Original subtitles

The negatives.

Let me see the rest of the money.

The only thing I hate worse than a smart-ass P.I. is an unsolved murder on

my turf. I think I know what this is all about.

My God, that's... It's Lee Harvey Oswald.

People have been beaten, robbed, their rooms searched, and all of it somehow

connected to the assassination of President Kennedy.

I expect you to find those negatives.

You intend to blackmail Mr. Angelini with them, don't you? Come on, Jessica.

Now let me have them.

As of this evening, Dallas police still have not issued a statement about the

possible motive of nightclub owner Jack Ruby, who killed Mr. Oswald earlier

today on national TV.

Eyewitnesses, Secret Service officials, and police continue to disagree on the

number of shots fired in Dealey Plaza two days ago in the assassination of

President John F. Kennedy.

However, it is believed that at least two bullets were fired from the upper

story window in the Texas Book Depository.

Mr. Oswald was an employee of the Book Depository.

A 9mm rifle with a telescopic sight is believed to be the weapon used by Lee

Harvey Oswald.

Oswald was being transferred to another jail when Ruby, apparently known to

local police, pushed past reporters and law officers and fired the shot that

proved fatal to Oswald.

You know something?

Now we're never going to learn the truth.

Okay,

buddy.

The negatives.

This was supposed to happen about an hour from now. Right, over by the

turnpike. I changed my mind.

Let me see the rest of the money.

As soon as I get a good look at the negatives.

Come on.

Come on.

Enjoy your stay, Mrs. Fletcher. Oh, and I'll see you this evening.

I signed up for your mystery seminar.

Oh, that's wonderful.

I hope you enjoy it.

Good morning. You have one message.

Just when I'm beginning to think you're not all bad.

Till 3 a.m. I waited for you.

You knew the deal.

The whole $2,500 plus the vig.

So now what can I do?

I gotta send Ernie and Dave to take it out of your kneecaps.

Have a nice day, boobie.

Bernie, you old chiseler.

So you didn't stiff me after all.

Yo, Artie. Charlie.

You can call off your gorillas now. You got my money?

I'm gonna have your money for you in a couple of days.

All of it?

All of it. Yeah?

Yeah. Every last penny.

That's good, Charlie, because I don't like to hurt my friends.

Sando, I think you're worrying too much.

Someone has to, Michael.

All these years. If those things still existed, you don't think you'd hurt it

from somebody?

The FBI?

Someone trying to sell them to you?

And what if you're wrong?

If they tie me in to the late Bernard Callan, you don't think your life is

over, along with mine?

Remains and personal effects of Bernard Philip Callan tentatively indicate he's

your missing father.

Where in hell's Coral City?

It's, uh, a few miles north of Miami.

Listen, thanks for getting a postponement on the Matthews case.

How did the chief take it?

He took it.

You okay?

I will be, once I find out what happened to my father. Laura, there could be some

surprises. Hal, I told you all I care about is finding out the truth.

I mean, why a perfectly decent man would just disappear or off the face of the

earth and turn up 30 years later in a drainpipe?

I didn't mean to upset you.

Thanks for caring.

At least now I know he didn't just abandon me.

Bye.

Ed, you should have moved your knight to his queen seven.

You know, is this good at making first impressions, Mr. Garrett?

It's a gift.

Listen, you know that skeleton you found, Bernie Callen?

Well, I'm here to claim 3,000 of the, quote, 10,000 bucks that the paper said

was in his wallet.

Really? Yeah, with interest.

Well, let me show you something else we found in his wallet.

Charles Garrett, private investigation.

Is that you?

Uh, yeah.

Sit down, Mr. Garrett. I'd like you to tell me everything you know about the

late Bernard Philip Callan.

Look, Chief, I'm on a 1 o'clock plane back to Chicago, and... Forget it.

You see, since that story appeared in the newspapers, forensics found a nick

in Mr. Callan's spine. It was seventh vertebrae, to be exact.

Yeah, so?

Well, it made me curious, so I went back out to the excavation site. I did a

little digging.

I found a .45 caliber bullet.

Wait a minute. You're saying Bernie was murdered? It looks that way, which means

that anything found on his person is now evidence in a capital case, which

means... that you have to wait for your money.

Let me tell you something, Mr. Garrett. The only thing I hate worse than a smart

-ass P.I. is an unsolved murder on my turf, especially an old one where the

trail is like ice.

But the good news is, you're warming it up for me.

Yeah, well... You know, if I were you, Mr. Garrett, I'd get busy documenting my

whereabouts for late 1963.

Officer Payton, your bride is on line. Uh-huh.

Um...

This is not the kind of security I expect from a first-class hotel.

I want someone up here right away.

I want them to see how safe you make it feel for your guests. Just how easy it

is for someone to walk in and violate my privacy, my... my property.

I will see that you make it fast.

I'm sorry. I didn't mean to, uh...

Okay, Jimbo, you got about three seconds. Tell me what the hell you're

doing in here.

Who the hell are you?

Mr.

Garrett, what is... Oh, my God. Stop this.

Stop.

Wait.

Yes, this is Harry Portman over at the motel. I got it drunk and disorderly for

you.

Please, come in, won't you?

Believe me, once I realized who you were, I quite understood.

I'm sorry about your father, Miss Callan.

And really, there's nothing to apologize for.

You were obviously under a great deal of stress.

You're very kind.

So let me take you to lunch, for no reason at all. How's that?

That's much better.

Tell me, was anything stolen from your room?

No, nothing.

From the little I saw, I sense that they could have been looking for something

specific. What makes you say that?

Oh, just the general level of destruction.

Um, I suppose it's my writer's instinct, but when I heard that they thought that

your father might have been murdered, it occurred to me that the trashing of your

room might have been in some way connected.

Mrs. Fletcher, I can't imagine what that would be.

And if my father was murdered, I'm sure it'll turn out to have been some sort of

random killing.

Well, you seem awfully certain.

Yes. My father was not the sort of man who made enemies.

Laura Ann Callen, parents Bernard and Janice Callen, born in Chicago,

September 17th, 1956.

Let's see, you'd have been about seven when he...

when Bernard Philip Callan was killed, so I don't suppose there's a whole lot

you remember about him.

Only that he was a very warm, loving, gentle man.

He raised me after my mother died.

I see.

Okay, now, Mrs.

Fletcher, you don't mind my saying to you that I don't much like your books.

Really?

What is it you don't like about them?

Well, it's just too messy. I like stories that clean up all those loose

ends, you know, like Christie, Conan Doyle. But yours sometimes, I'm not sure

if what I think happened really happened.

But isn't that the way it often is in real life?

Yeah. I hate that.

Now, so, uh, what exactly is your involvement in all this?

Well, Mrs. Callum, Laura, asked if I'd accompany her to, uh, provide a bit of

moral support.

Hey, hey, hey, take it easy, huh?

It's the only suit I got.

You're some kind of beauty, Garrett.

Chicago PD's got nothing but wonderful to say about you, all the way from P.I.

license suspensions to B&E to aggravated assault.

Oh, those cops, they're some of the best fans I got. Yeah, they're right up there

with your bankers. Took three of your credit cards just to cover your bail.

This is one of your late father's associates, Miss Callen, although I'm

not sure that he's the kind of truth that you're hunting for.

Well, they seem to be surveillance photographs.

You have no idea who these people are?

No, I presume my father took them on as clients.

Well, that was Bernie's specialty, you know, peeking between the sheets.

And you were staying with your grandmother in Iowa when he sent these

photos to her? That's right, with instructions that she should hold on to

them and that she shouldn't open the envelope unless something happened to

him. After he disappeared, I stayed on, and my grandmother finally gave them to

me just shortly before she died.

Yeah, besides a few postcards and snapshots, it's really all I have of my

dad's. Uh, there was a fire.

Our apartment in Chicago was also his office, and everything in it burned.

Yeah, I remember, because it was at Christmas time, and I went by there to,

uh, to see if he was back in town.

Mr. Garrett, because my father was so scrupulous about paying his bills, I

will personally see to it that you get every penny that is owed you.

That's very decent of you, Miss Callan.

You know, by the way, I remember who this woman was.

Majeski. Karen Majeski. She had a husband named Ralph.

He was a big-time scrap metal tycoon from the South Side, a zillionaire. Now,

maybe he hired Bernie to tail him. You see, this Karen, she had quite a

reputation for fooling around.

Well, that certainly doesn't explain why my father was killed.

Yeah, well, maybe Steve Stunning here caught him snooping.

Wait, wait.

I think I know what this is all about.

That's... My God, that's...

It's Lee Harvey Oswald.

You don't believe anything we've said, do you, Mr. Whitman? I believe you did

the right thing by calling the FBI, Ms. Callum, and by putting the photos in a

motel safe. Well, in any case, as I said, I think it's very likely that

someone else knew about those photographs.

Right. Somebody connected to the JFK assassination.

Like the guy standing next to Oswald in the photos.

The one you claim resembles the mobster Santo Angelin.

Yeah, him. What about him? Is he still alive?

I wouldn't know.

Oh, come on. You guys spend half your time... chasing around bozos like

Angelini. I'm sure we'll have this all cleared up in a minute, Mr. Garrett.

And then Mrs. Fletcher can catch her plane back to Cabot Cove. Mr. Whitman,

the public have been whipsawed back and forth for years about what really

happened that day in Dallas, about whether Mr. Oswald acted alone, whether

indeed he ever fired the shots.

Now, if there's even a chance that these photographs could shed any new light on

this matter, whether I catch a plane or not is of very little importance.

I didn't mean anything personal, Mrs. Fletcher.

The FBI receives several thousand calls like this every year from people with

all kinds of motives.

Oh, my God.

Oh, excuse me.

Okay, so you claim to have seen these surveillance photos that may have been

taken by the late Bernard Philip Callan, who turns out to have been murdered.

That's definite?

It's about as sure as we're gonna be. The coroner confirmed the nick in his

spine was caused by that bullet. Angle indicates it would have been fatal.

Uh, Chief Gillis, according to Laura and Mr. Garrett, Mr. Callan vanished in

November or December of 1963.

Now, my guess is that he was killed shortly after.

the assassination of President Kennedy, which took place on the 22nd of November

in Dallas. Whitman, I'll be there in 10 minutes.

Miss Callen, because your father's murder isn't within the FBI's

jurisdiction, I can't really help you.

But I hope his killer is apprehended, or if that's no longer possible, at least

identified.

Thank you.

Mr. Whitman, for the record, all three of us saw the photographs.

Oh, I'm sure you believe you saw them, Mrs. Fletcher.

Afternoon, Thurman. Hey, Doc.

Dr. Abner Farrow. I teach modern history over at the university.

You were off your game this morning, Thurman.

Yeah, but if he'd moved his knight to your queen seven, it would have been a

little different.

Well, as I told the chief, I just want to be a little old fly on the wall.

So, please, continue as if I'm not here.

Okay, so, where were we?

The photographs.

Let's suppose that Mr. Callen took those photographs a few days prior to the

assassination. He was about to mail them to his client in Chicago when the events

in Dallas took place.

Yeah, and then suddenly there's Oswald's face all over the television and the

newspapers. And bingo.

Bernie recognizes him as the guy in his photos.

For what reason would my father have had for telling anyone about those pictures?

Well, considering the fact that they found 10 Gs in his wallet, I'll tell you

what comes to mind.

Blackmail. Now, wait a minute. Well, it's just a thought.

Laura, it does make a certain amount of sense.

And, I mean, it would explain why, after your father was killed, they went to

Chicago, searched his office, looking for the photos.

Yeah, when they didn't find them, they torched the place. And they never

suspected that your grandmother had them. They didn't even know that she was

there. You realize what you're saying, don't you?

That my father may have had the keys to one of the worst crimes in our history,

and then he chose to try to profit from it?

I'm just suggesting that it's possible.

It's also possible that I'm wrong.

Laura, I...

I think I understand how difficult this is for you.

I mean, how very much that little girl his father disappeared all those years

ago has needed to cling to the belief that he wasn't rejecting her, that he

really loved her.

The children I grew up with, my schoolmates, they used to taunt me. They

would ask me why my father had run away, what was wrong with me.

So in self-defense, you created this wonderful man with no faults.

The perfect father.

Guess I did a pretty good number on myself, didn't I?

Nothing to be ashamed of, Laura.

It's called survival.

Hey, I know some guys have been fooling themselves their whole lives. Now, the

important thing is that the people who wanted those pictures so badly, they

found them.

So there's no more danger, right?

I hope so, Charlie.

These are only part of the job you failed to finish back in 1963.

And again today.

Oh, come on, Mr. Angelini. Those negatives, if they were still around...

Somebody besides Mr.

Callum would have attempted to blackmail me by now.

Blackmailers don't frighten me, Mr. Emmett.

But the FBI does.

I do not wish to spend what little time I have left in jails and courtrooms.

I expect you to find those negatives.

Or to give me hard evidence.

That they no longer exist.

You understand?

There is no report we ever got a call from your father, Miss Callum.

Well, which could mean that he didn't actually see the photographs.

Or you were mistaken about what you saw.

Now, if you'll excuse me.

Mr. Whitman, there is one other thing. I would like to know the present

whereabouts of Mr. Santo Angelini. That's totally out of the question.

With the resources that you have at your disposal, I'm sure it would only take a

phone call.

Look, both of you, the Warrant Commission cleaned up this matter a long

time ago.

Now, if you want to try and rewrite history, fine.

But you're going to have to do that on your own time.

Mr. Whitman, people have been beaten, robbed, their rooms searched, and all of

it somehow connected.

to Bernard Callen, and whether you like it or not, the assassination of

President Kennedy.

Mrs. Fletcher, will you please?

It seems to me that your position as a federal agent aside, certainly you would

have some sense of responsibility. All right, Mrs. Fletcher.

Fine. I'll get back to you.

That will be a wonderful dissertation on marketing.

How to sell your book.

What is it, Jessica?

That man.

Excuse me, are you a police officer?

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

Nonsense. You've had us under surveillance ever since we left here

this morning. What is it you want?

Look, lady, you're mistaken.

No, I'm not. Now, please answer me, or would you prefer that I call hotel

security?

What do you suppose that was all about? You know, I have a feeling that whoever

stole the photographs isn't satisfied.

But what else?

The negatives?

The negatives.

I've got the information you requested, Mrs. Fletcher.

About Mr. Angelini.

Mr. Whitman, I have a couple of new questions for you.

If I'm only imagining that I saw Mr. Oswald and Mr. Angelini in those

photographs, why do you suppose that Laura...

And why has my room been broken into and searched?

Mrs. Fletcher, I think you should be very careful from here on out.

Oh, I agree.

Now, you were going to tell me where I can find this Mr.

Angelini.

Who is it?

Me, Charlie Garrett.

Well. How you holding up?

What is it exactly you wanted to see me about?

Well, I'm not your enemy.

Sorry.

So how did you and Mrs. Fletcher make out with the FBI?

Well, it's beginning to look as though my father was attempting to use the

photographs for extortion.

No, really?

Hmm. They didn't happen to say anything about where Mr. Angelini might be

hanging out, did they?

Well, I suggest you ask Mrs. Fletcher.

Mr. Garrett, it's been a very difficult few days for me. I'm awfully tired.

Right, right, right. Well, I'll be going.

Listen, I'm going to be leaving for Chicago early in the morning. I just

wanted to apologize for anything I might have said about Bernie.

You know, as far as I'm concerned, he's the top... It's really not necessary.

Oh, another thing.

It was really nice of you offering to cover, you know, what he owed me.

But I don't need that money anymore.

You see, I picked up this big new client and... Anyway, good luck.

And I sure hope they find the guy that whacked out your father.

Thank you, Mr. Garrett.

So anyway, sounds pretty good to me.

We sell the negatives to Mr. Angelini for a bundle and go halves.

You got a number in mind we could hit him up for?

No, don't.

I really just wanted to let you know how much I appreciate your... well, your

empathy.

I mean, all that defensiveness and paranoia.

And in nearby Coral City, joggers made a grim discovery... That's the man who was

following us.

...of 64-year-old Frank Hemet slumped over the wheel of his car, an apparent

murder victim.

Police chief Thurman Gillis has indicated that there are no suspects

thus far, but stated that pending an autopsy, the probable cause of death was

a gunshot wound to the heart.

The car was found parked in a remote area near the Coral City waterfront.

The killing of Hemet, a longtime resident... Excuse me, Laura.

Jessica,

what's going on?

I don't know.

But I'd certainly like to find out what Mr. Frank Hemet was doing and with whom

on November 22nd, 1963.

Special Agent Whitman, please.

Mr. Whitman, this is Jessica Fletcher.

I'm all right, thank you. The man who was following Laura Callen and me

yesterday was found murdered over in Coral City?

Well, I'm delighted we're beginning to think along the same lines.

And I have a feeling that a background check on Mr. Hemet might turn out to be

very interesting.

Yeah, that's the guy, all right. The one who tossed my room and jumped me. Forget

it. Frank Hemet would no more do that sort of thing than he'd have been paling

you. I mean, I knew him.

This is a man who sold nails and two-by-fours at the lumberyard. He

sponsored a little league team, for God's sake.

Look, Chief Gillis, have you found anything that would indicate who killed

Mr. Hammett? Nothing yet. But, Garrett, where were you this morning between 3

and 4.30?

Where the hell do you think I was? Like there's something else to do in this

town but sleep? Uh-huh. By any chance, do you have... Detective McGuire,

Detective Lyons.

It's the FBI for you.

Like I was saying, uh, you carry a .38.

I might.

Mm-hmm. How about letting us run a ballistics comparison?

Hey, listen, Gillis, you're gonna have to book me first, and it better be for

something solid. Otherwise, stay off of my case, huh?

Look, according to this report, Frank Hammett moved to Coral City in October

of 1963.

That was a month before the JFK assassination.

That means he was in town at the same time as your father. Wait, there's more.

Mr. Hemmett served for 13 years on the Dallas police force. He came here

immediately after resigning under suspicion of affiliation with organized

crime.

My God, do you think you know somebody?

Did Mr. Hemmett have any relatives here?

Nothing that I ever heard about.

Then why would he have moved to Coral City in the first place?

And then why would he have stayed all those years?

Pardon me, did it ever occur to you that he might have just plain liked the

place? No, not really.

Chief Gillis has a point.

I suspect you're all reading way too much into this.

Perhaps.

Although... Okay, what is it, Mrs. Fletcher? Chief Gillis, I wonder, if Mr.

Hammett owned any .45 caliber weapons,

Maybe it might be worthwhile to run a ballistics test on them. And what would

I want to do that for?

Well, knowing your penchant for nice, neat endings, who knows, you might just

find the gun that killed Bernard Kellett.

Okay, now you listen to me.

Because I knew it would come to this, I took our little insurance.

This is the way it pays off.

I turn up dead or missing.

I've arranged some breadcrumbs that are going to lead right back to you and the

others.

Look.

Look at it this way.

I've almost got my hands on the items in question.

After all these years, how much difference is another 24 hours going to

make?

Hello?

Hello?

Excuse me, Mr. Angelini. She wouldn't wait. I told her you were busy, but no.

Ah.

Mrs. Fletcher.

Come here.

Sorry, Colonel.

Well, I can't say I'm surprised by your resourcefulness.

Can I offer you some coffee, some refreshment? No, thank you. I've already

found what I came for.

And what could that be?

Mr. Angelini, two days ago, I was shown some very old photographs in which Lee

Harvey Oswald was standing next to a young man who someone told me looked

like you.

So now that you see me up close, you're satisfied that it was me?

Oh, yes, I am.

That's a serious accusation, Mrs. Fletcher.

Not to mention a flimsy one, since, as I understand it, you are unable to produce

these supposed photos.

Nor do I have the negatives, which your people are still slicing up furniture in

the hopes of finding.

My dear lady, I assure you, I don't know what you... Mr. Angelini, we both know

that this is all connected to one of the most monstrous events in the history of

our country, and... Mrs. Fletcher.

Let me ask you a question.

Assuming that there was a conspiracy in Dallas, are you really naive enough to

believe the people responsible would permit you to peer into their can of

worms?

May I have your attention, please?

At 2 o'clock... Mrs. Fletcher?

By the way, your seminar was great.

Oh, I appreciate that, Mr. McCaffrey.

Oh, I almost forgot. This fax just came in for you a while ago.

Not that I read it or anything, but I couldn't help noticing it's from the

Federal Bureau of Investigation in Washington.

So it is. Thank you.

Ah, Mrs. Fletcher, what a delightful surprise.

I've been hoping for an opportunity to have a private word with you, to

volunteer a bit of humble advice, if I may.

Oh, and what would that be, Dr. Farrow?

Well, this business about the late Mr. Callan and those photographs and then

Mr. Emmett's murder.

Well, believe me, I can understand how one might leap into some pretty far

-fetched notions.

But what I urge you to consider, Mrs. Fletcher, are the potential consequences

for you.

For me?

Well, think about it.

A flurry of interviews, the talk show, lurid tabloid commentary,

and then after the dust settles, the big loser will most assuredly be you

and your...

hitherto excellent reputation, you'll be dismissed as just another assassination

freak. Dr. Farrow, I'd be touched by your concern for me, except that I

understand your about-to-be-published book on the assassination totally

supports the Warren Commission's conclusions.

But we're talking about the truth.

And any contradictory revelations about the case could render it worthless,

along with your credibility.

Mrs. Fletcher, I've spent 20 years on that book.

There's talk of a million dollars in royalties, awards.

A little while ago in the public library, I discovered something else.

A young reporter who files several eyewitness stories from Dallas on

November 22nd, 1963, under the byline of D.A. Farrow. Your first name is Desmond,

isn't it?

I, uh, yes, I was in the motorcade.

In the first press car, I believe.

You know, what I found particularly interesting was that in your initial

report, you said that you heard four shots fired.

But the next day, you changed your story. You wrote that you heard only two

shots. The first report, it was a typo.

Was it, Dr. Bannon?

Charlie, what are you doing here?

Jessica, look, I'm sorry.

Now, if you'll just give me that little manila envelope, I'll get out of your

way.

The negatives?

Come on, Jessica.

How did you get them?

Bernie. He sent them to me back in 1963.

Oh, for safekeeping.

Well, you know, we don't want any trouble now, do we?

The rest of it, Charlie.

Okay.

They were postmarked Carl City, November 25th.

Three days after the assassination.

Yeah, and probably a minute and a half before Bernie got himself killed.

I stuck them in the file, and then I forgot about them. For about a year.

Then when I realized that Bernie had stiffed me on the IOU, I took them to a

drugstore and had some prints made. You know, just in case there was something

in there that somebody might want to pay a few bucks for.

Anyway. They were these little three-by-fours, and with the exception

of Karen Majewski and her stud, I didn't notice anything.

And by that time, the Majewskis had gotten a divorce anyway.

Uh-huh. So you put them back in your file?

Until I read about them finding Bernie.

Then I realized there must be a connection to his disappearance.

You know, I should get hunches like this when I'm at the racetrack.

Anyway, I wanted to put them in a safe place.

So you put them in the mail to me instead of to Chief Gillis or the FBI.

Hey, now, wait a minute. You know you can't trust those guys, Gillis or

Whitman. That's not the real reason, is it, Charlie?

You intend to blackmail Mr.

Angelini with them, don't you?

Come on, Jessica. You're as paranoid as everybody else. Now, let me have them.

Oh, Charlie, think. Think about what happened to Bernie Callum when he tried

it.

I'll look after those.

Charlie, you...

Hello? Laura?

Jessica, please listen carefully.

Come quickly, by yourself, and bring the negatives.

They know we've got the negatives.

Are you all right? Yeah, so far. Look, look, whatever you do, please don't call

the police, or don't call anyone.

You've got nothing to lose.

Yes, I'll be leaving in about two minutes.

I wonder how the hell they knew where the negatives were.

A microphone. Of course. They bugged the joint.

Mrs. Fletcher.

The negatives, please.

I don't have them.

And no doubt you've disregarded our instructions in other ways.

Go ahead, pal.

Make your move.

What about the negatives?

Zip, harbor patrol, and a bunch of local divers all came up empty.

Best guess is they got swirled out to sea or chopped up in somebody's

propeller. Bottom line is, they're gone.

Along with any proof that Mr. Angelini ever set eyes on Lee Harvey Oswald. Much

less that he had anything to do with the assassination.

Well, hell, it isn't all that bad. We got an APB out for him, his soldiers

behind bars, and it turns out that Mrs.

Fletcher was right on the mark about the gun that killed your father.

It was Frank Hemmings.

Yeah, it's a safe guess he was working for Angelini. Yeah, but it's still just

a guess, right?

Angelini was afraid of exposure. He was angry at Frank.

When forensics is finished, I'm sure that we'll find a fabric trace or a DNA

match on the passenger seat of Frank's car.

Chief Gillis, I don't think Mr.

Angelini killed Hemet.

Mrs. Fletcher, what are you... It was someone who knew about Frank Hemet's

past. It was you, wasn't it, Laura?

Don't be ridiculous, Jessica.

How could I have known about Frank Hemet's past?

And that FBI report on his background wasn't even faxed to you until the night

after Frank Hemet was killed.

You're right.

But it had been stamped, re-transmission.

So I asked Agent Whitman to check. A little while ago, they faxed me

confirmation that you'd been sent a copy of it the night before.

That's simply not true.

You probably requested it on your Denver prosecutor's office letterhead.

And there's something else.

When you came to my hotel room this morning, there was a small dark smudge

on your jacket.

I hardly noticed it at the time, even when the news of Frank Hemmett's murder

appeared on the TV. But then when they showed his car with its grease-stained

shoulder belt, which would have left a stain precisely where I'd seen it, on

Laura's right shoulder.

He deserved it.

He murdered my father.

You'll find a tape recording of our conversation in my bag.

He confessed?

Then why did you... Come on, Chief Gillis. You know the drill.

It happened a long time ago. He'd led an exemplary life.

He was old.

He was lovable.

What jury would have convicted him?

So after we confronted Mr. Hammett in the hotel lobby, you followed him?

I learned his name, where he lived.

I called him. I told him I had the negatives.

I suggested we strike up a deal.

I convinced him that we should sell the negs to Santo Angelini for a great deal

of money.

After that, I was his new best friend.

It really didn't take very much to convince him that I had hated my father.

My dad really wasn't around very much. He was always cheating on my mom.

Well, if your daddy would have lived up to the bargain and given me what we paid

him for, I'd never had to kill him.

So anyway, sounds pretty good to me.

We sell the negatives to Mr. Rangelini for a bundle and go halves?

You got a number in mind we should hit him up for?

No.

I'm sorry, Laura.

Thank you, Jessica.

Hey, whoa, whoa, whoa, hold on, hold on just a second, Gillis.

What about the 10,000 bucks that was found in Bernie's wallet?

I want you to have it, Charlie.

I know it doesn't quite cover the 30 years of compound interest, but on the

other hand, I'm not going to have any use for it.

I guess my father turned out to be only human.

But then, so did I.

This way, please.

Yeah, except Bernie wasn't a murderer.

Well, aside from the pleasure I'd have had from locking you up, Garrett, I

think we've got us my kind of ending after all, at least as far as Coral

City's concerned.

Yeah, and when they bring Angelini in, maybe then we can learn something about

what happened in Dallas.

Yeah.

Mm.

Ah, okay.

Thanks, Avery.

I'm afraid Santo Angelini isn't going to tell us anything. Three minutes ago, he

ran a roadblock on the I-95.

His car flipped and exploded. He was killed instantly.

But there's one thing.

Avery said that they saw his taillights go on like maybe he was trying to stop.

Do you think it could be possible that somebody tampered with his brakes?

You know, Jessica, I guess it wasn't too swift of me, you know, putting you at

risk by mailing you those negatives.

No, it wasn't.

I assume this is an apology?

Well, yeah, sort of.

I guess the thing I'm really kicking myself about is I should have recognized

what was in those photos the first time I saw them. Then I could have sold them

to Angelini, retired to a tropical island, and none of this ever would have

happened.

Charlie, I'm not all that sure that you would have done it then.

Or now.

Maybe. Maybe not.

I guess we're just going to have to add that to all the other things we'll never

know about this mess.

Hello?