally have some time on my hands, it might be nice if

we could, you know, kind of socialize.

You're too late. They just left.

They've gone? Yeah.

She had to go back.

I'll never see her again.

I begged her to let me remember her, and she did.

But now it hurts so much that I wish she'd

made me forget.

It's all right. There'll always be another alien.

No.

I'll never know anyone like her again.

Farewell, my beloved.

Farewell forever.