All language subtitles for Murder She Wrote S03E16 Death Takes a Dive 1080p BluRay FLAC2 0 H 264-NTb_Subtitles_3

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

and you're under arrest for murder.

Tonight on Murder, She Wrote.

His gun was used to kill Mr. Talmadge.

That's very incriminating.

A roof might just fall in on
your head. Is that a threat?

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

Got a light? Whatever
it is you're sellin',

you better peddle it someplace else.

McGraw was warned.
Now I'll warn you.

If you think that Blaster is
going to lose intentionally

to, uh, that shillelagh...

Will you move?

Okay, okay, now jab, jab.

Cover up, cover up.

Yeah, yeah.
Way to go, Blaster!

Keep that right tucked in.

Okay, okay. Now jab, jab.

Move it, move it. Come on, come
on, Blaster, combinations.

You know what a combination is?

One-two, jab, then the right.

Right, there you go.

Will you move?

He's making meatloaf out
of your belly, big guy.

There you go.

Isn't this guy something?

I mean, look at that right hand.

Look at those moves. First a
left, then a quick right.

The timing, footwork.

I'm telling you, in six months,

the Blaster's gonna be
right back on top.

A genuine contender.

He's something isn't he, Jessica?

I mean the guy is a mountain.

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

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

at Sean Shaleen, the Irish Shillelagh.

Oh, uh, yeah.

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

We're talkin' about the number
eight ranked contender

in the Continental
Boxing Federation.

Which isn't exactly the WBA or the IBC

or even the WBF,

but it's not exactly
chopped liver either.

Uh, oh, yes, but I...

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

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

Tuck in the left, Blaster.

Sanchez, keep those punches up, huh?

Hey, old man!

Why don't you give it up, man?
You ain't got nothin' left.

You couldn't lick a postage stamp.

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

Come on, man!
Get the punches up!

Hey, you're a tub of turkey fat.

Ain't got nothin' left.

Come on, Blaster, get out of there man.

All right, Blaster.

That's the way to give it to him!

Oh, dear.

Harry, I thought you said
they were only practicing.

Yeah, yeah, you're right, Jessica.

Hey, Blaster, take it easy.
What are you doing?

Hey, Blaster, back away!

Blaster, that's enough!

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

Hey, are you deaf?

Hey, Blaster, what's the
matter with you, huh?

He made me mad, Harry!

All right, all right.

Hey, come on, McGraw, get
your animal outta here!

All right. He started it,
Mr. Ponzini!

Yeah, sure.

Come on, Blaster, get
yourself a shower now.

Yeah, yeah. You'll take a
shower, change clothes,

and we'll get somethin' to eat.

I'm sorry, Mrs. Fletcher.

I guess I just kind of lost my temper.

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

No, Harry.
No, no, no.

Jessica, you haven't heard what I...

I've heard enough, Harry.

Oh, for pity's sakes.

You phone me. You tell me
you're in terrible trouble.

I take a bus all the way down
here from-from Cabot Cove...

I am in trouble.

...and then I find that you
want me to invest in a boxer.

In a boxer!

Harry, you lied to me.

On my mother's bones,
I never lied.

And when I tell you
I'm in trouble,

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

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

a couple of steaks,

three baked potatoes,
two corn on the cob,

and a side of chili.

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

I'm gonna get picked apart
like a Thanksgiving turkey.

Oh, I've heard that before.

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

That'll be a first.

Look, there's this fat goon
with more muscles than brains,

who thinks I owe him five big ones,

which I don't, by the way.

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

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

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

Now, very slowly,
I want you to tell me

exactly what is going on.

Okay. Now, this is the straight skinny.

A few months ago,
I take a job

from this guy,
Benny Falcone,

to chase down his daughter

who's run off with some
saxophone player.

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

Only, a week later,

the daughter and the sax player

show up on his doorstep
and move in with him.

Now, not only is Falcone
steamed at his kid,

but he's not too thrilled with me.

And he wants his five thou back,

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

But he can't do that.

So I explain, except he suddenly
developed a loss of hearing

and threatened osteopathic
damage to my legs

unless I cough up.

So, I went to this major
creditor of mine,

a fight manager named Pinky Schultz,

who happened to owe me a few bucks.

Only, Pinky was not in
the very best of shape

when I found him.

Sixty years of good living and bad booze

had finally put Pinky
down for the count.

I was standing there thinking,

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

"as soon as Benny Falcone
catches up with you, "

when this guy comes up to me,

lawyer, never did catch his name.

He hands me this contract
for the Blaster.

It was Pinky's way of
setting things right.

He's left me the only thing in the world

that counted to him, his prizefighter.

Now, what do I know about
the fight game? Nothing.

But I figure, "Okay, maybe I can turn
this contract into a few bucks."

So I take Blaster to Ponzini's gym.

Figuring maybe I can sell the
contract to some fight guy.

And what do you know, soon as I walk in,

I can see the Irish Shillelagh
is workin' out in the ring.

Which means maybe
Wade Talmadge, the promoter,

is around someplace.

Meanwhile, the owner of
the gym, Cosmo Ponzini,

is having his problems with
a muckraking reporter

named Dave Robinson.

Get outta here, Robinson.

I'm a reporter doing my job, Ponzini.

I have every right to be... You want
to dig up dirt on Mr. Talmadge,

you do it someplace else.

You ever heard of freedom
of the press, fella?

Oh, yeah.

And I also heard of private property,

which this is.

You see that sign?
And you read that sign?

You ever heard of the Supreme Court?

The sign's unenforceable,
and you know it.

Hey...

you're a pretty smart guy,
ain't you, Robinson?

You know everything, huh?

Well, let me tell ya.

You know garbage.

You try to take down the fight business,

and a roof might just
fall in on your head.

You understand?
Ooh, is that a threat?

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

Leo, Tony, show these two the door.

What're you hidin', Ponzini?

I mean, why are you so loyal
to a guy like Talmadge, huh?

Hey, watch it, you big creep!

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

Good, kid, good!

Now keep movin'. Move!

That's it.

Hi.

Come on, kid, move.

That's it, come on.

Throw a jab now, jab.

Sean looks good, Mr. Talmadge.

He's in real fightin' trim.

Just don't over train him, Dennis.

The Gates fight is still
three weeks away.

Not to worry, sir.

The boy is coming along just fine.

A network TV fight,

we wanna see him do his best.

Funny, he looks great to me already.

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

No, darling, just the manly art.

Uh, hiya, Mr. Talmadge.
Harry McGraw.

Listen, I'm new to the fight game,

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

I've heard of him.

I thought he died.

Blaster?
You've got to be kidding.

No, he's been real busy.

I got myself a real contender here.

Maybe, a couple of years ago.

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

Hey, you got this Irish powder puff

fightin' a has-been like Jocko Gates,

and you call my boy a pug?

Mr. McGraw, I could arrange to
have the, uh, 'powder puff'

rearrange the contours of your jawline.

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

I mean, I'm just here tryin' to do

a little business, that's all.

Like I said,
I'm new to the fight game,

and I figured maybe I can't give

Blaster the kind of representation
he really deserves.

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

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

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

I'm not interested in your deal, McGraw.

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

Trouble, Mr. Talmadge?
Yes, Cosmo.

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

Yes, sir. Okay, boys.

All right, all right, we're goin'.

No problem. Take it easy,
take it easy, Blaster.

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

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

I spent the rest of the day

hustling Blaster from gym to gym.

But getting the bum's
rush from Wade Talmadge

hadn't helped much.

The word got around.

It also got around to Benny Falcone

whose blood pressure was rising

as high as his voice

when he finally got me on the phone.

He said something about cement boots

and the Charles River
and then he hung up.

I was staring into a dead phone

when there was a knock at the door.

Talmadge.
Good evening, McGraw.

Mind if I come in?

Uh, hey, listen, if the
cockroaches don't care,

why should I?

Doc, Blaster.

I'll cut to the bottom line,
McGraw.

I've reconsidered.

You want a fight for your
boy here, you've got it.

Three weeks from Friday
with Sean Shaleen.

Here's the contract.

The TV fight? Well, what
happened to Jocko Gates?

Oh, his old lady caught
him playing hopscotch

on somebody else's sidewalk.

She, uh, broke his jaw
with a coffeemaker.

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

Naturally, I don't expect him to win.

Oh, you don't, huh?

Hey, what's this?
You call this a purse?

Slavery went out a hundred years ago.

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

Let me know in the morning.

Bye, Mr. McGraw.

Oh, and, McGraw,

our arrangement is strictly business.

There are no fringe benefits.

You know what they used to do to people

who poached on somebody else's preserve?

Look it up.

That guy Shaleen and TV and all,

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

Yeah, yeah.

I'd take that man seriously, Harry.

That Talmadge can be a rough customer

when it comes to his women.

Especially that one.

Jessica, don't you understand,
with my cut of this purse,

not only can
I pay back Falcone,

I can make a few bucks.

Yes, I can see that,

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

Well, trainin' for a big
fight costs money.

There's a lot of expenses.

And, well, frankly, my credit's

about as flat as a can of stale beer.

Look,
I need a few thousand bucks. That's all.

Oh, Harry, please.
Hey, you'd be in for half.

Partners, right down the line.

Look, Harry, I don't know anything
about the fight business,

and I don't want to know.

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

Falcone gentleman,

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

Suppose I lend you 5,000, huh?

Lend?

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

Besides, this isn't just the money,

it's an investment.

A chance at the brass ring.

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

Trust me.

Look, here's a check.

It's a loan, like it or not.

Do with it what you want,

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

the better I'll like it.

Thanks, Jessica.
You won't regret this.

Uh, excuse me. I gotta
make a phone call.

Get things rollin'.

That sure was nice of you,
Mrs. Fletcher,

but I feel real bad about that 5,000.

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

Oh, don't be so sure, Blaster.

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

Why, uh,
I even think you might

have a chance at your big comeback.

Comeback?

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

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

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

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

is 'cause I make 'em look good.

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

so when somebody whips me now,

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

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

nobody'd ever fight me again.

But that doesn't make any sense.

It does if you know the fight business.

You see, I...
I don't try to lose, but...

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

So I got to make my money while I can.

But, Blaster, you...

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

for the rest of your life.

I don't intend to.

See, I've been sendin' my money

to this fella down in Tennessee.

I'm buyin' myself a dairy farm.

I almost got it paid for, too.

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

Win that fight with Shaleen?

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

Hello?

Mrs. Fletcher?
Yes.

Yeah, my name is David Robinson.

I'm a sportswriter for the
Boston Evening Tribune.

Yes? Yeah, well,
I'm curious to know

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

named Blaster Boyle

and a hustler named Harry McGraw.

Mr. Robinson,

not only do I resent the
tone of that question,

but frankly, it's none of your business.

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

And when a world-famous mystery writer

gets involved in the fight
racket, well, that's news.

Well, you're wrong.

And I'm not involved in anything.

That so?

Well, the Massachusetts
Boxing Commission's

going to be very interested
in hearing that.

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

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

What?
Any comment, Mrs. Fletcher?

Um, yes, uh...

Uh, I'll get back to you.

Manager of... manager of...

I'm gonna kill that man.

Oh, dear, what am I saying?

Harry McGraw. Oh.

Hello.
Harry?

Uh, no. Who's this?

Oh, uh, this is
Jessica Fletcher.

Well, well, well,
Mrs. Fletcher,

how interesting to hear your voice.

This is Lieutenant Casey.
Maybe you remember me?

Oh, yes, yes.
Of course, Lieutenant.

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

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

Well, may I please speak to Harry?

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

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

we're takin' him down to headquarters.

He's under arrest,
Mrs. Fletcher.

The charge is first-degree murder.

Wade Talmadge had more enemies

than there are beans in Boston.

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

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

that Harry is responsible.

Believe it.

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

I happen to like the guy.

Even though he is something
of a scuzzball.

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

Motive, means, opportunity?

Something besides just speculation.

Proof, yeah.
Uh, by the way...

what is a nice lady like you

doing in the fight game?

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

In fact, I, uh...

I have no idea how it happened.

Uh-huh. I guess Harry needed
somebody to front for him, huh?

The Boxing Commission
never gave him an okay.

Too many years hangin' around

with too many undesirables, right?

Lieutenant, just exactly
what proof do you have?

Harry!

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

Her idea, McGraw.

She's got some cockamamie idea

maybe you need her help.

I'll give you 15 minutes.

Look, Jessica,
I can handle this.

Yeah, so I see, Harry.
Sit down.

Hey, I'm tellin' you. The whole
thing is a big frame-up.

So far you haven't told me anything.

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

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

and you're under arrest for murder.

Harry, I want answers.

Answers, yeah.

I wish I had some.

Oh, about the fight commission thing,

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

I sort of signed your
name to the contract.

Sort of?
Well, I had to, Jessica.

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

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

All right, Harry, tell me.

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

to talk to Talmadge.

He was in there, in the office,

with Ponzini and Shaleen.

I could hear 'em arguing while I
cool my heels outside the door.

I'm not lying
to you Mr. Talmadge.

I'm ready. Honest.

I can take anybody.

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

Look, what I mean is,
I don't need any help

fightin' them palookas, you know?

And I'm gonna prove that to ya.

I just don't want all of a sudden

somethin' to happen, you know?

Well, like what, for example?

Like what happened to Cosmo here.

You know, makin' it to the big fight,

and all of a sudden, being
told to take a dive.

Hey, you watch your tongue, kid.

I can still handle you.

I know you're a good fighter, Sean.

We're just making sure you're not

lucky-punched, that's all.

Dennis said my fights...

they were all setups.

Dennis talks too much.

Look, Sean...

I picked you up off a Minnesota farm

because I thought you had talent.

Now you either stick with me

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

Look, I'm grateful for all that
you've done for me, Mr. Talmadge,

but you gotta give me a chance
to prove myself. Got a light?

Sorry, doll face,
I'm fresh out.

Oh, funny.

You strike me as the type
that plays with matches.

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

You only get burned
when you're careless.

Me, I'm very careful.

Honey, whatever it is you're sellin',

you better peddle it someplace else.

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

Self-preservation.

- Excuse me.
- ...beat this guy. Really, honest, I can.

Sorry to bust this up, fellas.

I told you to wait, McGraw.

Hey, if I wanted to cool my heels,

I could go ice skating.

Now, you got your fight, Talmadge,

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

My boy Blaster intends
to come out smokin'.

Yeah, well, that's fine
with me. But not me.

Hey, tough T-bone, Charlie.

Me and Blaster had a long talk,

and he's gonna win this fight.

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

Sean, be quiet.

Let me spell it out for you, McGraw.

You got a nice bonus coming.

If your boy puts up a good fight,

and if he lays down in the
third round. No way.

I'm not asking you,
McGraw, I'm telling you.

And if anything dumb should happen,

it could get unhealthy for both of you.

Don't threaten me!

Take your hands off me.

My boy takes a dive for nobody.

Excuse me,
Mr. Talmadge.

I sure hate to mess up a pretty face.

That's enough!

At the risk of repeating myself, McGraw.

I'm not intimidated by your threats

or... your firearms.

Your fighter loses this match

or you both lose a great deal more.

Show the gentleman the door.

The shillelagh
and the pizza belly

were having their jollies.

I just wanted to crawl into a hole.

That night I was reloading
my piece and polishing off

the sole-survivor of a second six-pack

when there was a knock.

When I opened the door,
she was standing there.

Wade Talmadge's squeeze.

A 120 pounds of trouble.

Soft as a London fog

and smelling like an arm
full of gardenias.

Not bad, doll.

Where's your boyfriend?

He's got a place out in Marblehead.

Tonight I wasn't invited.

You're trouble.
I can smell it.

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

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

Harry, you can, uh...

Spare me the blow-by-blow description.

Jessica, will you let me finish?

Anyway, I figured Talmadge
sent her to see me.

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

But, hey, what do I care? You know,
when you're rollin' sevens,

you don't ask to see the dice.

Okay, okay.
Anyway, the next morning,

all I could think of was getting
Benny Falcone of my back.

But no matter what Talmadge pulled,

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

Win, lose or draw, it was
going to be his fight.

Lois came out of the bedroom

looking for another round
of bed sheet bingo.

But I had more important
things to worry about.

I'd called Doc Penrose

and arranged to meet him at Gilhooley's.

Doc convinced me Blaster had a
real shot against Shaleen,

who he called a real zero as a fighter.

All I had to do was talk Blaster

into really trying to win it.

Because despite what I told Talmadge,

the big guy wasn't all that convinced.

I spent the next couple of hours

driving around looking for him.

When I caught up with him,
Blaster kept talking about

that dumb dairy far he
was buying in Tennessee

and how maybe it would just be
simpler if he took a dive.

He finally changed his
mind after I told him

what a chump
Shaleen said he was.

One thing about Blaster.
Don't get him mad, ever.

Anyway, we headed back to my place

where a reception committee
was waiting for me.

Two guys in blue and Lieutenant Casey

who immediately confiscates my gun

while he tells me
Wade Talmadge was found dead

behind the wheel of his
car, parked under a bridge

a couple of miles outside of town.

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

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

Come on.
You threatened him.

My gun hasn't even been fired.

So you cleaned it.

Nobody ever said you were stupid.

Take this guy away.

Which is when you phoned, Jessica.

But, Harry, that doesn't make sense.

Lieutenant Casey must have
something besides an idle threat.

Yeah. I have no alibi.

While Talmadge was getting iced,

I was drivin' around
tryin' to find Blaster,

but go try to prove it.

What was Talmadge doing
parked under a bridge?

Oh, Casey's got that figured out, too.

He says I called him at
his house in Marblehead

and arranged to meet
him under the bridge.

Then when I got there,
I plunked him in the chest

with a single shot from my .38.

Is that it?
How do I know?

Look, Jessica,
I know Casey.

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

He's got something.

He's just not telling me what it is.

Maybe I'll have better luck with him.

Meantime, you better get
yourself a lawyer.

Lawyers cost money.

Harry.
Oh, come on, Jessica.

With you carryin' the ball for me,

what do I need with a lawyer?

I got the utmost confidence in you.

Here's a photo from the crime scene.

Wade Talmadge slumped behind
the wheel of his car.

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

lured him to this secluded
spot under a bridge,

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

And the butler and whoever
answered the phone

recognized Harry's voice?

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

So you don't even know for sure

that there was a phone call.

There had to be. Otherwise, what's
he doing under the bridge?

Oh, I see.

Maybe there was a phone call.
Maybe Harry placed it.

Lieutenant, if there was a call,

anybody could've made it.

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

to see if there was an outgoing call

made to Talmadge's home?

So he used a pay phone.

Did you check anybody
else's phone? Lois Ames?

The phone at the gym?
Uh, Dennis McConnell's?

Mrs. Fletcher,
Harry killed the guy.

Harry McGraw, do you understand?

I'll tell you something else, too.

Don't even think about bail.

Because the DA says he's going
to the mat on this one.

Something just doesn't make any sense.

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

Means, motive and opportunity.

Now, this says that there were
no powder burns on his shirt.

Maybe Harry fired from a distance.

Inside a car? Oh, that
doesn't make any sense.

Mrs. Fletcher, he threatened the guy.

I've got two witnesses.

I know. Mr. Ponzini and Mr. Shaleen.

That's right. Also, Harry
doesn't have an alibi.

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

You said yourself that Mr. Talmadge
was not a very popular man.

Mrs. Fletcher...

What about Mr. Shaleen and his manager,

Dennis McConnell?

Now, maybe they were very happy

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

And Lois Ames.

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

Does she have an alibi?

No. She doesn't need an alibi.

She doesn't happen to own a
.38 caliber Police Special.

Oh, I see. Is that it?

Your "means."

Just because
Harry carries a .38,

just like the rest of the Boston police,

and Lord knows who else.

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

The DA would have my neck if he knew

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

Anything to get you off my case.

I had Ballistics run a comparison

between the murder slug

and the one fired from Harry's gun.

Take a good look, please.

That's right, Mrs. Fletcher,

an exact match.

Talmadge was killed with Harry's gun.

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

Now you got the picture.

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

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

Now, Mrs. Fletcher, it was
very nice seeing you again,

but good-bye.
Yeah, but...

Good-bye!

Uh, Ponzini's Gym, please.
I think it's on 9th Street.

Yes, ma'am.

Okay, move it!

- Excuse me...
- Hope you don't mind

sharing a ride,
Mrs. Fletcher.

Well, indeed I do, uh...

And how do you know me, because
I certainly don't know you.

We talked on the phone.
Dave Robinson,

Boston Tribune.
Oh, yes.

Lady behind the wheel is my
photographer, Pam Collins.

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

Yeah, well.

Since you clammed up on the phone,

I wanted a chance to
talk to you in person.

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

Well, isn't that, uh
somewhat academic now,

Mr. Robinson, since
Mr. Talmadge is dead?

What, are you kidding? That's
the first thing they taught me

at the Scranton School of Journalism.

Murder makes a great headline.

Not that murder was such
a big deal in Scranton.

Tough town, tough people.

Anyway, now that
Talmadge is gone,

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

Well, still it seems a bit gamy

to rip him up after a man is dead.

Of such things Pulitzer Prizes
are made, Mrs. Fletcher.

Epitaph for a snake.

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

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

uh, you're out of luck.

What I know about him,
I learned secondhand.

From Harry McGraw.

You know, it's a shame he had
to be the one who got him.

I kind of liked the guy.

Surely Mr. Talmadge wasn't as
reprehensible as you paint him.

The guy was a real sack of garbage.

Everybody hated him.

His manager, Dennis McConnell,
Sean Shaleen.

He was bleedin' those two guys dry.

You see, Talmadge was fattening
up the kids' record

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

Like he did to Cosmo
Ponzini a few years back.

Really? Mr. Ponzini was a prizefighter?

You're kidding me.

Fifteen years ago,
Ponzini had a shot at the title.

But Talmadge yanked out the rug.

Made him dump the fight, or else.

You mean he threatened him physically?

Now you got the picture.

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

Talmadge set him up with that gym,

so he could develop a
bunch of new fighters.

Dumb farm boys, like Sean Shaleen

Who, if you want to know the truth,

is about as tough as a
wad of Silly Putty.

I see. Then it is possible.
Wait a minute. Wait a minute.

I'm supposed to be interviewing you.

Yes, but...

But, Mr. Robinson...

Dave, you know, when you
talk about Mr. Talmadge,

I sense the most terrible
bitterness in your voice.

And I wonder, is your interest in
this story strictly professional

or if you have another reason

for wanting to expose
Wade Talmadge?

I'm a sportswriter,
Mrs. Fletcher.

This is strictly a story.
That's all.

Come on, put your shoulder into it.

Harder, come on!

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

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

It's a big waste of time.

With McGraw in jail and Talmadge dead,

they're gonna call this
fight off. Maybe.

But there's plenty of
others down the road.

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

but this isn't a beauty contest.

You need all the work you can get.

You know your problem,
Denny? Huh?

You don't recognize
talent when you see it.

16 and 0, remember?

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

and some over-the-hill beer bellies.

I could've beaten those guys.

Listen to me. You come up
against a real fighter, kid,

you're gonna get your
head handed to you.

Like who, Denny?
Huh? Blaster Boyle?

The guy couldn't beat eggs unless

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

Denny, I can beat this guy.

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

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

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

Instead of just some setup for a payday?

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

I'm talkin' experience here.

I'm not windin' up like Ponzini,

a never-was that nobody remembers.

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

Don't sell me out.

I'm not gonna do that, kid.

Trust me.

Yeah, right.

Hello?

Oh. Excuse me, uh,
Mr. McConnell?

That's right.
My name is Jess...

I know who you are.
Mrs. Fletcher.

As soon as I saw the fight contract,

I made it a point to check
out the competition.

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

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

Not that we don't welcome fresh blood.

You know Sean? Sean Shaleen,
the Irish Shillelagh,

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

Blaster Boyle's new manager.
You gotta be kiddin'.

I wish he were.

It's a long story,
Mr. Shaleen.

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

Come on Sean, let's hit the showers.

Uh, yes, uh...

Excuse me, uh, just one thing.

The other morning when
Mr. Talmadge was killed...

What a terrible thing.

Tragic.

Someone must have telephoned him

at his house out at Marblehead,

then met him under that bridge.

Not someone, Mrs. Fletcher, the killer.

Yes.

Now, let's see, that was,
uh, 9:00, 9:30, I believe.

And you want to know where I was.

Uh, maybe both of us, is that it?

Well...

I can tell you where I was... We were
out doing roadwork between 8:00 and...

maybe quarter to 10:00.

Roadwork?

Oh, yes, of course.

Hey, Dennis!

Uh... Oh, hey, I just got off
the phone with the TV people.

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

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

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

the fight will get big ratings.

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

you know, promotin'.

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

Okay.

Excuse me, Mr. Ponzini?

You see the sign?
No women allowed.

Uh, yes, but I, uh...

Hit the showers,
I'll be with you in a minute.

Uh, Mrs. Fletcher.

Uh, looks like your boy and my boy

are gonna be goin' at it after all.

My boy? You're his manager, aren't you?

Oh, dear. I better do something
about that right away.

Uh, listen, even though
Talmadge is dead,

nothing's changed.

What I mean is,

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

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

Oh, now, now, just a moment.

If you think that Blaster is
going to lose intentionally

to, uh, that shillelagh...

you better think again.

Lady, McGraw was warned.

Now I'll warn you.

You tell Blaster not to
do anything stupid,

like winnin' that fight.

It could be, uh,
exceedingly dangerous...

for both of you.

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

Lady Gypsy, fifth at Suffolk.

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

Al, you got to give me a chance
to get out of the hole.

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

Okay. Thanks.

Look, if it doesn't work
out, I'll settle...

I'll settle up with you tomorrow.

The whole thing.

Right. Thanks, guy.

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

Five hundred, right on his buzzo la.

You got it, Doc.

I don't bet horses.

You shouldn't either.

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

What can I say?
I'm a pushover.

Doc, Blaster.

Oh, hi, Mrs. Fletcher.
Oh, sit down, Blaster.

How's Harry? Oh, in a lot
of trouble, I'm afraid.

His gun was used to kill Mr. Talmadge.

That's very incriminating.

Yeah, except that Harry says that the
gun was never out of his sight.

Which means that someone figured out

a very ingenious way to
frame Harry for murder.

Sounds to me like they're succeeding.

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

They want to go ahead with the fight.

That's good.

Harry says
I can beat him, Doc.

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

You got no manager.

Well, not exactly.
Ma'am?

Well, Doc, um...

I am the manager.

You know, on the record of
the Boxing Commission.

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

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

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

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

I know, "no women allowed."

Yeah. Somethin' like that.

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

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

Excuse me.

And it's Rosy
Posy, leading by a length,

Misty Girl on the rail,

and Stan's Pride raging up on the
outside, gap of two lengths,

Ain't He Brave followed by Boxcars.

Where's Lady Gypsy?

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

it's Rosy Posy widening
out to two lengths,

followed by Misty Girl,
Stan's Pride

and down the stretch...

Hey, I want to watch
Wheel of Fortune!

Ma'am, uh, about that job...

You think you could manage to give
me an advance on my paycheck?

"Promoter Wade Talmadge
went down for the count,

"nailed with a .38 slug to the body.

"Authorities are holding

"ex-P. I. turned hustler,
Harry McGraw,

"47, of Boston."

Forty-seven?
Where does he get 47?

Harry! Now, wait, wait, it gets worse!

"The fight between up-and-coming

"Sean Shaleen, the Irish Shillelagh,

"and one-time contender,
Blaster Boyle,

"remains scheduled for
the end of the month,

"despite widespread
rumors of corruption."

That makes it sound like I was in on

a fixed fight, which I wasn't!

Harry, will you please calm down?

You're gonna pop a blood
vessel at this rate.

Look, you've got more important
things to worry about

than some sportswriter.

Like a murder charge.

Now, what have you done about a lawyer?

Nothin'.

Public Defender's
Office sent me

some geek fresh out of law school.

He took one look at Casey's report

and asked me to plead
temporary insanity.

Oh, dear.

Yeah, I guess he had trouble
gettin' past the part

where Talmadge was killed with my gun.

Which just happened to be in my holster

at the time
Talmadge was offed.

Well, that part is a puzzle, Harry.

Now you sound like the geek.

Jessica, tell me, did you or didn't you

find out who hung this frame on me?

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

Well, what were you doin' all day?

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

Sean Shaleen and his manager,
Dennis McConnell,

said they were out doing roadwork

at the time that
Mr. Talmadge was killed.

Now, I don't believe that.

Now, let me see, now,

Cosmo Ponzini went to his gym early.

He was there before it opened,

and his employees will verify that.

Sure. What else?
Lois Ames claims

that she returned to her apartment

after she left your place,

and her doorman saw her come in.

And Doc Penrose says that
he went to the track early

to watch the early morning workouts.

So he says.

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

Oh, no, Harry.

The fight stays.
What?

Look, maybe whoever killed Mr. Talmadge

wanted to prevent the
fight from happening.

So, if it stays, and is still scheduled,

maybe that will draw the
killer out of the woodwork.

Oh, great thinking, Jessica.

Only, this time, he's
gonna be after you.

Well, don't worry about me.

I'll have Blaster with me all the time,

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

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

Nah, I don't like it.

And how do you feel about
spending the next 30 years

of your life in jail?

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

Jessica, you shouldn't
believe everything

you read in the papers.

The death of boxing promoter,
Wade Talmadge,

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

Sean "The Irish Shillelagh"
Shaleen,

as he goes after win number 17

at the arena a week from Friday

against one-time contender,
Blaster Boyle.

The former Wisconsin farm
boy is a perfect 16-0

against some pretty tough competition.

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

Raised on his family farm a
few miles east of Sheboygan,

Sean leaned the meaning of
hard work early in life.

But it wasn't long before the
Shaleens discovered pugilism.

Actually, Sean's first
love was duck hunting,

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

out-shooting oldsters
three times his age.

But at age 16, he'd already won

the Junior Athletics
Boxing Championship.

And from there, it was quick hop

to a professional career
under the tutelage

of his manager,
Dennis McConnell.

An up-and-comer? You bet.

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

will be no match for
this fighting Irishman.

One reason is because, get this, folks,

Blaster Boyle's new manager

is not a grizzled old
veteran of the fight wars,

but a very sweet and charming lady.

A writer of murder mysteries,

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

Sorry, Blaster, you were a good fighter.

But in this reporter's opinion,

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

You and your manager.

Easy on that stuff. Easy.

You look beat.

You're not going to last till Friday.

Oh, come on, Doc.
I feel great.

Wasn't talkin' about you.

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

I could go on like this forever.

Yeah. If forever comes tomorrow morning.

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

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

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

I'm gonna do it for you and Harry.

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

Oh, yes, of course, Blaster.

I... No, I was just thinking,
I had an idea that, uh,

maybe someone wanted
the fight called off,

and maybe that was the reason
that Talmadge was killed.

But, uh...

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

Well, whoever killed Mr. Talmadge,

I can't get real mad at him.

I mean, killing isn't right, but...

Well, Mr. Talmadge, he
was a real bad man.

Making people lose fights,
I mean, it was real bad.

Well, apparently you
weren't the only one

that he pressured, Blaster.

There was Mr. Ponzini.

Yeah, and a lot more than that.

I can name you a dozen fighters

that creep chewed up and spit out.

Gutty guys like
Carlos Montenegro,

Willie Brandeis,

Mickey Brewster, helluva lightweight.

Lou Robbie, the Scranton Scrapper.

Tommy Novinski.
Nice kid with a great right.

Whoa, Doc, back up a bit there.

Uh, this... this fella from Scranton?

Oh, Lou Robbie,
The Scranton Scrapper.

I never heard of him, Doc.

Well, that was a few years ago, kid.

A real solid middleweight,

right on his way to the top till he...

ran into Wade Talmadge.

Lost a fight he should have won.

Let me see, that was 15 years ago.

I remember the night of the fight,

seein' Talmadge and a
couple of his enforcers

comin' out of
Robbie's dressin' room

just a few minutes before the fight.

That night, Robbie got beaten
silly for ten rounds.

He wouldn't defend himself.

Just kept takin' punches.

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

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

What happened to him, Doc?

After the fight, he collapsed.

Wound up in the hospital for a week,

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

He was never the same after that.

Then Lou Robbie is still alive?

Yeah. Last I heard he
went back to Scranton.

Working in some bowling
alley as a janitor.

Come on, Charlie,
don't give me that.

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

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

What are you afraid of?

I mean, the man is dead,
for cryin' out loud!

No, Charlie...

Charlie, I'm not tryin'
to embarrass you.

Fine! I'll get it from somebody else!

Geez!

Charlie Pendelton. Used to
manage JoJo Gutierrez, right?

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

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

Did you call AP? Yeah, but
they couldn't find it.

What do you mean they couldn't find it?

It was on their wire last year.

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

Would you get off my back?

Dave, Dave...
Dave, this story...

I think maybe you should drop it.

There's something happening to you.

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

Pamela, lay off, all right?

I just don't need this.

Yeah, I know. Guess you don't
need much of anything, do you?

Hello?

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

I told you this is for outgoing only!

Yeah.

Yeah, okay, okay.
What have you got?

There's a woman downstairs,

looking through the record files.

Mrs. Fletcher!

Uh, excuse me, Miss.

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

Mrs. Fletcher, I heard
that you were down here,

looking through the back issues.

What are you looking for?

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

I can't prove anything, Pam.

But one thing
I have figured out.

Your boss...

Dave Robinson's crusade
against Wade Talmadge

is personal, isn't it?

Very personal.

Dave was only 12 years old

when his father took that
savage beating, Mrs. Fletcher.

Lou came home to Scranton
nearly a vegetable.

And is that why Dave
became a sportswriter?

To settle a score?

I guess, with Talmadge,
it was real personal.

But can you blame him?

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

Well, for writing about Mr. Talmadge.

Mrs. Fletcher,
Dave didn't kill him.

Well, he certainly had good reason to.

No argument there, but while
Talmadge was being shot,

Dave was at my place.

And I will swear to that.

And would you lie to it?

If I had to.

As if you haven't figured it out,
Mrs. Fletcher,

I love the guy.

Not that it's mutual.

Dave is so wrapped up in his story

and his career, that I'm just...

an accessory to his life.

But, yes, I would lie.

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

It'd be the truth.

Well, I'd like to believe that.

Pam, about Mr. Talmadge.

I did a little research,

and one thing I noticed, his clothes.

He seems to have been something
of a fashion plate.

Yeah, you mean the preppy look.

He worked real hard at it.

He came out of the Chicago tenements.

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

You know, with the tweed jackets,

the cashmere sweaters,
the whole schmear.

You know, when they found the body,

he was wearing a pair of slacks

and a plain white shirt.

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

Dave and I bird-dogged him for months.

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

Yeah, but that's just the point.

He was caught dead looking like that.

Unless...

What? What is it?

Oh, it...
It was just a thought.

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

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

Bye.

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

Everybody needs a hobby. Expensive.

So's women and booze.

I tried 'em both.

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

So, Doc, uh, I hear...

you're helpin' the, uh, Fletcher dame

get Blaster Boyle ready for the fight.

No secret.

Your boy's gonna lose, Doc.

We'll see.

You're not hearin' me.

Your boy's gonna lose.

How come you suddenly sound
so much like Wade Talmadge?

I got an investment in Shaleen, Doc.

I don't want anything funny to happen.

Get outta here,
McConnell.

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

Blaster's just, uh, markin' time.

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

Oh!

You want me to sweeten the kitty

a little something extra.
How much?

You don't hear so good.

When did you suddenly get so damn noble?

This is a dollars and cents business.

I just wanna make sure
we all come out ahead.

Look, the Fletcher woman

bailed you out with the
bookies this time.

How about a couple of weeks from now?

You need a cushion,
Doc, and I'm offerin'.

Come on.

You listen to me, you scuzzball.

I've spent my whole life

watchin' this game get screwed around

by guys like you and Wade Talmadge,

suckin' the life outta fighters,

decent fighters, like Blaster,

who had to go along 'cause
they had no choice.

Well, this time, we got a choice.

You tell Shaleen to
keep his chin covered.

Is there a Dennis McConnell here?

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

Yeah!

McConnell.

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

I wanted to talk to you, Denny.

It's been a couple of days.

I told you, I'll call you.

Look, I've been following Mrs. Fletcher.

She was talking to the photographer.

The... the one that works
for Dave Robinson.

So what?

She's asking a lot of questions.

So she's nosy.
She's not giving in, Denny.

Not while McGraw's still in jail.

Well, what are you worried about?

About cops, okay?

Look, that night that
I spent with McGraw...

I did that for you, honey.

And didn't I express
my appreciation, hmm?

Lois, cool it for a while.

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

Well, well, Mrs. Fletcher.

Just, uh, happened to be
in the neighborhood?

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

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

Is that right?
Uh, about what?

Well, I think that my hunch

about the way that he
was dressed is valid.

I mean, he just was not the sort of man

who would wear a shirt
and a pair of slacks.

Clothes were very important to him.

Almost like a status symbol.

You could say they were like a uniform.

Herringbone jacket and a
gray cashmere sweater.

What?

Same thing occurred to me.

I had the housekeeper check
through his things.

That's what's missing.

The jacket and the sweater.

Which means he was wearing
them when he was shot.

Yeah, maybe.
Well, of course he was.

There were no powder burns on his shirt,

which means that the killer

removed the sweater and the jacket.

But why, and where are they?

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

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

Lieutenant, about that phone call

that you think was made to this house.

That is still the theory.

Well, have you checked
anybody else's phone?

We're work...

Look, Mrs. Fletcher, you and Harry

can huff and puff all you want.

It's not gonna change one thing.

Talmadge was killed with Harry's gun.

Harry had the gun when
Talmadge was killed.

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

maybe I'll listen.

Will you excuse me?

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

Harry, are you certain
that you had your gun

with you at all times?

It is always with me at all times.

Well, not all times.

I mean, I...
I do not sleep with it.

Especially on those occasions

when I am entertaining a young lady.

Uh, Harry...

Harry, when you, uh...
disrobed for the evening,

what did you do with your gun?

The same thing I always do.

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

Ah. Question.

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

carrying another .38 Police Special

which she substituted for your gun?

Nah, she wouldn't...

I said, is it possible?

I, uh, can't believe that you,

uh, stayed awake all night.

Well...

No. No, Jessica, it doesn't work.

See, I put the holster
on the next morning.

Now, even if she made the switch,

she wouldn't have had
time to switch it back.

Because Casey arrested
me later that morning,

and it was my gun he took.

Something is missing.

Aha, from the look on your face, Casey,

this has gotta be good news for me.

Yeah, McGraw, it's your lucky day.

We just got a readout on outgoing calls

from a certain phone the
morning of the murder.

At 8:00, a two-minute call was placed

to Wade Talmadge's house
in, uh... in Marblehead.

From which phone?

From Cosmo Ponzini's office.

There you go,
I was nowhere near that place.

Wait a minute, hotshot.

This doesn't prove anything yet.

Of course it does, Lieutenant.

It proves that
Harry was framed.

Ponzini, that barf-bag.

I knew it. Come on, Jessica.

I want a piece of that guy.

Wait a minute, just hold it, McGraw.

You're goin' nowhere
until I talk to the DA.

Come on, Casey.

Which I'm planning to do as
soon as I have a little chat

with this, uh,
Cosmo Ponzini.

Uh, uh, Lieutenant, just a suggestion.

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

that doesn't mean that he made the call.

I mean, from what
I can gather,

that office is never locked.

So?

Well, uh, maybe we'd have
more luck if, uh...

Well, if I just poked around.

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

particularly
Mr. Ponzini and, uh...

Well, who knows, I might just, uh...

Stumble over something

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

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

Oh, but I'd have
Blaster with me.

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

Left up, keep it up, kid.

Slip the right, move inside.

Inside, Sean. There!

Hey, Blaster, what are you doin' here?

You come to spy on your opponent?

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

He didn't show me nothin'.

Yeah? We'll see about that.

Hey, lady, I told ya the last
time you was here that...

Yes, I understand,
Mr. Ponzini,

and I don't intend to stay long.

The fact is,
I'm a little puzzled about some things,

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

About what?

The day that
Mr. Talmadge was killed,

what time did you open up the gym?

7:00, 7:30.

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

And so were a lot of
other people. So what?

Uh, what other people?

Look, lady,
I ain't got time

to answer a lot of dumb questions.

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

I'm sure that you have nothing to hide

in Mr. Talmadge's murder.

Me?

You're crazy!

You want to know who was here?

Okay, uh, there were two club
fighters from Brockton.

Uh, there was Moxey who
cleans the locker room.

And there was, uh, Doc Penrose,

he was just leavin' for the races.

And, uh...
Oh, Dennis and Shaleen.

The kid had just finished
working on a heavy bag,

and then they were going
out to do some roadwork.

And, uh... That's it. Okay?

Any other questions?

Well, just one more thing.

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

Ask? Huh!

Around here, nobody asks.

The phone is there, they use it.

So, Mrs. Fletcher, still at it?

Still trying to hang the
murder on somebody else?

- Well, actually, I was inquiring...
- No!

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

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

Excuse me,
Mr. McConnell.

There's no call to use that tone
of voice. You keep out of this!

I'm just saying you
could be more polite.

Get your hands off him, Boyle.

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

That's all right, Blaster.

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

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

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

Hey!

Kid, kid, you all right?

It's okay. What, are you
nuts or somethin'?

Look at what you did!

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

Does that mean there won't be any fight?

Look, I'm telling you.

I didn't make any phone calls
to anybody from that office.

Did you see anybody else use the phone?

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

Please. Denny didn't kill anybody!

Denny?

Dennis McConnell, your manager?

You saw him use the phone?

No.

I didn't see him exactly.

He went into the office a couple
of times to use the phone.

To call some woman I think.

What woman?
I don't know.

He didn't talk about her much.

I knew he had somethin' goin'.

He tried earlier a couple of times,

but she wasn't answerin' the phone.

Or she was out.

Phone company doesn't show any
outgoing calls that morning

except for the one to Marblehead.

Okay. So maybe he never did get through.

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

and he says we was gonna
skip the roadwork.

He had some place to go.

I figure he's gonna see the lady,

so I don't ask any questions.

So Dennis took off.

And I went back to my hotel room

to watch a little TV.

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

You lied.

I didn't lie.

Denny lied.

I just kept my mouth shut.

There you go, Casey, your phone call.

You got the guy dead-bang.

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

And you don't believe all
that stuff about a dame, do you?

I do.

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

I also think
I know who the lady is.

Lois Ames.

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

Like I told the cops,
Miss Ames, uh,

she came in about
a quarter to 8:00.

Uh, she was out all night,
if... if you catch my drift.

Uh, yes.

Uh, now what I am most interested in is

a man who may have shown
up a short time later.

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

talkin' to you like this.

Yeah, the guy. Well, uh...

he was medium build, about
six feet, dark hair.

That's him.

Well, I can't tell you his name,

but he'd been popping in and
out the past couple of weeks.

Always when the coast was clear,

if you catch my drift.

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

And how long were they upstairs?

Well, long enough, I guess.

I mean,
the guy came down about 10:00 and, uh,

Miss Ames, uh,
she left about 11:00.

Uh-huh. And they were in her
apartment the entire time?

Sure. I guess so.

I mean, they couldn't have left

without me knowin' about it.

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

Thank you very much.

Nice seein' ya.
Come back anytime.

Uh, no, Blaster, you stay here.

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

I need some answers.
And this time, I don't think

that intimidation is the key.

Hello.
Am I interrupting?

Oh, not at all.
Come on in.

Make yourself comfortable.

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

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

I need some information.

Possibly the kind that
only you can give me.

You wanna know about Lou Robbie, right?

Whether or not
I hated Talmadge enough

to kill him for turning
my dad into a vegetable?

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

The way I figure it,
I'm "A" number one on your suspect list.

Now, just a moment. Oh, you have
a very good motive, of course,

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

With a gun, or... with this?

You see, Mrs. Fletcher,
I, uh... I killed the story.

Pam was right.
Talmadge was dead

and he was still eatin' me alive.

Funny, huh?

Anyway, I gave the whole thing up.

The whole story, in the waste basket.

And you know what?

For the first time in years,
I feel pretty terrific.

Good. Obsessions can be very poisonous.

So what can I do for you?

Tell me about Lois Ames.

Well, what's to tell?

Uh, an ex-showgirl, real hustler.

Always has a knack for latching onto

the main chance, you know?

Why do you ask?
You think she shot Talmadge?

I don't know.

She's the only one who had access

to Harry McGraw's gun,

and she was having an affair
with Dennis McConnell.

Well, she never did have much taste,

but, I mean, shoot Talmadge?

I mean, what for?
He was her meal ticket.

Even if she'd fallen
in love with Dennis?

Mrs. Fletcher,

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

Well, thank you,
Mr. Robinson.

I'm sorry to have bothered you.

Anytime.

Flanked wide,
Howard drops back

into the shotgun formation.

Larussa's in motion, the
snap, he steps up.

Donaldson on a fly pattern.

Shotgun?

Oh, my goodness!

Lieutenant, did you find the
missing sweater and jacket?

Uh, no. I doubt if we ever will.

Sid, don't give me maybes.

Just tell me, could the
guy and his girlfriend

get out of the building
without being seen?

Uh, Lieutenant.
I don't know.

Staircase, fire escape,

elevator to the garage, whatever.

Lieutenant, what kind of
powder burns would result

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

He wasn't shot with a shotgun.
He was plugged with a .38.

I tell you what, Sid, forget it.

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

Well, it could have been a
shotgun. I think it was.

Oh, do you really?

Next class enrolls in three weeks.

You'll fit right in.

Lieutenant, do you or do
you not want to know

who the real killer of Wade Talmadge is?

You know who did it?
Yes.

I think so. But I need
your help to prove it.

Help. Right.

The kind of help that
could cost me my badge?

Well, maybe, if I'm wrong.

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

Well, first, release Harry
McGraw from custody,

and second, make sure that
everyone involved knows about it.

So far, so good.

Then you saw him, too?

He picked us up around 4th Street.

All right, Harry,

now let's try to reconstruct
what happened.

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

Now where was that?
Right here.

Ah. Would you mind getting
down on the floor, please?

Oh, Jessica.

The same position you
were in that night.

Yeah, okay.

Now, you... you start to
draw your gun, right?

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

Well, then we'll just pretend.

Now, you draw your gun.

Now, Mr. Ponzini grabs your wrist.

Right. Then he pulled me up.

Uh-huh. And in the struggle,
the gun goes off. Where?

Uh... here.

Aha.

Well, the bullet must
have embedded itself...

either in the wall or in
one of these cushions.

Yeah, but where's the bullet hole?

There.

The bullet went right
into the pillow and...

Mmm-mmm, it's gone.

Just as I thought. It was dug out
of here by Wade Talmadge's killer.

I was right, Harry.

Someone took the slug

and packed it into a shotgun shell

and fired it at Wade
Talmadge at close range.

And because it was fired by a shotgun,

the ballistics markings
weren't disturbed.

Even to a trained eye,

it appeared to have been
fired from your pistol.

A shotgun? You sure?

Oh, I'm positive.

That's why the killer had to remove

Mr. Talmadge's jacket and sweater.

The powder burns from a shotgun blast

would have given the whole thing away.

They'd be far more extensive

than those that came from a pistol.

Okay, so who?

Well, it had to be someone who knew

the slug was buried in this sofa.

Someone who was here
when your gun went off.

Someone who had a working
knowledge of shotguns.

Someone who had access to that phone

that morning to call Talmadge

and lure him to his death.

And someone who had no alibi

for the time of the shooting.

Someone... Someone named Sean Shaleen.

That was what you were getting to,

wasn't it, Mrs. Fletcher?

Yes, Sean.
Actually, it was.

You know, you're a pretty smart lady.

A lot smarter than you, bozo.

Harry, this is no time to get him angry.

Angry?

No. No, I'm not angry.

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

Why'd you kill him, kid?

Why?

Can't you figure it out
for yourself? Huh?

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

And it was either that or get killed.

I guess you could kind of say

it was like self-defense, you know?

Him or me.

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

I'm sorry about that.

Look, you threatened the guy, McGraw.

Man, you were beggin' to be set up.

And when that shot went wild, man,

I... I realized what
I could do with that slug.

Being an expert with a shotgun?

I caught that sportscast
on a television, Sean.

Yeah, I'm sorry you did.

You're gonna be a lot sorrier, kid.

Have you heard enough, Lieutenant?

Oh, please, Mrs. Fletcher.

You came through loud and clear.

Freeze, turkey!

You said Casey took your gun away.

So I lied.

Cows, Doc?

You and a bunch of cows?

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

Me and Blaster.

Gonna be partners in this
diary farm down Tennessee.

I give you three months.
No, make it two.

Okay, two eggs over
easy ham, whole wheat,

a Denver with a side of fries,

two poached with bacon, white toast,

heavyweight special with sausage.

Two slabs of ham, two English,

and a large OJ.

More coffee coming up.

All right. You can forget
about Dave and Pam.

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

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

Marriage?

You know, I'd drink to that,

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

Well, I'll drink to somebody.

Here's to Jessica.

The best legman a P.I. ever had.

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

Oh, incidentally,

not only did I get
Benny Falcone off my back,

but...

here you are, 5,000 clams.

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

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

How? I made a deal with the TV people.

But... but the fight has been canceled.

I know. But I sold them
something even better.

The inside story of a tough,
resourceful private eye,

who single-handedly broke open

one of the largest murder
cases of the decade.

Single-handedly?

So I exaggerated a little.

What's a little white
lie between friends?