Original subtitles

You're looking better today.

I'm a dead man.

Li-Listen to me.

Take care of my boy.

All right. This is the first official meeting

of the Richard Perrick estate,

established to protect and oversee

future productions of his plays

and to pursue new revenue streams.

Present are Sheila Perrick, his widow,

Jeremy Perrick, his son,

and me, Lenny Swift, his producer.

I can't believe he's gone. It's unimaginable.

Mom. We're recording.

I've spoken to the League

about dimming the lights on Broadway

-in his honor next Sunday night. -Sunday?

-The theaters are already dark that night. -It's all we could get.

And if we wait, we might have to share.

There are a few other important theater people in hospice.

I'd also like us to consider registering Richard's name

as part of the official titles of his plays.

As in Arthur Miller's Death of a Salesman.

Are there other Death of a Salesmans?

Deaths of S-Salesmen?

-Don't be fresh. -It's to protect the brand,

keep people saying your father's name.

We can table that for now.

What about Gilbert's Boy?

-What about it? -It was his first big hit.

It hasn't had a first-class revival in decades.

That play's a little of its time.

I-I can't deal with picketers.

It just needs someone to go in and do an adaptation,

make it work for today.

Your father always said no

to other people touching that script.

He said no to me, too.

But he's gone now. Give me the rights.

Let me take a crack at it.

Mom?

I think that's a wonderful idea.

Lenny?

I'm afraid that's not possible.

Before he passed, your father granted the rights

to Gilbert's Boy to someone else.

-Who? -The winner of this year's Richard Perrick

Playwriting Prize.

Who the hell is that?

I saw other kids with plenty of everything.

While my life was... scant.

Scant food!

Scant clothing.

Scant things to look forward to.

I tried, baby. I tried so hard.

I know.

But you died...

Mom.

You died, leaving me

with scant reasons to be happy.

I'd look at other kids and wonder,

"Why not me?

"Why not...

me...?!"

It got Critic's Pick in the Times.

Course it did.

He lost his mother. That part was moving.

Oh, my God. Thank you

so much for waiting.

-It's a crazy night. -Congratulations.

-It's a big hit. -Oh, that is so nice of you to say.

I feel so blessed.

We just found out...

we're moving to the Lortel.

What, this? The Lortel?

Yeah. It's where Oh, Mary! started.

Yeah, I know. That's... Wow.

And winning the Perrick Prize...

that was the turning point in my life.

The Times never would have come if I hadn't won.

And to have you guys here, clearly loving my play...

it's just... I mean...

Hey, genius.

OG!

-You're here again? -Couldn't stay away.

-What? -You're the GOAT.

Hey, listen, next season,

I want you court side, you hear me?

-I'll set it up. -I'm there.

Aw...

I mean, the people who come... it's insane.

And that includes you guys.

I am so excited

-to get started on Gilbert's Boy. -He's a plagiarist.

He stole everything from me.

I see you, Nelson. You're not fooling me.

-You need to get some help. -All of this should be mine.

Don't touch me. I'm leaving.

I don't need to stick around this crime scene.

-Karma is coming. -Who was that?

Klea Zane, a playwright. Jealous.

That's the hardest part about all of this.

Fortunately, I come from good stock.

Speak of the devil. Mom.

His mother's alive?

Oh, sweetie. The audience loved it tonight.

Connie Thibodeau, this is Sheila and Jeremy Perrick.

And Lenny Swift,

the producer, yes, I know. Thanks for

making Nelson's dreams come true,

and-and for treating him like part of your family.

Of course.

I'm sorry, I don't accept this.

Gilbert's Boy was supposed to go to me.

He stole my birthright.

And what we just saw...

The Disparity Play...

was ridiculous.

It's true, he's a phony. His mother isn't even dead.

I hear you. I agree, what we just saw was a little earnest,

but your father granted him

the rights, and that's that. So unless

something happens making Nelson Thibodeau

unable to do the job, it's his.

You guys,

I can't decide between making a development deal

with Netflix of HBO.

Help me out in the comments.

You guys, this is an emotional week for me.

Scant is closing on Sunday night

to make the move to the Lortel.

But that also means that Sunday is the last time

I carry all those props and costumes

up those dangerous concrete stairs.

Oh, there you are. I was getting worried.

So many people wanted to say something.

Where's Jeremy?

I haven't seen him.

Poor guy. It looks like an accident.

But don't write that down yet.

Good job, Gilligan.

Oh, uh... can I get a receipt?

Thanks.

I have always wanted to take one of those.

Thank you.

But, really, there is no easy way to get to Greenpoint.

Yes, there is.

You take the 7 or the F to the G and wait.

If you say so.

Ooh. What do we have?

It appears "theater maker" Nelson Thibodeau

was clearing out his props and costumes

from his show last night.

Ooh. "Striking."

I think that's what they call it.

-I love theater. -Who doesn't?

And it looks like Nelson was becoming a big deal.

But it seems last night,

he left his car in neutral by mistake,

it rolled, and he was knocked down the concrete steps.

A tragic accident.

-Huh. -You're gonna say I'm wrong.

No. That is a perfectly plausible explanation.

-But? -Well, the car already has

a load of stuff in it,

so this must have been...

his...

second trip up the stairs.

-I guess so. -And judging by how the body

landed, it, uh, looks like

he was facing the car when he was...

Boof!

Knocked down.

-So? -Well,

as anyone who's watched a lot

of America's Funniest Home Videos knows...

and, trust me, I have...

a car left in neutral doesn't wait

five or ten minutes

before it starts to roll.

So you think someone got in the car,

put it in reverse,

and ran him down on purpose?

That is also a plausible explanation.

Except for one thing.

Who would want to kill a rising star

theater maker in New York?

Given the tragic and untimely death of Nelson Thibodeau...

-It's so sad. -obviously, he'll

no longer be able to write a new version

-of Gilbert's Boy. -Um...

may I suggest I take over the rights?

-Are you sure? -Yeah. I can do it.

And it's what Dad would have wanted, don't you think?

I certainly do.

Well, that's two votes right there.

May I have your attention?

This is the face

of Lorena Marchuk,

who is not just scary,

she is also extremely litigious.

Her lawsuit against the NYPD

for her wrongful arrest

has led to a hefty settlement.

-I never thought she did it. -I have just come from a meeting

with Commissioner Tully, who informed me that settlement

means that there will be even greater scrutiny

of how we do things.

Commissioner Tully also informed me

that the murder rate has ticked up the past six months,

which is damaging to the mayor's political standing.

Now, I realize that some

of that statistic is due to the cases that we have solved

which might not have been solved in the past.

But whatever the reason,

we need to get things right.

The first time.

Is that clear?

Just do the best you can.

Back to work.

Detective Donnelly.

-Captain? -We have been asked

to closely go over overtime reports.

Why are you telling me?

Well, it seems that you hold the record right now.

I'm not saying that you're padding your slips,

but you'll need to go over them with Lt. Connor.

I'm happy to help.

Yeah. Fine.

I'll get my stuff together.

Well, that went well.

I think people don't quite understand the mandate.

It seems the commissioner is angry that

-we're solving too many murders. -Yeah, well,

it's not like this is the first time new people

took charge of an institution and made

absurd, nonsensical demands

of the people who actually do the work.

No, I suppose not.

Come. And, in fairness,

Not every accidental death is a murder.

Captain, I'm pretty sure that theater maker's death

wasn't an accident.

-Oh, really? -Mm-hmm. A car

left in neutral doesn't wait ten minutes to roll backward.

You know, if the car is from 2014 or later, it probably

has an event data recorder,

sort of like a black box in an airplane.

Mm. Well, it was messy,

but it didn't look very old.

The EDR could have helpful information.

Mm. It's not like Nelson needs his car back.

Definitely not.

But it turns out it's not his car.

Yeah,

Nelson borrowed my car all the time.

Honestly, I think that's why he cast me.

Oh, I doubt that.

No, it's a surprisingly common factor in small theater casting.

Shows don't usually have access

to the theater between performances,

so you have to pack everything into

-somebody's car. -Still.

Must have been so exciting

being in a little show moving to the Lortel,

-where Oh, Mary! started. -No,

we were all being replaced by more famous actors

with more followers or something.

-What? -Nelson okayed that?

It was his idea.

Don't let his whole

"gee whiz, I'm so blessed" routine

fool you. I mean, he was an ambitious monster.

Why do you think he was doing the load-out by himself?

'Cause the rest of the cast was pissed off.

Enough to kill him?

Of course not. We're used to this.

The theater is tough. But so am I.

I'll make it eventually.

Oh. I'm sure you will.

Thanks.

Oh, uh, that's the end of my break.

Everything looks good?

You guys, do you ever have one of those days

where you don't know which project to work on first?

Like, do I start my Hulu pilot

or revisions on my A24 screenplay

or one of my play commissions?

Ugh! It's so frustrating.

-More Nelson? -Oh. His humble bragging

was really off the charts.

I'm starting to understand why somebody wanted to kill him.

The car's event recorder is being analyzed,

but if you think it's murder,

I will follow your lead.

Really? Well, you don't have to do that.

I know. But how many times are your hunches

gonna be right before I face reality?

Well, when you put it that way.

And if that means working late,

I'm fine with that. As you know.

-Okay. -So where do we go from here?

Well, I think the big question is

who stood to gain the most from Nelson's death?

Look at this.

Last night's Scant was so special.

Not only was OG Anunoby

from my beloved Knicks there, again,

but I also met the family of the late Richard Perrick.

I love them so much. They have given me

the greatest honor of my life

by granting me the rights to Gilbert's Boy

to make a new, less offensive version

for Broadway and beyond.

That sounds like a huge break, right?

And now that he's dead, who gets those rights?

Don't mess it up.

I should have known.

Even dead, you're still looking over my shoulder.

Pretend I'm not here.

-Yeah, right. -Yeah. Write.

-I'm trying. -It's not so easy, is it?

Especially when you feel like

everything has already been done.

Well, maybe it would be a little easier

if my father had believed in me.

Who are you talking to?

Nobody. Myself. Writing.

The police are here,

asking questions.

Oh, Lenny, that sounds so serious.

Hi, Jeremy. I'm Elsbeth Tascioni

and this is Detective Donnelly.

We wanted to ask you a few questions

about Nelson Thibodeau,

the, uh, the winner of the, uh,

-Perrick Playwriting Prize. -Oh, right.

I heard about the, uh, accident. So terrible.

Such a promising voice silenced.

-So you were a fan? -Oh, sure.

From what? Did you read the play he submitted for the prize?

No. That award was given by my father and Lenny.

His work jumped off the page.

But I did see Scant: The Disparity Play.

Oh! I heard that one was amazing.

Did you love it?

Oh, yeah. Loved.

Exactly what did you love about it?

Everything. The language. The plot.

The different ways he used the word "scant."

If you didn't know Nelson's work before that,

you had nothing to do with

his getting the rights to Gilbert's Boy?

Nope. That was Dad and Lenny again.

Well, Nelson was so excited about it.

I mean, that was such a huge opportunity...

like, collaborating with your father.

Did you ever want to do that?

Go, ahead, tell 'em.

I asked, but

Dad didn't think I was ready.

I think I said, "Dream on."

Well...

Now you have your chance. Lenny told us.

This seems like a big break for you.

No, I think of it more as my responsibility.

Oh, well, it's a huge one. I mean, your dad...

I mean, he such a legend.

I mean, look at all these plays.

Did he ever write a play about you?

Yeah, he said he did. A comedy.

-Really? Which one? -The Ne'er-do-well.

Maybe he was joking.

Oh, I'm sure he was.

No, I meant it.

Hey!

W-We did Anarchy

in my drama club in high school.

Oh, I can't remember if I played Sacco or Vanzetti.

Boop.

Oh, wow.

I mean, is this the desk

where he wrote his classic plays?

Some. He bought the apartment

after his early successes, but

once he and Sheila moved in... yep, right there.

Are these his chewed-up pencils? I mean...

-Take one. -Really?

-Sure. -Oh, my gosh.

Thank you.

I'm gonna treasure this.

And Lenny, your name is on

so many of these posters.

We had a close working relationship.

That's why I keep an office in the apartment.

Even though Richard didn't have a big hit for decades?

Well, there's always licensing and revivals.

"Flog or fade," as we say.

And Sheila liked having me around

when Richard was away. She always hated being alone.

Yeah, he didn't just write here. He, um,

he also kept a-a cabin in the woods upstate.

-Oh. -Here it is.

He never let anyone visit him up there,

-not even Mom. -Do either of you

have any theories about who had it in

for a young theater maker like Nelson?

Theater maker?

Wait, I thought his death was an accident.

Uh, we're not sure about that.

Oh, my God. That... How could anybody...

You know what?

The night that we saw his play, there was this

other playwright there... Klea something.

And-and they threw her out.

She was yelling that he stole her ideas.

-Really? -Yeah.

Wow. We'll look into that.

Oh. You're here.

I bought a chicken.

I don't know why.

Your father's not here to eat it.

I feel like he is.

Still here, judging me.

Then why do you hang around?

We paid a fortune for your apartment.

-If you're not happy... -Mom, the police were here.

Asking Lenny and me questions

about the night that Nelson died.

-So? -I lied.

I said that I was at the lights- dimming ceremony, but I wasn't.

-Mom, I have to tell you... -Stop.

You don't have to tell me anything.

-I don't? -Sweetheart, don't worry.

If they ask, I'll tell them we were there together.

-Huh. -"Huh"? What "huh"?

It seems the term "end of tour"

doesn't seem to register with you.

I take my work very seriously,

no matter how long it takes.

Would you rather I spent the day watching the clock?

No, no, we wouldn't want that.

Maybe I'm getting the wrong impression,

since your collection of receipts

is a little... haphazard.

Again, I'm focused on the work.

-No doubt. -So, are we done?

I understand people can develop

certain habits over time,

and it feels like an attack

when new people come in and question how they operate.

Perhaps you would benefit from some outside help.

I could recommend an accountant to evaluate your income

and expenses and craft a financial plan,

or maybe I could be the one to...

I'm gonna stop you right there.

Okay.

You're absolutely right, Lieutenant.

I do feel attacked.

And I do not need an accountant,

or you, to help me.

I will get back to you

with someone who can vouch for my integrity.

You know, that coffee is far more expensive

than the coffee we have here.

Those things add up.

My coffee is none of your business.

I know you're not supposed to speak ill of the dead,

but that sniveling little weasel stole my career.

How did he do that?

I wrote a play he read an early draft of

called Rant: The Discrepancy Play.

Gosh. That sounds a lot like Nelson's play.

You think? But nobody would believe that sweet little Nelson

could be the devil's spawn. Which he was.

Sounds like you were very angry with Nelson.

Where were you the night he died?

Nice try. I was at an emergency meeting of

-the Father Crime writers' room. -Oh!

-I'm an executive story editor. -Wow.

They called you in on a Sunday?

Ironic, isn't it?

Wait. I don't understand. You have a good job in TV

that must pay pretty well.

So why are you so upset about not getting to work in theater?

Because I love it so much.

Nelson got his love of theater from me.

I was a Broadway usher.

Really?

Wow, you must have seen so many shows.

Oh, yes, I loved it.

I only retired recently

because of carpal tunnel I got

inserting understudy slips in the playbills.

Got to be more and more...

Did you ever usher at plays by Richard Perrick?

Sure. He was very kind to me

when... whenever I met him.

And, of course, I was thrilled when

he took an interest in Nelson's work.

And you were there the night his family

came to see Nelson's play?

We met briefly. Sheila was a little standoffish.

But that's typical of playwrights' wives.

Huh. Uh, these flowers...

they're all so lovely.

Uh, this one... the card says,

"Nothing's changed. L.S."

Would that be Lenny Swift?

Yes. He presented Nelson with the Perrick Prize.

And what hasn't changed?

The Perrick estate

will support Nelson's legacy.

Even produce the work he left behind.

-Mm. -That's very generous.

Does that include the play he won the prize for?

Uh, maybe.

Oh, I would love to read that.

Do you have an extra copy?

Of course.

I was helping Nelson with his submissions.

That's nice.

The Identity Play.

-Oh, and there's a photo. That's nice. -Yeah.

That was my idea. To get their attention.

It looks familiar.

That's a picture of the cabin

-Richard Perrick used to write in. -Well,

looks like it paid off.

But I guess someone didn't like that.

-Someone? -My son had talent

and he worked hard.

He didn't have everything just handed to him,

like some people.

You think Jeremy killed Nelson because he was jealous.

Uh, I didn't say that.

You don't have to.

I'm on your wavelength now.

'Cause we're a team.

Oh. Okay. I like that.

And speaking of that, I was hoping you could do me a solid

and back me up on my overtime.

Oh. Um...

I've been having some financial issues.

My, uh, car broke down and it's gonna cost a fortune,

and my kids' tuition went up again

and my ex is, uh, a deadbeat.

Uh, you don't have to explain.

I have not been dishonest.

I've just been, um,

a little enthusiastic.

Oh, yeah, well, I used to work in a law firm

with billable hours and expense reports,

so I've seen it all.

Okay.

All right, so you'll back me up?

I need my overtime.

I'll see what I can do.

--Ooh. -Oh.

The black box report

-came in. -Mm...

That is very interesting.

Should we go talk to Jeremy?

You go. It's my end of tour.

Your father left behind such a great legacy.

For sure. But the greater the loss,

the greater the opportunity.

What are your plans for the estate?

Will we get to see any exciting Perrick revivals on Broadway?

We hope so. Uh...

Yeah. We-we... we really hope so.

I mean, this is one of the reasons why I'm here with you...

to get the message out that we are open for business,

especially to actors from big streaming shows

who, um...

would like the legitimacy that only Broadway can provide.

And you yourself are a playwright.

I understand you're working on an updated version

of your father's controversial play, Gilbert's Boy.

Yep, and I'm loving the process.

I feel like my dad is right there with me.

Well, you have big shoes to fill.

Jeremy Perrick, thank you for your time.

-And good luck. -Thank you, Mr. DiLella.

And cut.

Um, hi. Oh, I'm such a fan.

You know so much about theater

and you have such great hair.

-And ankles. -Thanks.

-Who are you? -Oh, sorry.

I'm Elsbeth Tascioni.

I love theater so much, even when it's not very good.

Well, for people like us, they just need to turn on the lights.

Yeah.

Good luck, Jeremy.

Tell Lenny he owes me one.

-Sure will. -Wow, that was exciting.

Yeah. What, uh... what, uh, brings you here, Elsbeth?

Uh, Lenny told me where you were.

I just had a few more questions about the theater business.

But this interview... it raised even more.

Like, how hard is it

to capitalize on your father's name

without seeming desperate?

-Not hard at all. -Huh.

And, um, do you ever worry that

all of these revivals and revisals

make it harder to produce new work?

So, theater depends on a small number of very rich people,

and those people prefer

to lose their money on something they know.

Oh, I see. So that's why Nelson

getting the rights to Gilbert's Boy

was so meaningful.

Why do you keep looking for some rivalry

between Nelson and me when you don't even know for sure

-that it wasn't an accident? -Oh,

but we do.

The car's black box

showed that right before Nelson got hit,

the car went from park to reverse

to neutral. So that means someone...

got in, reversed...

into Nelson,

and then put the car in neutral

to make it look like an accident.

Wow.

That's-that's brutal.

I mean, he posted a lot of infuriating things on Facebook.

Well, so do a lot of people, but they don't get murdered.

Well, what about that unhinged rival playwright?

Her alibi checked out. Yours, though...

-harder to nail down. -Oh, yeah?

-How do you mean? -Well,

we, uh, checked all the photos posted

from the marquee dimming ceremony that night.

You're not in any of them.

That doesn't prove anything.

I was there. I told you.

Well, is there anyone else who can say they saw you there?

I'm donating

Richard's papers to Baden University's

-English department. -Oh.

That'll be a wonderful resource.

Would you like a chewed-up pencil?

Oh, no, thanks.

I already got one.

So...

how did you and Richard meet?

I was cast in one of his plays.

We hit it off in rehearsal.

It was so romantic. He left his wife.

-Ah. -But I gave up acting

to take care of him and his life.

-Was that hard? -Sure.

I loved being a busy actress,

zipping around the city by subway,

doing two, three plays at a time.

And I never missed a curtain.

Hmm. But I traded that in

for opening nights on the great playwright's arm.

That was close enough for me.

And you were never jealous.

All those admiring fans?

No. It was fun.

When he had a play running, we wouldn't go to bed

until he got a call telling him how the house was.

But that's all over now.

I hate to ask this,

but Jeremy says he was

at the dimming ceremony that night,

but we're not sure he was.

Of course he was. It was for his father.

He and I were there together.

Sheila, don't lie.

I was there and I never saw Jeremy.

-I saw you, but not him. -Lenny, don't.

You can't protect him forever.

Please, Lenny. He's my son.

Whatever you're saying about me, stop.

What are you doing here?

Mom, I don't want you to lie for me.

Jeremy, stop talking, let's call a lawyer.

No. No, no! I have to tell the truth.

I never made it to the ceremony that night.

I couldn't face another tribute to my father

when I felt like such a disappointment.

-Then where were you? -I just went to a bar.

And I got drunk.

And... and I went home with a girl.

Uh, her name was Maggie or Morgan or...

I-I... I'm not sure.

But that i-that's it. That is it.

That's the truth. What kind of

a writer will I be if I can't face it?

You went to a bar?

What a disgrace. Your weakness disgusts me.

-Ma... -Sheila, please.

After everything I've done for you, this is how you behave?

The night of your father's Broadway

marquee dimming ceremony?

Booze and women?

Get out of my sight, you ungrateful child.

Oh, ungrateful?

What should I be grateful for?

Dad never loved me.

He made me feel like a failure my whole life.

And so did you.

I won't listen to this. I won't.

Don't take everything on yourself, Jeremy.

Just go and live.

Look at that, son.

You made a scene.

This is the place. I came here that night

to drown my sorrows.

Where's your laptop?

-Hey. -Do you know this man?

Yeah.

Of course she does. This is...

-Lorna, Jeremy. -Lorna.

Yeah, I know him. He comes in here a lot,

pretending to write to pick up women.

How do you know he's just pretending?

Oh, blinking cursor,

empty page.

Who are you?

We're with the police.

Do you remember seeing Jeremy here last Sunday?

No idea. Like I said, he's in here a lot.

Wait a minute, are you using this place

as an alibi for something?

God, am I not surprised.

Dirtbag.

That didn't help me, did it?

-What do you think? -Are you sure

you don't know the name of the woman

-you went home with? -No.

Look, I-I can see how it seems really bad.

And-and, yes, I hated that guy, Nelson,

but in a professional way. I didn't kill him.

So,

-did he? -Elsbeth thinks so,

and so do I. And get this.

Results came in from the lab,

and there were traces of DNA

found in the car that closely relate to the DNA

on the chewed-up pencil that Elsbeth got

from Richard Perrick's desk.

Excuse me?

The family likes to give them away as souvenirs.

But Richard Perrick was never in the car, was he?

There's no reason to think so. So the DNA evidence

points to the playwright's offspring.

And that would be Jeremy, who has no alibi.

-You agree? -He does

have a huge chip on his shoulder,

but maybe not a murder chip.

I mean, he doesn't seem to follow through on anything.

Why are you wobbling?

Uh, you two work this out so we can bring down the curtain

on this one way or another.

The plot is getting too hard to follow.

Uh, Captain?

-Elsbeth? -As part of my consent decree,

I feel like I should comment

on things that I see happening in the precinct,

even when they don't involve potential lawsuits.

-Oh, do you? -Yeah.

Things like work-life balance.

This is a workplace. Not a life place.

True, but it has come to my attention that,

under the new directives from the commissioner,

some officers

are finding it more challenging

to make ends meet in the current economy.

-This is about Donnelly's overtime. -Well,

-yes. -Elsbeth,

-stay out of it. -Look,

I don't know all the details,

but I think you need to understand.

-I'm not understanding? -I didn't say that.

I am always understanding. I am also under a lot of pressure,

so to...

-Am I interrupting? -No.

What do you have?

Uh, new evidence from our neighborhood bartender.

I hate

to help him out,

but I can prove where Jeremy was that night.

-You can? -One of my waitresses

had a friend at the tavern that night named Mindy.

She took Jeremy, already drunk,

-back to her place. -Is she sure?

Positive. She took this picture

and sent it to a group of friends.

She was really proud of getting such a hot guy

to come home with her before 9:00.

It's time-stamped.

Looks like Jeremy was telling us the truth.

This is very confusing.

The DNA evidence found in the car

points to Jeremy.

Not conclusively.

And Jeremy now has an alibi.

The tavern and the woman's apartment

were closer to the crime scene

than the Broadway dimming ceremony,

so, actually, his new alibi

is worse than his first one. How about that?

-What are you reading? -Nelson's prize-winning play.

Is there anything interesting in the script?

He did have a unique voice.

Even if he stole it. But...

no, nothing in the script.

But maybe something on it.

Come again?

Jeremy didn't do it.

Well, I'm sorry, I still think we should arrest him.

Oh. So do I.

Okay, let's begin this week's official meeting

-of the Richard Perrick estate. -Can we just cut to the chase?

-What chase? -Last night,

I emailed you both the first 20 pages

of my revisions to Gilbert's Boy

and I would very much like to hear your reactions.

Jeremy Perrick, you're under arrest

for the murder of Nelson Thibodeau.

-What? -You admitted to us

you hated Nelson Thibodeau,

your so-called alibi puts you closer to the crime scene,

and DNA evidence points to you in the car that night.

-But I wasn't. I'm innocent. -Of course you are.

This is outrageous. What DNA evidence?

Traces linked to your late husband,

which indicates it came from his offspring.

Then it couldn't have been Jeremy.

Richard was not his father.

If he wasn't my father, then who was?

That's a very good question.

Oh, my God. Sheila.

-You? -Richard would go off

to his cabin to write. I got lonely.

He told me to keep you happy, and I did.

Two or three times.

But I had no idea.

All this time, I was a father

and you never told me?

She was always a decent actress.

Wait. If it wasn't Jeremy's DNA in the car,

-then whose was it? -It was Nelson's.

Because he was Richard Perrick's son.

Right?

But you knew that.

That's why you gave him the prize and the rights

to Gilbert's Boy.

His mother, Connie, who was an usher,

made sure he'd win

by putting a photo of Richard's cabin

on the title page of Nelson's script.

But...

it is not the same as this one.

See? On the script,

you can see Richard in the window, writing.

Who took that picture

if Richard never brought anyone to the cabin,

not even you, Sheila?

How did Connie have it?

She put that photo on Nelson's script

to get Richard's attention, as a threat.

And then he had you

give him the prize

and boost his career to keep the secret,

protect the Perrick legacy.

"Nothing's changed," you wrote on the card to Connie,

promising to keep your part of the deal,

even after Nelson's death.

Wait, so Dad had an affair with an usher?

The man you worshipped as your father was very flawed.

When did you figure it out?

I used to listen in on the extension

when someone from the theater would call Richard

to tell him about that night's performance.

"The audience loved it tonight."

I never forgot that voice.

Ah!

So, you recognized Connie

as Richard's mistress,

and then you saw how Richard was giving everything to Nelson

instead of Jeremy, including the rights to Gilbert's Boy,

so you killed Nelson

to give Jeremy what you thought he deserved.

Oh, please! Have you forgotten?

I have an alibi. I was there

-when they dimmed the marquee. -No, you weren't.

-Lenny! -Now they're turning on each other.

You kept my son a secret from me.

Well, I won't keep your secret now.

Yes, she was there,

but she arrived at the last minute.

That's why you said that we were there together.

You weren't covering for me.

You used me to cover for you.

Oh, you know,

Greenpoint is pretty far from Broadway,

but back in your acting days,

you were famous for zipping around the city on the subway,

never missing a curtain.

So you knew how to get to "Nelson's load-out"

and then take the-the 7 to the G

to the L-M-N-O-P

and then back to the ceremony in time.

You can't prove that.

Maybe we can.

Back in your acting days, they used subway tokens.

Now you pay using a credit card or a phone,

which keeps a record of every trip.

I wonder if you thought of that.

If not,

I'm sure now we can get a warrant.

I'm so sorry, Jeremy.

I gave my life to that man,

and look how he treated me. And you.

We all hurt each other.

Then we die.

You have the right to remain silent.

I know. I'm a playwright's wife.

Thank you for finding the truth,

even though it hurts.

Like any good family drama.

We have stuff to talk about.

But before all that,

I think you should know.

I read those first 20 pages.

They're really good.

There's a lot I don't like about this situation.

It doesn't thrill me either.

I don't appreciate how you put

Lt. Connor and Elsbeth in tough spots.

I know. And I'm sorry.

But you know me.

I've worked here for 20 years.

I'm dedicated.

And, quite frankly, Captain, I thought we were friends.

We're in a new world.

People don't seem to matter much anymore.

In the past, I could find ways

around the latest indignities.

But I can't on this, Jackie.

I'm sorry.

But, hey.

I know you.

You're tough.

You're resourceful.

You'll figure something out.

How's the cocoa?

It's good.

It's very comforting.

I just hope this isn't an audition to be the next Kaya.

No. Silly.

I just...

I wanted to do something nice for you.

Thank you.

And don't worry about my situation.

-I figured something out. -Well, there you go.

Good for you.

And we solved a very tough case.

You did. Serves me right.

The one time I trust you blindly,

you take me down the wrong path.

Sometimes I focus on the wrong person.

And that's fun, too. Keeps you on your toes.

You think Jeremy will be happier now?

Or a better writer?

I hope so.

But now he has even more parent issues to work through.

Speaking of, can you believe that Teddy and Roy

picked a date for their wedding?

Planning a wedding can bring out

the worst in people.

Plus, all your relatives come out of the woodwork.

Speaking of...

You gonna get that?

Hi, Mom.

I hear you're coming to town.

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