All language subtitles for Murder, She Wrote S07E15 The Taxman Cometh.DVDRip.NonHI.en

What does the IRS want?

The usual. Money.

Tonight on Murder, She Wrote.

The IRS can't find the money we've
withheld from the first two quarters.

You're saying the IRS doesn't
have two quarters to rub together?

That's blackmail.

We may take your car and your
house. We may send you to jail.

We'd never do anything
as unsavory as blackmail.

And what did you get?

I got rid of Nolan.

I've read your stuff.

Which one of my
books have you read?

Your books? I'm talking
about your tax return.

Put your hands up!

You must believe me, sir,

I don't know how the
mistake was made.

Give me time, I'll
get to the bottom of it.

I've never cheated
on my income tax.

Never.

Before now.

Mr. Yelverton, I'm a consultant
with my ex-wife's company.

Now, they pay me, see
line 16, paragraph C.

Their accountants
screwed you. I mean, me.

I'm glad you brought
up Edna Hayes.

You know, Mr. Hayes, in my
business there are oversights

and there are oversights.

Mr. Hayes, we're
not out to get you.

We want to help
you if you will help us.

Well, yes, of course, sir, I...

Not your taxes.

Aunt Edna's Baked Goods

claimed to have deposited $2
million in quarterly withholding taxes.

Our records indicate otherwise.

My ex-wife owes you $2 million?

More or less.

Help us to find it, and we'll...

We'll forget about
your little oversight.

Mr. Yelverton, that's blackmail.

Mr. Hayes, we may take
your car and your house.

We may send you to jail.

We'd never do anything
as unsavory as blackmail.

Edna? It's me, Jessica.

My plane landed
about 20 minutes ago.

Oh, Jessica, Jessica.

My goodness, can
you ever forgive me?

Oh, I forgot to send the
car to the airport, I forgot...

Wait a minute, you are on your
Midwest book promotion tour, aren't you?

Oh, yes.

Well, at least I
remembered something.

Oh, Jess, it's just been living hell
for me, what with the IRS hassle,

the loan, trying
to run the plant.

Well, Edna, now be honest.

I mean, have I
come at a bad time?

You sure have.

But I can't wait to see you.

I'll grab a taxi. Bye.

What with 1500
employees nationwide,

from whom we collect taxes,

and then have to
pay the IRS quarterly.

Now, the remodeling
loan comes due,

so the problem with the
IRS is even more difficult.

Edna, slow down.

I have just landed, and you've
gotten me up in the air again.

Now, start at the beginning.

But, Jess, I wasn't
in at the beginning.

My first recollection of any problem
with the IRS came about a month ago,

when George Harris,
my vice president,

stopped me in the parking
lot early one morning.

We need to talk.

What is it, George?

Well, something's wrong
either in accounting,

or payroll, or with
our auditing firm.

It just won't go away.

What does the IRS want?

The usual. Money.

I thought it was just a
misplaced decimal point,

some kind of snafu that you
didn't need to be bothered about.

It's an awful lot of paperwork
for a misplaced decimal point.

That same morning I sat
down with Gail Manning,

she's head of accounting,

Richard Wellstood,
our in-house attorney,

and J.K. Davern, sales
and marketing exec.

How can the IRS want $2 million
when we've already paid them?

Gail, what is going on in
the accounting department?

I don't know, Edna. I've gone over this
with the IRS, with our bank in St. Louis,

and with Spencer Prinz.

Who?

He's with the auditing firm that
handles the payroll in St. Louis.

We regularly deposit the withholding
taxes of the employees in St. Louis,

and then they are, electronically,
the money is passed along to the IRS.

Now, at the end
of a fiscal year,

the IRS can't find the money we withheld
from the first two quarters, $2 million.

It takes them several
quarters to catch up.

We're now in the fourth quarter,
and they want quarters one and two.

You're saying the IRS doesn't
have two quarters to rub together?

Neither will you, Richard.

Sorry, Edna.

But are you prepared to take
on the government in tax court

to prove Aunt Edna
doesn't owe Uncle Sam?

Edna, if this were my
company, now is not the time that

I would choose to challenge
the Internal Revenue Service.

If you're planning a
takeover, thanks for the notice.

I started this firm on 500
bucks and 24-hour work days.

No pointy-headed bureaucrat is going
to make me roll over and play dead.

Then the government may very
well take the company away from you.

And the loan on the plant
remodeling comes due next month.

What does one thing
have to do with the other?

Edna, if you have to pay the IRS
twice, there's no money to repay the loan.

Yes, Dottie?

Uh, it's, uh...

It's my ex-husband. It's
something supposedly important.

Would you excuse me, huh?

Put him on, okay?

What is it, Nolan?
I'm a little busy now.

Edna, love, I hate to bother you,
but it's about our divorce settlement.

That's why they call
it a settlement, Nolan,

because once and for
all, things are settled.

Thanks to me, you have been hunting
and fishing for the past three years.

My quarrel's not with you, it's with the
IRS, and the consultancy fee you pay me.

You mean you're
in hot water, too?

They're demanding that I
pay taxes on $300,000 income.

Three hundred thousand?

I thought that the deal that we
worked out pays you only one.

Granted, your divorce lawyer
had me over a barrel, but not in it.

Some fellow in your auditing
firm named Spencer Prinz

is supposed to help me
out, but I keep missing him.

All right, I'll have Gail
Manning deal directly with you,

not with some nobody auditor.

Thanks, Edna.

Kind of romantic,
isn't it? You and me

brought back together
by the Internal Revenue?

It's not exactly
romantic, Nolan.

It's more like a
shotgun wedding.

About a week later things
came to a head when

I confronted the Internal
Revenue Service.

A faceless bureaucrat.

He had a face. Your
worst nightmare.

Mrs. Hayes, stonewalling's
not going to get you anywhere.

Who's stonewalling?

I came from Jonesburg
of my own free will.

Nobody comes here from
anywhere of their own free will.

Look, I'm asking for $2 million.

In the past, I've been commended
by my superiors in Washington

for exacting sums the size of the
annual budget of a third world nation.

Don't push me.

I've got a Senator friend in Washington
who can have you sharpening pencils

in a fourth world nation.

Look, Mr. Yelverton,

Mrs. Hayes has always
paid her fair share.

She employs 1500 people,
she supports the arts...

What do you do at
Aunt Edna's Pies, Mr...

He happens to be one
of my vice presidents.

And chief morale officer?

Now, what is that
supposed to mean?

Look, Mrs. Hayes,
let's just settle this

whole thing before the
lawyers make a killing.

Nothing personal, Mr. Wellstood.

He's right, Edna.

With the loan almost due, a
settlement is worth exploring.

Absolutely not. That would
be admitting that I'm a thief.

You said it, not me.

I will see you in court, buster.

And if you or any one
of your cronies has

pocketed the money,
I'll also see you in jail!

Let's go, gentlemen.

And then what happened?

And then the phone rang.

It was you, at the airport.

Edna, you and I have known one
another since we were in college together.

Now, I know that you did not form this
mini-empire by keeping two sets of books.

I'll fly in from wherever,

and when your case comes up, I
will appear as your character witness.

That's very kind of you.

But I'm afraid, Jessica, it's
going to take more than kind words

to get me out of this mess.

And this is a picture of me with a
Congressman I tried to help re-elect.

My campaign contributions helped buy
him a houseboat off the coast of Costa Rica

and he never even sends
me a Christmas card.

Excuse me, Edna, Mrs. Fletcher.

I just thought you'd like
to know Spencer Prinz,

the auditor from St.
Louis, was in this morning.

J.K. and I had a
good session with him,

and later today he visits the
IRS with the payroll records.

Better him than me.

Thanks a lot, Richard.

Sure.

Nolan! Good to see you.

Richard.

Nolan, what an unexpected, uh...

Treat?

Hardly befits one's
ex, but hello, Edna.

Jessica, it's been too long.

Nolan. I'm truly sorry that
things didn't work out for you two.

Thanks.

Edna, I need to talk to
you. Alone, if you don't mind.

Oh, no, no, if this is about our tax
problems, Jessica knows all about it.

Well, the IRS is really
turning up the heat on me.

Let me guess, they
want to cut a deal.

You divulge pillow talk,

and creative bookkeeping
at the highest level,

and in return you're
a free man, huh?

Well, you know I'm no hero,
but let's help each other.

Whatever you can give them,
our old returns, cancelled checks.

And if there's anything that I can
turn over to you, call me day or night.

I shall, Nolan.

Do you have my car phone number?

My secretary has it.

Jessica, stay well.

What can I say, Jessica?

It just didn't work out.

I imagine it was difficult for
him being Mr. Edna Hayes.

No, the problem was he
enjoyed being Mr. Edna Hayes.

Jessica, we usually conclude
our little tour of the bakery

in the freezing room
with some dessert.

Oh, please, no more pastries.

Where is he? George,
did you see Spencer Prinz?

No. Sorry.

There he is. Spencer!

You forgot the W-4 forms.

Wait up!

I'll walk you to your car.

Oh, George, this message
for Edna was laying

on my desk when I
came back from lunch.

Is she around?
Oh, here I am, Gail.

Can I help you? Yes. A message.

Oh, thanks.

Oh, what does he want now?

The IRS? No, it's Nolan.

But he's running them a close
second for Headache of the Week.

If you'll excuse us.

Thanks, George.

Jessica, I'm afraid I won't be able
to take you to the concert tonight.

Oh, don't worry
about that, Edna.

I'll be perfectly fine.

But I feel awful, because I
know how much you love Sibelius,

and I specifically asked
them to play Finlandia.

You mean, they take requests?

Well, we do underwrite
the season, you know.

We gotta keep the
string section in rosin.

Pardon me. I just got
the cupcake survey.

J.K., could I ask
you a big favor?

Do you think you could take
Jessica to the concert tonight?

Be happy to.

You know, two of our bakers
are in the woodwind section.

They even read music.

Oh...

He's dead.

No wallet on him.

The car is registered
to an Edna Hayes.

Dormitory rules
absolutely forbade cooking.

So when we baked
brownies in our room...

I hid them under the bed.

My mattress sagged, and
stuck to the fudge topping.

And from this humble culinary
beginning, an empire was born.

Well...

Well, some of us have bosses
to face early tomorrow morning.

Well, thanks again for
joining me at the concert, J.K.

It's after 11:00.
That's awfully late.

Mrs. Hayes?

Yes.

According to the registration,

Jaguar license plate
MCR-6475 is registered to you.

Is that right?

Well, we have a company car that's
leased, you might say, to my ex-husband.

Why?

There's been an accident, ma'am,
and the driver has no identification.

Could you come with us, please?

Is it Nolan?

We don't know, ma'am.

Is he hurt?

Would you please
come with us, ma'am?

Yes, that's Nolan.

Lieutenant, could you
tell me what happened?

No secret, the railroad
tracks are a bad area.

Your husband was driving alone,

he got a flat, he took
out a jack to change it,

some thug, thief or wino
shot him and took his wallet.

That's the way she looks.

Of all the times Nolan
thought he could change a tire

in that neck of the woods.

Was the gunfire overheard by
anyone? You know, a witness?

Nobody lives out there.
We couldn't find a soul.

Edna, you said, "Of all times

"Nolan thought he
could change a tire."

You knew Nolan.

He couldn't open a can,
let alone change a flat.

Which makes me think, if he couldn't
change a flat, why was the jack out?

Isn't that what you
said, Lieutenant?

There was no pay phone
or gas station around.

Mr. Hayes had to give it
a try, wouldn't you say?

Actually, no, I
certainly wouldn't say.

Edna, after lunch Nolan said that
you could reach him on his car phone.

So why didn't he
stay safely in his car,

and call the gas
station or the auto club?

You also said that
nobody lived out there.

So what was he doing driving
out there in the first place?

We plan to run ballistics and
fingerprint tests as a matter of course.

A lot of questions
will be answered then.

Mrs. Hayes, how long you and
the deceased been divorced?

Three years.

Was the parting friendly?

Lieutenant, these
questions hardly come under

the heading of ballistics
or fingerprint tests.

It's all right, J.K.

Lieutenant, we each got what
we wanted out of the settlement.

Nolan got the farm, a car,
and an annual consultant's fee.

And what did you get?

I got rid of Nolan.

Right, Doc. I got it.

Is that right?

It wasn't a nail, after all?

The tire was slashed?

Look, if you're one of them
pain-in-the-tail St. Louis reporters,

I still don't have a thing
on the Hayes murder.

Okay?

I'm Field Director Yelverton,
Internal Revenue Service.

I'll call you back.

Uh...

Mr. Yelverton, sir. I thought my
IRS problem was over. I mean, I...

They said they wouldn't
repossess my car if I...

Relax, Lieutenant. I'm here
about Nolan Hayes's murder.

Oh.

The murder. Great!

Uh, coffee?

Decaf? Tea?

I think we still have a Danish.

No. No, thank you.

You know, Lieutenant, the
IRS has lost a key witness

in its tax case against
Aunt Edna's Pies.

You may not be aware, Mrs.
Hayes owes us $2 million.

$2 million!

Well, I guess
repossessing her car is out.

You catch on.

You say Hayes was a witness?

Are you familiar with
the term "Judas goat"?

Sure.

And Mrs. Hayes was
gonna be the lamb chops.

I'd like to be the first to
hear of any developments.

Well, you know, actually, sir, the IRS
has no jurisdiction in Hayes's murder.

Are you still driving
that '84 Buick?

I'll be in touch.

Jessica, thanks so much for helping
with Nolan's funeral arrangements.

He had no one, you know. I know.

Mrs. Hayes, I'd like to
have a word with you.

Kinda goes along with a couple of
things you mentioned, Mrs. Fletcher,

if you'd like to join us.

Right this way.

Did you know your ex was gonna
testify against you in tax court?

Well, I'm not
surprised, Lieutenant.

But you're wasting your time if you
think that I had a motive to kill him.

Lieutenant, it's only an IRS claim
that Mrs. Hayes owes any money.

Sounds to me like
you don't own a car.

Mrs. Hayes, my department found
blood on the Jaguar's rear seat,

and the flat tire got that way
because of a six-inch knife slash.

What are you saying, Lieutenant?

That Nolan was killed elsewhere?

About 9:00, and
driven to the tracks.

And what about the ballistic
tests that you were going to run?

Waiting word on them now.

Naturally, I'm
questioning everyone who

knew him, like their
whereabouts last night.

Miss Manning, Mr. Harris
and Wellstood were at home...

They say.

J.K. Davern was at a concert,
with you, Mrs. Fletcher, I believe.

That's right.

And what about you, Mrs. Hayes?
Where were you last night around 9:00?

I was home alone.

Is that so?

Yeah, I got home around 7:30.

I was waiting for Nolan.

He'd called the office that afternoon,
and said he would be coming by at 9:00.

He obviously didn't.

And then Jessica and
J.K. returned about 10:30.

By yourself from 7:30
to 10:30. That about it?

Can anybody vouch for you, Edna?

I mean, a phone call you got,

or somebody who wanted to
borrow a cup of something?

Yes. Actually, the
doorbell rang about 9:00.

I don't know where he was from,
but it was some delivery man.

He had the wrong
house, and he left.

I see.

A delivery man you don't know,
from a place you don't know,

didn't drop anything
off at around 9:00.

Look, Lieutenant, if I thought I needed
an alibi I would have invited him in.

Mrs. Hayes, there may be a
few more questions, so please...

Look, Lieutenant, I
have a company to run.

You know exactly
where you can find me.

I'll be in touch.

Jessica, let me get you a
car to take you to St. Louis.

I don't want you to have to postpone
your radio interviews on my account.

Edna, you have got very
important business to attend to.

Yeah, stalling the loan company.
It'll just bore you to death.

No, I mean Nolan's death,
and your alibi or lack of it.

You don't really think
that I need an alibi?

Edna, it's not
important what I think.

Lieutenant Phillips is
a man with a mission.

It's his job.

Now, this delivery man, was
there a sign on the side of the van?

Was he wearing a
uniform from some store?

I don't know. The doorbell rang.

I was expecting Nolan, but I
live alone, and you never know.

So I said, 'Who is it?"

And the voice said, "Delivery
for 485 North Plainview."

Well, I realized he had the
wrong address, so I said,

"This is 485 South Plainview,"
and I heard him walk away.

Well, I knew he was
lost, so I opened the door,

and he was in the shadows,
you know, by the curb.

I pointed out the right way.
He thanked me, and left.

But I... I could
never describe him.

Well, it's a start.

It is?

Well, yes, I did get a
delivery the night before last.

A pizza.

And where did the
pizza come from?

Sons of Sicily. "We deliver."

It was cold enough to
have come from Palermo.

Thanks very much.

Come on, Marty, will you hustle
up here? I got calzones on the thing.

Come on!

Sons of Sicily, this is
Sal. What can I do for you?

Yes, good evening. My
name is Jessica Fletcher.

Yes, ma'am. What's your address?

Well, actually, I'm calling
about a delivery man of yours.

Now, two nights ago he
went to 485 North Plainview.

Oh, great. If this is another
complaint about Benny getting lost...

I fired the guy this morning.

Oh, that's too bad.

So what kind of
pizza do you want?

Well, actually, I want Benny's last name
and a phone number, if you have one.

Lady, come on, what do I
sound like, a dating service here?

Oh. Well?

Looks as if Benny's lost again.

Mrs. Fletcher. Mrs. Hayes.

Well, you certainly put
in a full day, Lieutenant.

Your tax dollars at work.

Mrs. Hayes, do you
happen to own a gun?

Guns frighten me. I wouldn't
have one in the house.

Our ballistics report
just came through.

A .38 caliber killed
your ex-husband.

I see.

Mrs. Hayes, we may not be
big city police like up in St. Louis,

but we know how
to read state records.

A .38 is registered
in your name,

bought about three years ago.

Hayes is a very common
name. Re-read your records.

Lieutenant, would you mind if I
had a word alone with Mrs. Hayes?

Why not?

Edna, this isn't the dorm mother
asking why we're late for curfew,

this is the police.

Well, surely! You don't
think that I killed Nolan.

Well, of course not.

And if you tell me that you don't
own a gun, I will believe that, too.

Jessica, I cooperated with the
IRS, and where did it get me?

I could get a search warrant.

It won't be necessary.

After the divorce, living alone in this
big house, I thought I should have it.

I never fired it.

Look, Lieutenant,
I'm sorry I lied to you.

I... I haven't been
myself lately, I...

Mrs. Hayes, one
bullet has been fired.

Pretty recently, too.

Are you quite sure?

Don't take an expert,
ma'am. Give a whiff.

I don't understand
it, Lieutenant.

I never fired that gun!

Have to read you
your rights, Mrs. Hayes.

Got a little 3-by-5 card
someplace with the exact words.

Oh, Lieutenant,
this is ridiculous.

You can't charge Mrs.
Hayes with murder.

Kind of funny, Mrs.
Fletcher, before I ran into you,

I was content calling
it flat tire and robbery.

Here you go. Fresh-brewed
just a few minutes ago.

And I brought you some
extra butter for that Danish.

Even from behind bars, Mrs.
Hayes has to pay her taxes.

Selling pies from
stir won't be easy.

She won't have to lift a
finger. We'll do it for her.

Has a nice ring. Uncle
Sam's Baked Goods.

Excuse me, I'd like
to visit Mrs. Hayes.

Would you fill this
out for me, please?

Yes. Thank you.

Mrs. Fletcher.

Yes.

I've been looking
forward to meeting you.

I've read your stuff.

Oh?

Gerald Yelverton,
IRS Field Director.

You've got a hell of an
imagination, if my opinion counts.

Well, thank you. Which one
of my books have you read?

Your books? I'm talking
about your tax return.

Oh.

Nothing personal.

Mrs. Hayes has to
pay what she owes.

If she owes it.

You know, it's occurred to
me that if you're planning to

write this trip off as
a business expense,

the big stores and the television
stations are in Kansas City and St. Louis,

they're not around here.

Mr. Yelverton,

I was under the impression
that what I did or didn't write off

was my business.

Common misconception.

Excuse me, Lieutenant.

Ah, Mrs. Fletcher.

Still friends, I hope.

Lieutenant,

this morning I spoke to Edna's
attorney, who told me that

Edna's gun had been
wiped clean of fingerprints.

So, she wiped them off.

Isn't that what you would
do after you'd shot someone?

Well, frankly, I would
have thrown the gun away,

not left it by my bed
for the police to find.

But if I had been
foolish enough to keep it,

what difference would it make if
my fingerprints were on my gun?

Look, prints or no prints, it was her
gun, and I'm proceeding accordingly.

Lieutenant, that pizza being
delivered, is that from Sons of Sicily?

No, we usually call Mr. Pizzazz.

Uh-huh. And besides
those two, about how many

other pizza places
are there in Jonesburg?

I don't know, two or
three more. You hungry?

Yes. For an alibi.

Would you, by any chance, have a
telephone directory I could look at?

Right here.

What are you up
to, Mrs. Fletcher?

I've decided that I would
like to order some pizza,

if I can find the right
man to deliver it.

A-ha, here's Alberto's Pizza
Emporium. "We deliver."

We'll start there.

And if we're lucky, we'll find
Benny working for the competition.

Thanks to Mrs. Fletcher, we found
Benny delivering for the competition.

Check off this box.

We'll return your
purse and things.

I was just doing my job,
Mrs. Hayes, you understand.

Your job.

His job, Edna.

Now, the way it looks,
a damned clever killer

saw to it that you were left to twist
slowly in the wind, without an alibi.

And I helped him,

making Jessica go to the
concert with J.K. Davern.

Gail?

Yes, Mrs. Fletcher?

The other day, you gave Edna
a message that Nolan had called.

Right.

How did he sound?

Sound?

I mean, was he nervous, upset?

Oh. I didn't actually
speak with Nolan.

There was a message on my
desk when I got back from lunch.

Well, who put it
there? Your secretary?

No, I don't think so.

Patty had a dentist
appointment that day.

She left early. She
took a long lunch.

So anybody could
have put it on your desk.

Possibly as part of an attempt
to frame Edna for murder.

You know who it could have been?
It could have been Spencer Prinz.

He's the auditor from St. Louis.

He doesn't come here
very often, but when he does

he usually works through
lunch, when no one's around.

Maybe he took the call.

I'm sure that's what happened, Gail. I
told Spencer to use your desk during lunch,

'cause he had to go
over some payroll records.

You know, an outside
auditor like Spencer

has to grab a telephone
and desk wherever he can.

And where is this
Spencer Prinz now?

Well, he's probably on
his way back to St. Louis.

He was here a minute ago.

You know, this is almost funny, if
Edna's predicament wasn't so serious.

What is?

Well, this mysterious Mr. Prinz.

I mean, the other day he was here
during lunch, hardly anybody saw him.

Now he's on his
way back to St. Louis.

Well, that's where
his home office is.

Well, I admit I did
catch a glimpse of him.

But the fact is that everybody
sees Spencer Prinz except me.

Well, a little birdie didn't bring
these checks from St. Louis.

Then you did see him?

Well, let me think.

No.

He gave the checks to me.

Mrs. Fletcher, the police and the IRS have
both talked to Spencer in their offices.

And if his car is still here,
you can talk to him, too.

Spencer! Spencer!

There he is.

There he goes.

Gail, get Spencer's home number and
address in St. Louis for Jessica, will you?

Yes, sir.

J.K., we're gonna be
late for that sales meeting.

Yes.

This is really
brutal, Mrs. Fletcher.

If we pay the loan,
we can't pay the IRS,

if we pay the IRS again,
we can't repay the loan.

Computers, electronic
banking, auditors.

It was a lot simpler when
people actually dealt with money.

These days, nobody
knows a damn thing.

Maybe there is somebody.

Somebody who gets
paid to know everything.

Mrs. Fletcher. This
is indeed a pleasure.

I must say, in my 20
years with the service,

you may be the first person who's
ever dropped in on me voluntarily.

Thank you, Mr. Yelverton.

I must confess, I'm still
a little uncomfortable.

Every tax payer is.

Even relatively honest
ones, like yourself.

Please, sit down, and unburden
yourself of those two-martini lunches

you used to call business.

I'm sure we can
straighten everything out.

I didn't come here about
my tax returns, Mr. Yelverton.

Oh, really?

I'm trying to track down a
man named Spencer Prinz.

Now, everybody sees and talks to
him but me, and I need your help.

Help? My help?

Goodness, nobody
ever asks for my help.

Well, I was told that
Spencer Prinz met with you.

Oh, yes, I summoned him with the
books from Aunt Edna's Baked Goods.

Naturally, he complied.
They all comply.

And what was he like?

Like all of them. Nervous,
sweaty, afraid to look me in the eye.

But harmless, really.

Quiet fellow with
glasses, given to bow ties.

Say, you don't think
that little cog in the wheel

actually pulled off a $2 million
tax swindle and a murder, do you?

Mr. Yelverton, far be it from
me to ask you to snoop...

But you want $2 million and
the police want a dangerous killer.

And when you think about it,

isn't that the way that
the IRS helped the police

finally nail Al Capone?

"Scarface" Al Capone.

Those were the days.

Prinz...

Let's see what we've got.

This isn't snooping, exactly.

This is T-Men in action.

Social Security number...
Yes, yes, ma'am.

These are the years he was filing his
taxes when he was a resident in Illinois...

'85, '86, up to '87.

I don't like this. I
don't like this at all.

He paid us every
cent he owed us.

Even filed early each year.

Ah, here's where he transferred a
year ago to the auditing firm in St. Louis.

Oops. My mistake.

Wait a minute

I... I've lost him.

In St. Louis?

No, hold on. Spencer Prinz!

It's not my mistake.
We don't make mistakes.

He's not lost. You've found him?

No, ma'am, you've
found him for us.

He didn't file this year.

Of course, he hasn't. Not someone
who's just embezzled $2 million!

Well, for once, I tend
to agree with you.

Excellent, Mrs.
Fletcher, excellent.

I'm sure Spencer Prinz will be a lot
easier to put behind bars than Al Capone.

Well, I wouldn't count
on that, Mr. Yelverton.

First, you're going
to have to find him.

Of course, Roy,
I'm overextended.

But you know what
this business is worth.

All I'm asking for
is a short-term...

Yes, Roy.

Damn it, there are
jobs at stake here.

I am not going to throw
all these people out of work.

Fine, you just have your
meeting with the loan committee

and call me when
they turn me down!

Even Roy, huh?

That parsimonious jerk. I don't know how
the bank stays afloat with him in charge.

Where's Jessica?

I thought you and she
were going over the books.

She went to St. Louis
with that police lieutenant

to try to track down
Spencer Prinz.

She's got it in her head that he's a
figment of someone's imagination.

I gotta tell you, J.K., I'm
beginning to agree with her.

He isn't here, mister.

What else is new?

Certainly looks as if he
had quite a party last night.

Poker. Bunch of slobs...

Chips all over the
floor, rings on the table.

Oh, well, that's
what I get paid to do.

When's the last
time you saw him?

See him? I never see him.

Never?

Oh, yeah, a few months
ago, when he hired me.

But since then, never.

He's always working
whenever I'm here.

He leaves me an envelope with
cash in it on that table over there.

I see. And this Mr. Prinz...
What does he look like?

Look like? I don't know,
he's kind of medium size,

medium build, glasses,

moustache, and... Oh,
yeah, he wore a bow tie.

Mrs. Fletcher.

Looks like Prinz
is our man, after all.

Take a look, Nolan Hayes's
wallet, credit cards, driver's license.

But this makes no
sense, Lieutenant.

If you embezzle $2 million,

why would you steal a wallet,
but keep it laying around?

It wasn't laying
around, it was hidden.

I'm putting out an
APB on Spencer Prinz.

White male, glasses,
moustache, bow tie.

I'll also have the local police
stake out both here and the airport.

If it's not too late.

This is like
cramming for a final.

Yeah, but there's no way of
making it up in summer school

if we don't find the buried
money by tomorrow morning.

Oh, it must be a power failure.

But this light is on.

Don't move, ladies.

Put your hands up!

And step back.

The ghost returns.

Spencer Prinz, I presume?

That's right.

I'll just relieve you of this slightly
incriminating volume, and be on my way.

You did steal the
money, didn't you?

Oh, yes.

And I was forced to kill
your ex-husband, Mrs. Hayes.

He found out what I was doing.

A foolish and greedy man.

Now, don't force
me to use this again.

Step into the closet.

He's gone.

I'll dial 911.

Please, get a hold of
Lieutenant Phillips right away

and have him come
to Aunt Edna's factory.

Tell him that we have found
Spencer Prinz, and that he's armed.

Be careful.

Come on, Jessica.

Edna, the man has a gun.

That was a shot!

Richard, what happened?

I came by to help you
go through the books.

I saw Spencer running toward me.

He had a gun.

He told me to freeze.

As he was going by
me to get in his car...

I don't know where I found
the courage... I tackled him.

We fought for his gun...

It went off.

I've never even
held a gun in my life,

much less killed a man.

That's odd.

Look at his hair.

Looks like a wig.

It's J.K. Davern.

He was Spencer
Prinz? He killed Nolan?

This is unbelievable.

He had me completely fooled.

But when you think about it,

it makes perfect sense.

J.K. designed our
computer marketing,

our billing, our
payroll systems.

He could easily bury $2 million.

Edna...

The gun. Please pick it up.

Be careful with that, Edna.

I want you to cover Richard.

Cover me? That's ridiculous.

What? Do it. Now,
Edna, do it now.

If you say so.

Don't be absurd.

I shot Prinz, but I... I mean J.K.,
but it was self-defense, obviously.

No, Richard. What is obvious
has finally got through to me.

Unless my eyes are totally gone,

the gun you said that
you picked up from J.K.

is not the same gun that
was pointed at us inside.

Of course, it is.

It was less than a minute from the
time we heard the shot until we got here.

Thirty seconds isn't
much time to hide a gun.

I know guns, especially
when one's pointed at me,

and I'm staring down its barrel.

There are two guns
there, Wellstood.

How do you explain that?

I don't.

What must have happened
is Spencer Prinz... Sorry, J.K.

Left the bakery, pocketed his gun,
and then was shot by Richard point-blank.

Richard hid J.K.'s
gun in the waste barrel

and tried to make us
believe the gun he brought

was the one that J.K.
threatened us with.

Total nonsense. I don't
deny shooting Spencer Prinz,

but I was as surprised as anyone
to learn he was really J.K. Davern.

No. I believe that you and J.K.

trotted out the fictitious Spencer Prinz
one more time tonight, for my benefit.

Jessica was the only one
who was curious enough

to want a face-to-face
encounter with him.

It seemed odd that the outside auditor's
appearances at Edna's company were limited

and always verified by
you, Richard, or by J.K.

In other words, it took two
men to create the third employee.

An elusive man, with an apartment, a
maid, a car, and a passion for bow ties.

My first glimpse of Spencer
Prinz was from quite a distance,

when you called to him
that he forgot the W-4 forms,

then offered to
walk him to his car.

A couple of days later, when my
curiosity about Spencer Prinz grew,

this time it was you, Richard,
who dressed up as Spencer.

J.K. tried to stop Spencer
before he drove back to St. Louis.

But, as usual, we were
all a few steps behind.

And, as usual, either you or your partner
were vouching for Spencer's whereabouts.

The catch was that no one
ever saw all three of you together.

There's something
wrong, Jessica.

J.K. escorted you to the concert
the night that Nolan was killed.

So he couldn't have killed Nolan

and yet he confessed the
murder to us that night in my office.

Yes, but when he confessed, he did not know
that he was going to be double-crossed.

Lieutenant, you can't
take any of this seriously.

That's where you're wrong, sir. I
buy it, and I think the D.A. will, too.

Would you like to
call your lawyer now?

Or maybe you'd like to
tell us how it happened.

Might go easier on you.

Damn it.

We were so close.

Only J.K. and I knew
the real Spencer Prinz,

who was about to transfer from
Chicago to St. Louis one year ago.

A week before he was due to
arrive, he died of a heart attack.

That's when J.K. and
I hatched the scheme

to steal the tax deposits
by keeping Spencer alive.

When the fiscal year was up, Spencer
would disappear without a trace,

taking with him all the blame

and $2 million.

Okay, but why did you
have to kill Nolan Hayes?

J.K. got greedy.

He forged a $200,000
payroll check to Nolan

and cashed it to himself.

He figured it would
take the IRS forever

to catch up with the tax
problems it would cause Nolan.

It didn't.

Nolan was desperate for answers,

so after getting the run-around
from Spencer Prinz by phone

he came to our office to
see Spencer in person.

One of the secretaries must
have told him Prinz just left.

Nolan tried to catch up to him.

J.K. was taking
his turn as Spencer.

As he was getting into the rental car,
to pretend to drive back to St. Louis,

his wig was accidentally
knocked loose.

And as he replaced it, he
didn't see Nolan staring in at him,

observing the metamorphosis.

Nolan turned and
ran back inside.

That's when he
made his fatal mistake.

He came directly
to me, and said,

"No wonder Edna
was having problems.

"Never mind two sets of books, her
company had two sets of employees."

J.K. and I had to act quickly.

Of course.

And since Nolan was making waves for
Edna, why not frame her for the murder?

We set up the bogus telephone
message, leaving Edna without an alibi.

I went to her house, entered
through a rear window

and took the gun we all knew
she kept in her bed table drawer.

I drove out to Nolan's farm,

I called into him, he came out

surprised to see me.

I shot him,

put his body in the car,

drove to the tracks,
and took out the jack

and made it all look like
a flat tire and robbery.

I returned the gun to your house while
you were with the police late that night.

Once Mrs. Fletcher
got you off the hot

seat, and became
suspicious of Spencer Prinz

we shifted the blame for
embezzlement and murder

to the perfect fall guy,

the man who didn't exist.

We came close.

The IRS has billions,
Edna has millions...

J.K. and me, we just
wanted a piece of the pie.