All language subtitles for Murder, She Wrote S09E13 Dead Eye.DVDRip.NonHI.en

The negatives.

Let me see the
rest of the money.

The only thing I hate
worse than a smartass PI

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's
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.

No!

REPORTER ON
TV: 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 nine-millimeter 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 gonna 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.

McCAFFREY: 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.

Aw, Garrett, come on.

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

Till 3:00 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 outta your kneecaps.

Have a nice day, booby.

Bernie, you old chiseler.

Tuesday, 9:23 a.m. So
you didn't stiff me after all.

Yeah, Arthur Mazzolo.

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.

Santo, 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 have
heard 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 the hell's Coral City?

It's, uh...

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
off the face of the earth

and turn up 30 years
later in a drain pipe?

I didn't mean to upset you.

Thanks for caring.

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

Bye.

Bad.

You should've moved your
knight to his queen-seven.

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

It's a gift.

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

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 1:00
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 the seventh
vertebra, to be exact.

Yeah, so? Well, it
made me curious,

so I went back out to the excavation
site and I did a little digging,

and 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.

Uh, look, Chief...

Let me tell you
something, Mr. Garrett.

The only thing I hate
worse than a smartass PI

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.

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.

Yeah, well, see
that you make it fast.

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

Okay, Jimbo, you got
about three seconds

to tell me what the
hell you're doing in here.

Who the hell are you?

Mr. Garrett, what is it...
Oh, my God, stop this! Stop!

Wait...

Yes, this is Harry
Portman over at the motel.

I've got a 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 sensed that they could have
been looking for something specific.

What makes you say that?

Well, 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.

Mmm-hmm.

"Laura Ann Callan. Parents,
Bernard and Janis Callan,

"born in Chicago,
September 17th, 1956."

So, 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, do you,
that I... I don't much like your books?

Really?

What is it you don't
like about them?

Well, they're 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...

What exactly is your
involvement in all this?

Well, Miss Callan, Laura,
asked if I'd accompany her to

provide a bit of moral support.

Oh.

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

It's the only suit I've got.

You're some kind
of beauty, Garrett.

The Chicago PD's got nothing
but wonderful to say about you

all the way from PI
license suspensions,

to B and E, to
aggravated assault.

Oh, those cops, they're
some of the best fans I've 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 Callan,

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 for one of his 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.

Well, after he
disappeared, I stayed on,

and my grandmother finally gave
them to me just shortly before she died.

You know, besides a few
postcards and snapshots,

it's really all I
have of my dad's.

There was a fire.

Our apartment in Chicago was
also his office. 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 them.

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, Miss Callan,

and by putting the
photos in the motel safe.

Well, in any case, as I
say, 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 Angelini.

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, and...

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.

You okay? There we go.

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.

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 Callan, 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. 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. Callan
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.

But what reason would
my father have had

for telling anyone
about those pictures?

Well, considering the fact that
they found 10 G's 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. And 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.

May I have your
attention please?

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 that he chose
to try to profit from it?

Look, Laura, I'm just
suggesting that it's possible.

It's also possible
that I'm wrong.

Laura, I think I understand
how difficult this is for you.

I mean, how very
much that little girl

whose father disappeared
all those years ago

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

that he really loved her.

All the children I grew
up with, my schoolmates,

they used to taunt me.

They would ask me why my father
ran 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 who've been
fooling themselves their whole lives.

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

they've found 'em.

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. Callan

would have attempted
to blackmail me by now?

Blackmailers don't
frighten me, Mr. Hemet.

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 Callan.

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 Warren 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's somehow
connected to Bernard Callan,

and, whether you like it or not, the
assassination of President Kennedy.

Mrs. Fletcher,
will you please...

And it seems to me that your
position as a Federal Agent aside,

certainly you would have
some sense of responsibility.

All right, all right,
Mrs. Fletcher.

Fine. I'll get back to you.

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
Callan and I are being followed?

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, so...

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

Listen, I'm gonna be leaving
for Chicago early in the morning.

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

About Bernie.

You know, as far as I'm
concerned, he's just not...

It's really not necessary.

Oh, another thing.

It was really nice
of you offering to

come up, 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, it 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 can 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, j
joggers made a grim discovery

early this morning... That's
the man who was following us.

When they found the body
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 long-time
resident, apparently took place...

Excuse me, Laura.

In the early hours
of this morning,

and thus far, no eyewitnesses
have stepped forward...

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.

Stay tuned, and after this
short break, I'll be back...

Special Agent Whitman, please.

Mr. Whitman, this
is Jessica Fletcher.

I'm all right, thank you.

The man who was following
Laura Callan 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 tailing
you. I mean, I knew him.

This is a man who sold nails and
two-by-fours at the lumber yard.

He sponsored a Little
League team, for God's sake.

Look, Chief Gillis,
have you found anything

that would indicate
who killed Mr. Hemet?

Nothing yet.

But, Garrett, where were you this
morning between 3:00 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...

It's the FBI. For you.

Oh.

Like I was saying,
do you carry a .38?

I might.

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 Hemet moved to Coral City

in October of 1963.

That was a month before
the JFK assassination.

Yeah.

That means he was in town
at the same time as your father.

Wait, there's more. "Mr.
Hemet served for 13 years

"on the Dallas police force.

"He came here
immediately after resigning,

"under suspicion of affiliation
with organized crime."

My God, you think
you know somebody...

Did Mr. Hemet have
any relatives here?

None 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. Hemet 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 Callan.

Okay, now you listen to me.

Because I knew it
would come to this,

I took out a little insurance.

This is the way it pays off.

I turn up dead or missing.

I've arranged some bread crumbs

that are gonna 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 gonna make?

Hello?

Hello...

Yeah?

Excuse me, Mr. Angelini.

She wouldn't wait. I told
her you were busy, but no.

Ah!

Mrs. Fletcher.

Come in.

It's all right, Carlo.

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've
seen 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're 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're...

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 2:00...

Mrs. Fletcher. And 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... This business
about the late Mr. Callan,

and those photographs,
and then Mr. Hemet'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 $1 million
in royalties, awards...

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

A young reporter, who filed
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... 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. Farrow?

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 outta your way.

The negatives?

Come on, Jessica.

How did you get them?

Bernie. He sent 'em
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
Coral City, November 25th.

Three days after
the assassination.

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

I stuck 'em in the file, and then I
forgot about 'em for about a year.

Then when I realized that
Bernie had stiffed me on the IOU,

I took 'em 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 Majeski and her stud,

I didn't notice anything.

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

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

Until I read about
'em 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 'em 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... You're
as paranoid as everybody else.

Now let me have them.

Oh, Charlie, think. Think
about what happened

to Bernie Callan
when he tried it.

I'll look after those.

Charlie... Hello?

Laura?

Jessica, please,
listen carefully.

Come quickly. By yourself.
And bring the negatives.

They know we've
got the negatives.

Are... Are you all right?

Yeah, so far. Look,
whatever you do,

please don't call
the police, or...

Don't call anyone.
They'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.

Laura... Mrs. Fletcher.

The negatives, please.

I don't have them.

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

Go ahead, pal, make your move.

No! No!

Charlie!

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 soldier is behind bars,

and it turns out that Mrs.
Fletcher was right on the mark

about the gun that
killed your father.

It was Frank Hemet's.

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
do you... What do...

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,

it wasn't even faxed to you until the
night after Frank Hemet was killed.

You're right.

You're right. But it had been
stamped "retransmission."

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.

Well, that's... 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
Hemet'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 let an exemplary life.

He was old. He was lovable.

What jury would
have convicted him?

So after we confronted Mr. Hemet
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'd hated my father.

My dad really wasn't
around very much.

Always cheating on my mom.

Well, if your daddy would've
lived up to the bargain

and given me what we paid him
for, I'd never have had to kill him.

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 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.

Mmm.

Okay.

Thanks, Avery.

Well, I'm afraid Santo Angelini
isn't going to tell us anything.

Three minutes ago, he
ran a road block 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 'em.

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
gonna have to add that

to all the other things we'll
never know about this mess.