All language subtitles for perry_mason_s04e13_envious_editor

Ladies and gentlemen, the covers of your
current magazine issues.

A missile.

A house.

And a day.

All cold as ice. Nothing to make a
customer stop, look, and buy.

Harding. What was the average monthly
circulation of Aitken's weekly in 1946?

1 ,743 ,626.

And last month?

564 ,082.

And what happened to the advertising?

Well, it dropped 63%, but then, of
course, I think that Mr. Aitken can

that.

Laurie?

Yes, Mr. Fletcher?

Remove this garbage.

The new covers will illustrate our new
policy.

Woman's Viewpoint will deal frankly with
sex from the point of view of the

woman.

Aitken's Home Magazine will concern
itself with a place where it presents

greatest problems.

And Aitken's Weekly will concentrate on
exposing its scandalous results.

That, very broadly, ladies and
gentlemen, will be our new editorial

This is shocking.

Mr. Aitken, your father created this
house.

It's his name and yours this man is
degrading, even if you don't fully

the business anymore.

Decency means nothing to a man who does
not know what it is.

His idea of literature is the scribbling
on washroom walls.

That swamp he calls his brain spawns a
virus that infects minds and bodies.

I sell magazines, Mr. Aitken.

Not morality.

You see?

A virus can't be talked to.

It must be exterminated.

It's awfully loud.

Well, that's the way I like it.

And a good, good evening to you.

Welcome to the Fletcher pad.

I'm just beginning to miss you. You were
delayed.

This is Mr. Fletcher, my wife, Elise.

Hello. A real pleasure and a great
surprise.

Surprise?

Well, I figure you're for Vassar, Ph
.D., horn -rimmed glasses.

You belong on a couple of voles.

I've been there.

This is Millie Nash, my wife's sister.

Mr. Fletcher?

Nash?

Millie Nash.

Excuse me.

You want it on the phone, Mr. Fletcher.
It's the man next door.

Oh, not again.

See that these handsome people get what
they want to drink.

Excuse me.

Yes?

No, I won't turn it down. I like music
loud.

So she's that sick, send her to a
hospital.

See, Sister Millie Nash.

Yes.

And it was so strange for me because all
the manners

I knew were Chinese.

And here I was going to an American
school with American children for the

time, and I didn't even learn to speak
English until I was seven years old.

she really means is that our ama, our
nurse...

Look, so much Chinese. Oh, yes, what I
really mean... Whatever you mean, Mrs.

Aitken, I'm sure you've got quite a
history.

Well, it's true.

Our family always kept us rather
sheltered, didn't they, Alice?

Yes, that's right, our family... I'll
bet you've got the kind of family

that would satisfy even Aitken's
mainline relatives.

Now, let me see.

On our mother's side, we're direct
descendants... Millie, Mr. Fletcher

family trees.

He takes great pleasure in chopping them
down.

Really, Edmund?

No, no, it's all right. He insults me
all the time.

I didn't think it got through to you.

If you don't mind, I think I'd like to
powder my nose.

Darling? Yes, of course.

Excuse me.

You know, it's funny with you
bluebloods.

Every now and then, you've just got to
get some of that good red blood in to

improve the strain.

Mr. Aitken, is there any truth to the
rumor you're going to resign from this

company? No.

Well, if Fletcher's running the
magazines out here in Los Angeles, who's

to take your job in Philadelphia?

Well, if you'll take my advice, he'll
stay home and take care of that wife of

his. If he doesn't, I know a lot of
other men who'd like the opportunity.

You all right?

Tell Mr. Fletcher you're sorry.

Tell him it's only because Edmund had a
drink. Oh, no. Do as I say.

Mr. Fletcher, I don't know what brought
this on, but I'm very sorry.

I really don't know what to say.

Come on, Elise.

Billy Nash.

You called me in the morning.

Poetry enriches the soul but
impoverishes the publisher.

I named my magazine The Pleiades after
the seven daughters of Atlas who died

went to heaven to become a group of
stars.

That constellation rises in May and sets
in November.

It is now November.

My creditor's children are cold and
hungry.

Why do you keep on publishing a magazine
that has such limited appeal, Mr.

Nicholson? Why not?

Of all the things I know, poetry most
deserves to be kept alive.

Excuse me.

Yes? Mr. Aitken is here for his
appointment.

All right, Dylan.

Oh, and make out a check to the Pleiades
Press for $100.

Thank you, Mr. Mason.

It's deductible.

By the way, is that Aitken Publications
coming in next?

Yes, it is.

And I'm complaining.

Thank you again.

Hello, Mr. Mason.

I'm Edmund Aitken.

I've made some notes for you here on
everything the company's invested in

he took over.

Good.

I'll examine the way he broke your
contract as editor -in -chief. We'll

every possibility of getting to him
legally.

You're giving me some hope, Mr. Mason.

Don't get your hopes too high, Mr.
Aitken.

Men like Fletcher have a way of hiding
their sins.

Whenever Richard Corey went downtown, we
people on the street looked at him.

He was a gentleman from soul to crown,
clean -favored and imperially slim.

And he was rich, yes, richer than a king
and admirably schooled in every grace.

In fine, we thought that he was
everything to make us wish that we were

place. Don't finish it.

Poetry bores you, Mr. Aitken?

Who are you?

My name's Ben Nicholson.

Oh, yes, of course, the flea it is. I've
seen it back in Philadelphia.

Shall I finish the poem for you?

Mr. Nicholson, you live out here in your
little dream world, helping moon

-raking poets grow words nobody reads.

Smugly poor, because that's the way it's
always been with poets.

What do you know about circulation and
advertising and what a man must do to

show a profit?

So on we worked and waited for the light
and went without the meat and cursed

the bread. And Richard Corey, one calm
summer night, went home and put a bullet

through his head.

You need a drink.

That's one thing I don't need.

Dinner?

Sympathy?

Even a publisher of poetry has heard the
sad story of your troubles, Mr. Aitken.

Well, maybe one drink.

Hello?

Mrs. Aitken?

Why?

To get my company back again.

Now, listen here. The first thing I'm
doing is rounding up proxies.

The editors who have stock, well,
they'll give me theirs.

On those shares I gave you for
Christmas, I'll have to have your proxy

I told you she had a headache.

Will you for once just keep out of this?

Elise, the reason I need your proxy is
because... But you can't have my proxy,

Edmund.

I gave it to Mr. Fletcher.

You what?

Just now, tonight.

To Fletcher?

I'm sorry, Edmund, but I didn't know.

How could I know?

And now it's too late.

I'm sorry, Edmund.

If I'd been there, I would have stopped
her, of course.

You get saying how close we are to going
broke.

Edmund, you know how frightened Alice is
of being poor.

of ever being poor again.

And with Fletcher, the business would be
safe.

You've come back.

I hoped you would.

I need more courage.

When a man has murder in his heart, he
asks himself questions.

Things like... Well...

A man who hates enough to kill doesn't
waste time asking questions. He kills

gets it done with.

Yes, that's good. That makes sense.

Murderers hate. I hate. Therefore, I am
a murderer.

I suggest only one thing to you. If it
is murder you're now thinking of, for

sake of your own conscience, be sure you
murder the right person.

Mr. Fletcher's death occurred during the
late hours of the night. His body was

discovered by a servant who entered a
luxurious bachelor apartment at 8 a .m.

Hello, may I please speak to Mr. Aitken?

Do you know where he could be reached?

Is this Mrs. Aitken speaking?

No, it is not. And I haven't the
faintest idea where Mr. Aitken is.

Now, I'm very busy.

Would you mind taking a message, please?

He hasn't been home all night.

Well, when he does, will you please have
him call Mr. Perry Mason?

Who was that?

Nobody. More reporters.

Here, take this.

Oh, no more, please. Take it.

We were here. We never left this house
last night, Elise.

Remember, we were here together all
night.

All night.

I'll remember.

All night.

May I see Mrs. Aitken, please?

Please.

Oh, she's asleep right now. In fact,
she's under heavy sedation. Well, I'm

afraid we'll have to wake her up
somehow.

Why? I have a warrant charging her with
the murder of Donald Fletcher.

Oh, no.

Well, these Aitken fingerprints were all
over the murder apartment.

It was a struggle, wasn't there?

The place all upset?

Uh -huh.

But it was a gun that killed Fletcher.

His own gun.

What else?

I haven't been able to find out what
motive the police figure yet, but

apparently Fletcher's secretary told him
that her boss was planning some kind of

a rendezvous for last night. With Elise
Aitken? Uh -huh. On top of which, a

neighbor says he saw a woman answering
Elise Aitken's description running out

the apartment a little after 3 a .m.

And, of course, you can guess what time
the doctor's figure that Fletcher's

murder took place.

3 a .m.

Yes, Della?

Perry, Mr. Ben Nicholson is here. He
says he has a message from Mr. Edmon

Aitken. All right, send him in.

Yes, he is, or was a moment ago at my
house.

It's all quite awkward, I'm afraid.

What do you mean?

I ran into him last night. He was pretty
upset.

Of course, I barely know Aitken. We only
met yesterday, and quite by accident.

But when he started talking about
killing someone, I thought it best to

him a drink and try to keep him out of
trouble.

So I took him over to my place. He spent
the night there.

Maybe you did keep him out of trouble.

Well, actually, I fell asleep about one
o 'clock or so. He was in another little

room with its own entrance.

What about his message, Mr. Nicholson?

Yes, yes. He wants you to defend his
wife. He wants you to see her right

He'd be in touch himself, but the police
are over there now asking him a

thousand questions.

Not that he has any answer, poor chap.

Such a dreadful thing to have to face.

Man's own wife mixed up in a thing like
this with a man like that.

Sometimes the police make mistakes, Mr.
Nicholson.

I didn't kill him.

Honestly, I didn't.

But you did go to see Mr. Fletcher last
night. No, of course not.

Then how do your fingerprints appear so
many places in his apartment?

I don't know. I can't explain it.

I'm all confused. I'm still half asleep.

Have some more coffee, Mrs. Aitken.

Now, as I've said... You don't have to
make any statements to the officials.

if I'm going to be your lawyer, simply
must... Have you talked to my sister,

Millie? No, not yet.

Well, she'll tell you I wasn't out of
the house all night.

I was in bed by 11 .30.

Your sister shares your bedroom?

No. Then how can she prove you weren't
out of the house? Oh, I don't know.

You're trying to mix me up. Mrs. Aitken,
you must tell me the truth.

I won't talk without Millie.

I won't.

Fletcher was a louse.

You're right. He was a rat.

How do you know that?

Because you hate him.

And how.

And how, and how.

He was the meanest man in this world.

Things he did to people.

For example?

Well, he was always scaring them.

What with?

Anything he could find.

Letters? Tape recordings?

Blackmail? Same thing as.

Like when Harding was there.

Sue me, he says.

I will prove that you double -crossed
Aitken.

How? Bank books.

What's this double -cross?

Then he tells me to beat it.

I know, but about this double -cross.

Getting bounced out for a phony like
that, at least.

Alice spelled with a Y, Aiken.

What a dame.

Ask Rudy Tripp.

He knew her way back.

Just ask Rudy Tripp.

You was asking about them Nash sisters.

One day I'm working on an odd layout.

That's what we call it in the trade.

With Elise, when in comes this good
-looking guy.

Talked like a college professor.

Aitken? Well, if Aitken's the guy she
married, I guess that's the one.

Anyway, he tells Elise to put her
clothes on and get out.

Only Millie says no.

The next thing you know, there's a
fight, and Millie hits this guy right

the head with a spotlight. Boom! Real
crazy.

I'm glad I don't do that kind of work
anymore.

Now it's quality stuff.

Strictly good taste.

Ready, baby?

Paul, I'd like to see if he's got copies
of those pictures of Elise Aitken.

You don't mind sticking around here for
a while, do you?

No, no.

Your wife is frightened.

And she's hiding things, Mr. Aitken.

From my investigation so far, I'd say
it's quite possible that Donald Fletcher

was blackmailing her.

She's never said anything to me.

But you are aware that your wife posed
for the sort of photographs which she

might now want suppressed.

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

I'm certainly not ashamed of anything
Elise might have done.

And if you're saying that her background
makes her into the kind of person who

would actually commit a murder... I'm
saying nothing of the sort.

I don't believe she killed Fletcher.

Come in, Paul.

Hello, Mr. Aiken.

You believe I killed Fletcher? Is that
what you're trying to say?

You know, it's one thing for a person in
your wife's position to become

terrified and tell frantic lies.

Mason, if I killed Fletcher, I would
admit it.

I love my wife. I'd want to protect her.

The way you did several years ago at a
photographer's studio?

When I what?

Excuse me.

There's something I want Paul to start
working on right away.

Excuse me, Mr. Reagan.

It wasn't Aitken.

After you left, I asked Rudy Tripp some
more questions.

And I found out that the guy he
remembers as having hauled Elise Nash

studio just didn't fit Aitken's
description.

Any idea who it was?

Positive identification.

Ben Nicholson.

Nicholson?

Call your first witness, Mr. Prosecutor.

It was about half past eight when Mr.
Fletcher told me I could leave.

And he told you he was expecting a
caller later that night?

He said he had work to do, business.

But didn't you just state that you knew
it was Mrs. Elise Aitken he was

expecting? Well, I heard him telephoning
as I was getting my coat going out the

door.

What exact words do you recall
overhearing, please?

He spoke her name, then he said, how
about you and me getting together

Do you recall hearing anything further?

He said, 9 .30 is okay with me, baby,
and...

That's all I heard.

Thank you, Miss Stoner. Cross -examine.

Miss Stoner, do you recall a recent
conversation with the private

Mr. Paul Drake, in which you recounted
some of these same facts?

I do.

Sort of. Do you recall mentioning
certain letters and tape recordings

Fletcher ordinarily kept in his
apartment?

Yes, in the drawer in his desk.

I have here a police listing of the
contents of that desk.

As itemized on the day after the murder.

Now, Miss Stoner, would you be more
specific as to the sort of material you

referred to?

Well, there were two or three large
manila envelopes that Mr. Fletcher said

private. I don't know exactly what was
in them. Manila envelopes?

I don't find anything like that listed
here.

Apparently, those envelopes seem to have
disappeared.

Miss Stoner...

Is it your opinion that they might have
contained blackmail material?

Yes.

Mr. Fletcher would stoop to anything to
get what he wanted.

I have no further questions.

Call Mr.

Wendell Harding to the stand.

I telephoned Mr. Fletcher at exactly 11
p .m. What was the purpose of that call

at that hour, Mr. Harding?

Well, as business manager of Aitken
Publications, I often called at night.

this was in reference to our advertising
sales... I see, Mr. Harding.

Is there any question about your ability
to recognize Mr. Fletcher's voice? It

was definitely the deceased that you
talked to.

Oh, absolutely. Of course.

I see. Go on, sir.

Well, I told him there were some things
we had to talk over, and if he wasn't

going to retire soon, I'd go over to his
place.

Do you recall his response?

I recall it exactly.

He laughed. He said, uh, no, not
tonight.

Then he said, guess who was here and who
just called and is coming back?

Elise Aitken.

And this was at 11 o 'clock?

Yes, sir, precisely.

And the deceased said that she, Elise
Aitken, was coming back.

Thank you, sir. Cross -examine.

Mr. Harding.

Did Donald Fletcher ever blackmail you?

Well, of course not.

Did he ever mention certain bank books
or copies thereof which he had somehow

obtained?

I don't remember.

Mr. Harding, how much money do you have
collected in certain banks across the

country?

About $93 ,000.

Well, it's perfectly honest. I... I
mean... Well, I think I recall Fletcher

asking his secretary about an
investigation he'd made.

Now you just think you recall. Yet a
moment ago, you were glibly quoting

supposedly spoken about the defendant.

You were being very precise about her
possible return to the apartment.

Is your memory, Mr. Harding, only
accurate when the blackmail of other

involved? Well, I guess I was a little
confused.

I'm not used to testifying like this.

Well, no one's memory is perfect. I
mean, you mean... No one's memory is

perfect.

Thank you, Mr. Harding. That'll be all.

Now, in your first statement to the
police, Mr. Nicholson, you said, Mr.

Aitken spent the entire night in your
apartment.

I'm afraid that that statement wasn't
entirely true.

In what regard was it untrue?

Well, the fact is that about 2 .30 in
the morning, I was awakened by Mr.

leaving the house. He was frankly too
drunk to know what he was doing, but he

said he wanted to see his wife.

When I tried to stop him, he set up a
tremendous din, rather loudly offering

kill me if I didn't get out of his way.

I decided the best procedure was to take
him home to put him to bed there.

And when you arrived at his home, did
his wife agree with you?

She wasn't at the house.

What time was it?

About three in the morning.

He's lying.

Well, how did you know that Mrs. Aitken
was not at home?

Aitken stumbled up to her room. I
followed. I tried to stop him. I wanted

make sure he did her no harm. He'd been
talking so wildly.

She wasn't there.

Thank you.

Cross -examine.

Mr. Nicholson, when you arrived at the
Aitken home, was there anybody in the

house?

Well, Aitken did open another door. He
said his sister -in -law was asleep, but

he'd leave her that way. It was his wife
he wanted to find.

What did you do then?

Well, I persuaded him that we'd go
looking for her. Unfortunately, when I

him back out to the car, he fell sound
asleep.

Went back to my apartment, managed to
put him to bed there.

Did you know Elise Aitken, Mr.
Nicholson?

Mr. Aitken never introduced her to me.

Were you ever introduced to Miss Elise
Nash?

No, I wasn't.

Does your memory go back eight years?

I hope so.

Do you remember that A.

Miss Millie Nash once hit you on the
head with a spotlight in a certain

photographer's studio?

I do.

Then I ask you once again, were you ever
introduced to her sister, to a Miss

Elise Nash?

No, Mr. Mason.

I picked her up on a boat trip to
Catalina.

Did you ever ask Elise Nash to marry
you?

Yes, many times.

How many times?

I have forgotten.

Why?

Because all I've wanted for eight years
was to clean my mind of her memory.

I loved her too much, and she almost
destroyed me for it.

How?

I was poor, and she couldn't stand to be
poor.

To please her, I wallowed in her cheap
world for a while, editing a fly -by

-night girly magazine.

I was no good at it.

When I asked her to try my kind of life,
she left me.

For another man?

For money.

Always for money.

Isn't it a fact that you hate the
defendant?

That you would do anything in your power
to harm her?

No, Mr. Mason.

The fact is I despise her and would do
nothing to prevent her from being

Who published that cheap magazine you
edited, Mr. Nicholson?

Donald Fletcher.

No more questions.

I call Mr.

Philip Robinson to the stand.

Well, our apartment is just across the
courtyard from Mr. Fletcher's, so I saw

the woman quite clearly.

It was her, all right.

That one.

Elise Aitken.

And once more now, what time was it?

that you saw the defendant running from
Mr. Fletcher's apartment?

Five and one -half minutes after 3 a .m.

Now, Mr. Robinson, did you ever in the
past have cause to speak to Mr.

Well, yes.

You see, my wife has been quite ill for
some time, and she doesn't sleep well.

And Fletcher was noisy.

His parties, that is.

And that hi -fi set of his, you could
hear that halfway down the block.

Was his hi -fi set playing at the time
that you saw the defendant running from

his apartment?

Yes, it was.

It had awakened my wife, and I'd gotten
up to get her some medicine to help her

sleep. Well, did you consider calling
Mr. Fletcher to complain?

Well, yes, but a minute or two after
Mrs. Aitken left, the music stopped.

It came to the end of the record.

And after that?

Silence.

Deadly silence.

Thank you, Mr. Robinson.

Cross -examine.

For the tenth time, I saw her mink coat,
I tell you. I can swear it wasn't

muskrat or anything else. It was mink.
The moonlight, was that clear?

Could have been someone else's mink
coat, couldn't it?

And that light blonde hair of hers? I
tell you, it was Alice Aitken.

Her.

Nobody else. Now you admit, do you not?
The only thing I admit is that if it

wasn't her that went clattering out of
there like a scared rabbit, then it was

somebody enough like her to be your own
twin sister.

I saw a lease aid tenant. But it could
have been someone who looked like her.

Thank you, Mr. Robinson. That's all I
ask.

It's a long playing record.

And you found it still lying on the
turntable when you entered the murder

apartment. That's right.

What sort of turntable is it,
Lieutenant? I gather Fletcher was quite

addict. The turntable is manual.

To start a record, it's necessary to
lift the arm itself and then lower the

needle down gently.

Did you find the fingerprints of one
person and only one person on that

phonograph arm?

Yes, sir. The defendant, Elise Aitken.

Yes, I was there. I went back to see
him.

After what Edmund said, when I realized
how upset he was, I couldn't sleep.

So I phoned Mr. Fletcher and I went over
to his apartment again.

And what time was that?

About 2 o 'clock, I think.

Then what happened?

Well, I wanted to get that proxy back.

I wanted to tell Mr. Fletcher what a
dreadful, horrible mistake I'd made.

I wanted to tell him that I was going to
help my husband, not him.

And what was Fletcher's reaction?

He laughed at me.

Well, in your situation, why wouldn't he
have laughed?

Wasn't he making a collection of some
pictures you'd once posed for?

Oh, but I didn't care about any of that.

I wasn't afraid of being blackmailed.

But wasn't that why you gave him your
proxy in the first place?

No, no, I did it because... Well,
because I thought it was the right thing

to protect the stocks I owned.

You mean you did it because your sister
told you it was the right thing to do?

Yes, I've always done what she told me.

You see, Mr. Mason, we were brought up
in an orphanage in China.

Our father was a sailor who just dumped
us there.

By the time we were 14, we had to earn
our own living and... Well, that's why

Millie is so afraid of being poor.

And that's why I let her push me into
making money.

Anyway at all.

But Edmund understood.

I mean about the kind of life I'd had.

You didn't do what your sister wanted
when you went back to Fletcher for your

proxy. No.

Because for once I was thinking of
Edmund, not Millie.

Did you argue with him?

Did you fight with Fletcher?

Yes, I started to argue.

But he just laughed harder.

And then he tried to kiss me.

And I suddenly realized how stupid I was
to go there alone.

I got out the door and I took off my
shoes and ran out of the building as

as I could.

Took off your shoes?

Yes, I didn't want to attract attention.

Then what made you put that loud record
on the hi -fi?

But I didn't.

Mr. Mason, I've thought and thought, and
the only time I can remember touching

the hi -fi was when I turned that record
off.

You turned the record off?

Yes, when I was there earlier.

Because he had this horrible, loud
record on, and I wanted to talk to him.

Only, Mr. Mason, that was at 10 o 'clock
in the evening.

Go over to the apartment again.

I'll check guest room or bathroom.

I'll get back to you as soon as I can.
Have one of your men see Della.

She's trying to get hold of a manual
turntable, similar to the one on

high -five.

I want her before court we could be. I'm
away.

Well, Elise may have been a little bit
nervous, perhaps.

Now, that is not what I asked you.

When your sister came home, Miss Nash,
did you or did you not get out of bed to

speak to her? Yes, I did.

What did she have to say?

Nothing.

She ran into her room and locked the
door.

And the following morning, wasn't she
still so upset that she required

sedatives? But it was my idea. Just
answer yes or no, Miss Nash. Did your

require sedatives after what she'd been
through the night before?

Yes, she did.

Your witness.

Now, Miss Nash, we have heard testimony
that two men entered the Aitken home at

3 a .m. in the morning. Further, that
one of those two men was drunk and

the door to your bedroom, yet you
remained asleep.

Is that true?

Well, I pretended to be asleep, that's
all.

I certainly didn't want to talk to
Edmund when he was in that condition.

I understand.

Did you then remain awake until your
sister came home a few moments later?

Well, it wasn't a few moments.

I didn't have my watch on, but I smoked
a couple of cigarettes, so it must have

been 20 or 25 minutes later that I heard
her.

I didn't say anything.

I just wanted to make sure she got home
all right, that's all.

Miss Nash, do you recall anything which
would more nearly indicate the exact

time?

Well, there is one thing, yes.

From my bedroom, when the door is open,
I can just hear the chiming of the

downstairs clock.

Go on.

Well, I heard it chime just after Edmund
and Mr. Nicholson left, when I got up

to shut my bedroom door.

How many chimes?

One. One?

That's right.

I just assumed that it was 1 o 'clock.

But it might have been half past
something when they were there.

Your Honor, I would like to recall a
witness.

A man who said it was 3 o 'clock when he
was at the Aitken home.

Your Honor, I object. Counselor... Wait,
wait.

I guess I may have made a little
mistake.

It was 3 when I got back to my place.
That's all I meant to say.

But you didn't say that, Mr. Nicholson.
Now, why is that? I made a mistake. I

told you. Why?

I don't know why.

You despise the defendant. You already
admitted it. All right. Maybe I wanted

make her look more guilty.

Or make yourself look more innocent.

Now, Mr. Nicholson, what was the actual
time you were at the Aitken home?

2 .30. We left there just before 2 .30.

Now, if that's the truth...

then it's quite possible that Elise
Aitken returned home before 3 a .m. in

morning instead of... Objection, Your
Honor.

Aside from the improper argumentative
questioning, defense is presenting his

case in a rather... If it please the
court, I insist that my cross

is quite proper.

I certainly have the right to clarify
this time discrepancy. And the state

contends there is no time discrepancy.

We have already demonstrated through the
neighbor's testimony that the defendant

started Mr. Fletcher's phonograph
playing shortly before 3 a .m. and was

leaving the murder apartment shortly
after 3. Any discrepancy elsewhere is

irrelevant. Irrelevant?

Your Honor, perhaps it would not be
irrelevant to show that the phonograph

have been turned on by someone other
than the defendant.

Now, if I might recall another witness.

I object, Your Honor.

Just a moment, Mr. Prosecutor. I'm
interested in what Mr. Mason has in

Deception, Your Honor, by someone who
fought with Fletcher, killed him, and

tried to place the blame on Elise
Aitken.

Deception by someone who must have been
in Fletcher's apartment at the time of

the defendant's visit there earlier in
the evening.

Just what is the purpose of your
demonstration there?

Well, to show how that person took
advantage of the fingerprints, the...

defendant had left on the turntable arm.

Simple matter to turn on a switch.

Then using either a pencil or a nail
file to carefully lift

the tone arm, lower it, and start the
record playing.

Who is it you want to recall, Mr. Mason?

The person, Your Honor, who not only
knew of the fingerprints, but also knew

about the neighbor and his wife who was
ill.

The person who was familiar enough with
the Fletcher apartment to use the guest

room.

The person who uses a light hairspray to
put a streak in her hair, who left

traces of that hairspray on the bathroom
wall.

A woman, Your Honor, who could spray her
hair to make it appear blonde.

And then in her own mink coat, run
clattering outside to impersonate the

defendant.

He tried to get rid of me.

I helped him with all of it.

Every bit of dirty blackmail.

And then he said he didn't need me
anymore.

I stayed there.

I begged him.

And then she came back.

And when he tried to kiss her, when he
knew I was still watching, I just

couldn't stand it anymore.

Yes, I killed Donald Fletcher.

And it was the best thing I ever did in
my life.

One word in the neighbor's testimony
that did it, the word clattering.

But your wife said that she'd taken off
her shoes, hoping not to make any noise

as she ran out of the Fletcher
apartment.

That meant another woman had to have
impersonated her.

Laurie was the only one close enough to
manage it.

Then she must have been in the apartment
when Elise went back for the proxy.

She was.

Fletcher had asked her to leave, but she
slipped into the guest room instead.

Then, just after you left, Mrs. Aitken,
a little before 3 a .m., Laurie and

Fletcher really had a fight.

Apparently he fell and was stunned.

And then she killed him.

She put on a record to cover the noise,
shot him, did what she had to do to

implicate you, and ran out of the
apartment past the neighbors.

Tell me, before you knew all this, what
made you so sure things would turn out

as they have?

My faith in my client.

Your faith in your wife.

Thank you, Mr. Mason.

Goodbye. Goodbye. Mr. Mason, thanks.

Goodbye, Mr. Aiken.

Oh, these photographs.

Well, they don't mean anything anymore.

Is that all of them? Mm -hmm. Negatives,
too.

That's that.

You realize, of course, that that
represents hours of work.

I had to go through all the photos in
Rudy Tripp's file.

Is it absolutely necessary to make bad
jokes while you're operating?

Absolutely. Hang with the gang of the
4077.

Mad, coming up next on the Hallmark
Channel.

No!

Definitely the electricity is one thing,
but this?

The Hallmark Channel Original
Miniseries. Donald Sutherland. William

gave you a chance to keep me happy.

No! I will take your life. No!

Frankenstein. Tonight at 9 on the
Hallmark Channel.