All language subtitles for Confess.Fletch.2022.1080p.WEBRip.x264-RARBG-English

The Red Sox are taking on
the Yankees at Fenway Park.

Five stars.

Hmm.

Oh.

Boston police.

Hi, this is I. M. Fletcher
calling from 5 Union Park.

-Yeah, and?
-There's a murdered woman downstairs.

-There's a what woman?
-Murdered.

Well, uh, this is just
a general precinct line.

If you're scheduling a meeting
or something like that.

Yeah, well, this is just a courtesy call.

A courtesy call?
You got a murder, you call 911.

Well...

...the emergency part's kind of
over, you know?

Well, this isn't the murder department.

Can you just tell homicide?
It's 5 Union Park.

They like murders.
They'll be interested.

Uh, whoops.

-You Fletcher?
-Yes.

I'm Sergeant Inspector Monroe.

Inspector?
Like in Scotland Yard?

-This is Griz.
-Hello, Mr. Fletcher.

Please, my mother calls me Mr. Fletcher.

-You can call me Fletch.
-Did you have a piece of fruit?

I had a pear. How did you know?

There's obviously a piece missing.

Griz, check the front door.

Okay.

-What's your full name?
-I. M. Fletcher.

Hmm. I am Monroe.

Full name, please.

Irwin Maurice Fletcher.

They caught me in the middle of a yawn.

They wouldn't let me retake it.
Can you imagine that?

What'd you hit her with?

I didn't hit her with anything.

This your place?

Well, I'm renting it for a couple of weeks.

-It's owned by a guy named Owen Tasserly.

Rather opulent for just one person.

Well, before you get the idea that
I'm some rich asshole, I'm not.

My girlfriend has the money.
She arranged this.

Where is she?
Rome.

Where I just flew back in from.

Um, I checked the front entrance.

There's a key deadlock
and there's a sliding bolt

and no footprints and no forced entry.

Nice job, Griz. Take five.

What's your girlfriend's name?

Andy. Angela.

Andy Angela.
Write that down, Griz.

It's Angela de Grassi.
You kill her too?

May I remind you that
I reported this murder

and waited for you all to arrive?

You been drinking long?
Oh, geez,

I had my first beer when I was 12.

Mmm.

Here you go, Griz.

I'm not your waitress.

No, I understand that, but I thought
maybe you'd like my fingerprints.

-See? Cooperating.
-Mmm.

Hey, um, guy--
Sorry, I don't know your name. Evidence?

Do you need a blanket?

You know what, Griz?

Why don't you ask
Mr. Fletcher some questions.

You're gonna have the
trainee interrogate me?

Go ahead, Griz.

Go ahead, Griz.

Okay. Um...

Um...
...Mr. Fletcher,

did you know the victim, Laurel Goodwin?

Mm-mmm.
We never offer up the victim's name.

It's Griz's turn.

Never met her.
At least not while she was alive.

- What flight were you on?
- Alitalia.

I landed at 8:46 p.m.

But you didn't call the police until 11:09.

Well, I stopped and had dinner at
the Warren Tavern on the way in.

Can you produce proof of that?
A receipt, perhaps?

I paid cash.

What do you do for a living?
-I'm a freelance journalist.

I've spent the last two years
traveling Europe writing about art.

Quite the art collection Mr. Tasserly has.

Yeah.

Paul Klee out there.
A Degas horse.

I saw a Warhol over there by the fish tank.

See, this is my theory.

I think the victim
interrupted an art theft.

The thief got spooked,
bonked her over the head and then ran.

No amateur sleuthing, please.

Listen, I used to be a investigative
reporter of some repute.

I could be very helpful
in this whole matter.

I used to play the trumpet in high school.

I never offered advice to Miles Davis.

Shut up and talk.

That's a very confusing
combination of commands.

Mr. Fletcher, why are you in Boston?

I'm researching a book. The definitive
biography of Edgar Arthur Tharp Jr.

The cowboy painter.

-You've heard of him.
-I prefer Remington.

You would.

Go on, Griz.
Okay. Where was I?

Sorry, I'm so distracted
by Mr. Fletcher's feet.

Come on, Griz.
Feet want to be free.

I see you two have been
brainwashed by the shoe lobby.

My Go--
Okay, look, Mr. Fletcher.

If you did kill this young woman,
a confession would be appreciated.

I have a baby at the house.
Do you have a baby at your house?

I really could use some sleep.

Okay, Inspector, you know there's such
a thing as paternity leave, right?

So, you're a journalist,
traipsing all over Europe?

-You really make a living doing that?
-Yeah, I make a decent one.

No secondary forms of income
from more unsavory lines of work?

Writing for in-flight magazines
is about as unsavory as it gets.

You got some place you can stay? We're
gonna need 24 hours to do a full sweep.

I don't know. Right here's okay.

Are you sure there's nothing
you're hiding from me, Mr. Fletcher?

Come on, Inspector.
I'm an open book.

Mr. Fletcher?
Yes.

Thank you for meeting me, Miss de Grassi.

Would you like something, sir?

Uh, are you paying?

A negroni, please.

-Madame, another one?
-No, thank you.

So, how is the Count Clementi
Arbogastes de Grassi?

My father is fine.

But I don't understand why he hired
you to find his stolen paintings.

Who are you?
I'm a freelance journalist.

Uh, your father liked a piece
I wrote about an art theft

at the Royal Museum in Brussels.

My story helped the police
crack the case.

Good for you,
but you're not a detective.

No, but I was an investigative
reporter of some repute.

I don't do much of that anymore.
Why?

It's an occupation that's been cheapened
by the digital age, like president.

Well, I wasn't at my father's villa
when the paintings were stolen,

so I don't have any new information.

Well, that's okay. I do.

You do? Tell me.

There's an art dealer
in Boston named Ronald Horan.

He's already sold two of your
father's Renaissance paintings.

-The Bellini and the Perugino.
-Are you serious? H-How would he have them?

Well, I have no idea.

He might not even know
that they were stolen.

Do you think he has the other paintings?
All nine were taken.

He very well might.

The Picasso was appraised
at 20 million dollars.

Well, that hardly seems worth stealing.
Grazia.

Excuse me, I changed my mind.
I'll have another.

So, what are you going to do now?

Well, I'd thought I'd visit
Mr. Horan in Boston

and see if he had any ties to Rome
or the black market in the art world.

How can I help, Mr. Fletcher?

You don't need to be so formal.

What should I call you?

All of my friends call me...

Fletch!

I want to swim in your eyes.

Like a...

...piss.

Like a piss?

No, like a pisciata, like a pool.

My Italian is very good.

No. No. No.

So what do you know
about this Ronald Horan?

On his Facebook page, I found out he
teaches an art history class at Harvard.

He's a member of the Mayflower Yacht Club

and he's really into EDM,
electronic dance music.

Had his gallery broken into in 2015.

They stole some Impressionist paintings,
um...

I really haven't found
anything incriminating.

Sometimes I wonder
i-if my father's new wife,

the Countess de Grassi,
as she loves to call herself,

if somehow she's involved.

I don't trust her, Fletch,
and I know she married papa for his money.

Well, Andy, that's pretty cynical.

Well, maybe she married him for love...

of money.

How did you end up in Europe?

Was it because of a woman?

Two actually.
My ex-wives said they needed space,

so I figured 6,000 miles is about right.

Wow, how is it that you were married twice?

I am very easy to fall in love with.

I'm very good at falling in love.
Not so good at choosing.

How so?
Well, I've fallen in love with married men,

pathological liars, two drug dealers

and a pyromaniac.

Well, now, see,
I'm only one or two of those things.

Your famine creates traffic jams.

Please, no more Italian.

- Ignore it.
- Mm-hmm.

Okay.

We need to speak to Madam Angela de Grassi.

Has something happened to my father?

I'm afraid so.

He has been kidnapped.

All we know is that it
was three men with guns.

They put your father
into a car and drove off.

They put the priest in the machine?

Did they hurt him?
We don't think so.

You don't have to speak in English.

My Italian is very good.

We've kept it quiet so far.

Was the Countess de Grassi there?

No, she's visiting her brother in Milan.

The kidnappers have already named a ransom.

I'll pay them whatever they want.

They don't want money.

They want a painting your father owns.

A Picasso.

That's very Italian.

Fletch, I can't sleep.

-I miss you.
-I miss you too. I wish you were here.

Do I hear people talking?

Uh, listen, Andy,
I need you to contact that site

where you found Tasserly's townhouse.

Is there something wrong with it?
Well, kinda.

Uh, I found a dead woman downstairs.

What?
Oddio santo!

Who-Who-Who was she?
Who killed her?

Apparently, her name is Laurel Goodwin.

I have no idea who killed her,
but there is a detective here

who seems very keen on
the idea of it being me.

How could he think that?

I'm looking into it.

Please don't get involved, okay?

We have to focus on finding
out if Horan has the Picasso.

Okay? We have to save my father.

No, we will. We will.

Did you get the line of
credit set up at Lloyds?

Of course I did.

Fletch, the Countess is going around Rome

telling anyone who will listen

that my father's left her everything,
as if he's already dead.

Andy, why don't you just come here?

That way, we can be together
while I sort out this Horan situation

and all this other stuff.

I want to be with you, Fletch,
but not with my father still missing.

And now this horrible
thing has happened to you.

Yeah, I think the horrible thing
happened to Laurel Goodwin.

Yeah, is this Julio?

Hi, it's Mr. Fletcher. I was calling about
the used van you had listed on Only Vans.

- Morris.
- Oh, that's great, yeah.

I will-- I'll see you this afternoon.
Excellent. Thanks.

You sleep.

You know what? Right here's fine.

What? I can't stop here.

Understood. Maybe you have
something up there I can vomit into?

-Five stars.
-Bye.

Oh, my...

Where the fuck are we?

Um...

Five stars.

Hello?
Ralph Locke for Mr.--

In here.

Mr. Horan.

Well, wonderful to finally
meet you, Mr. Locke.

Please, call me Ralph.

Ah, I'm sorry, I don't shake hands.

Uh, since the pandemic?

Since touch screens.

Haven't had a cold in 20 years.
Please.

There you have it.
Mm-hmm.

Some interesting music
you were listening to.

Yes, it gets the blood pumping
and the pulse pounding.

I guess that's why it
sounds like a heart monitor.

I apologize, Ralph,
I'm a little pressed for time.

I teach a summer school class at Harvard.

Oh, please, no worries.

Portrait of a Woman With an Ermine Collar.

In this case, Picasso's wife, Olga.

He made several portraits of Olga,

but when you emailed me about this one,
I didn't really believe it existed.

But it does.
And I found the owner.

Is he willing to sell?

Uh, he's willing to entertain an offer.

What's his name?
Oh, he prefers to remain anonymous,

but he lives in New York City

and I think I can get the Picasso
here by Saturday, maybe even Friday.

Well, that is terrific.

There is also the question
of credit, Mr. Locke.

Most of the people I deal with
I've known for years.

Lloyds Bank of Canary Islands should be able
to establish whatever credit you require.

It's like I've known you for years.

Here is a simple boilerplate
contract for my services.

-'Kay.
-Oh, please.

- Okay.
- That one goes here.

Of course.

Quite the collection of
impressionists you have here.

Mmm. Pre-, post-, neo-.
All the best prefixes.

I was robbed a few years ago, so I don't
keep anything of value in the building.

Those are reproductions.
That's how I introduce my children.

Oh, do you sail?
I do not.

I have an aversion to boat shoes.
Well, shoes in general,

but boat shoes in particular.
I mean, is it a slipper or is it a shoe?

Come on. Pick a lane.

Is this a model of your boat?

Well, yes, I'm embarrassed to admit it is.

Well, she's beautiful.
Thank you.

I hope to see you soon, Mr. Horan.
Indeed.

Always fondling my boat.

All right. Well, here we go.

$1200.
All right, cool.

Just be mindful of the bees
in the back. You feel me?

That honey's all yours, baby.

Hi, Andy. Still miss me?

Yes, my love, so much.
But you know what I found out?

The Countess's brother,
he's been to prison.

He's a thief. I bet you he
stole all the paintings for her.

You know, Andy, I know you don't
like the Countess very much,

but she was very charming when I met her.

Where are you?

I'm in a Ford Econoline van

that I'm about to go get painted.

Oh, Andy, Horan says
he could get the Picasso.

Oh, Fletch. You must get it.
It's my father's only hope.

Well, I'm sure the Italian police are
working around the clock on this case.

-Or at least near a clock.
-Do you know where the painting is?

Horan says he doesn't keep
any art at his building,

so I'm gonna stake out his house
the next couple of nights.

See if he goes anywhere to get the Picasso.

You need to steal that
painting back, Fletch.

A-All of them, if you can.

Maybe you should get a gun, just in case.

You must know a lot of criminals.

-Yeah. Andy, I have to call you back.
-What? Fletch!

Whatcha doing?

Um...
Nothing.

Where's your permit?

Geez. Of course.
I knew it. Unreal.

I'm gonna get out of here.
Unless I'm under arrest,

in which case, I'm listening very
carefully to your instructions,

because we all know how that shit goes.

Oh, no, no, no.
Look, I may have come across wrong here.

I'm Mike Wahlberg. Mikey Mike.

I'm with the City League Arts Project,
the CLAP.

- The Clap?
- I know.

Trust me.
We're workshopping the name,

but our mission is to discover and
celebrate some of the young artists

here on the streets of Boston.

But who's gonna see your work here?

My aunt takes this way to work, so...

Right, here's what I can do for you.

See that van?
You can paint the whole van.

Then, when I drive it around,
people can see your creation.

Sounds sketchy.

Well, look, I understand
you might not want to trust

a white guy driving in an unmarked van

who likes to have conversations with
young people, but I tell you what.

I can give you $300 cash.

You're not making this
sound any less sketchy, bro.

It's for supplies and labor.

You trust us?

You're artists, right?

If you don't use that van as your mobile
canvas, you're just cheating yourself.

I don't know what all that white man
nonsense was, but you got a deal.

Fantastic.
All right, I will be back here, right here.

Two days. The whole van painted.

Make sure you sign it,
so the world knows who did it.

Okay. What was your name again?

What did I say?
You're asking us what your name is?

Be inspired.

Five stars, my friend.

Hey!

Oh, fuck! Fuck me.

Oh, sorry. Oh my-- Oh!

It's not cracked.
Good for you.

-I just got it fixed. Hi.
-Hi.

Are you the guy staying
in Owen's townhouse?

Yes, uh, Fletch.

Eve.

Hello, Eve.

Did you murder that girl?
No, I didn't.

Did you?
No.

Did Owen?
Who knows?

He has a lot of ladies up there,
but they usually leave alive.

So what else can you tell me about Owen?

Oh, you want to know more about Owen?

Sure.

- Do you, uh...
...smoke?

-Every now and again, sure.
-Okay, well, you should come over.

I live right next door.

Eve, I am under suspicion
of committing murder.

- How do you know I'm not
just gonna strangle you?

Fletch, you're so naughty.

Okay, let's go, Mr. Boston Strangler.

My-- My contacts are in the wrong eyes.

Here we go.

Okay, we are home.

Oh, the power's back on.

I guess my check didn't bounce.
That's good.

Mignon, are you ready?
It's time for dinner. We have a guest.

Glad I tidied up earlier.

I hope you like music, Fletch.
Mmm.

Did you want your keys?

I'm starving.
I'm gonna heat something up.

Are you hungry?
Oh, no, I ate yesterday.

Matzo ball soup.

So what's Owen's story?

What's he do for a living?

He's from a very wealthy family,
so he doesn't really have a job,

but he's tried his hand
at a lot of different things.

Um, yeah, for a while
he wanted to be an actor,

but he didn't really know how to act,

so he started a restaurant that went
out of business before it even opened.

Then he invested in a hotel
that never opened,

and now he's an art broker.

You seem to know a lot about Owen.

Yeah.

Mignon!

Oh, geez.

Wow. That is a lot for a little dog.

She pees when she's hungry.
I do the same thing.

Owen goes to Europe a lot,
and I feed his fish when he's gone.

They're all named after artists.

Picasso, Rothko, Frida Kahlo.

Owen and I are friends.
I never want to say anything bad about him,

but he is very pretentious.

Hmm.

Mignon, you want some chicken?

You want chicken?

This townhouse is broken up into condos

and I've lived here the longest,

before the rich people moved in upstairs

and started the "no pets" rule.

They said I could keep Mignon, but when
she died, I couldn't get another dog,

but the joke's on them,
because this is my third Mignon.

When one dies, I just get another
one that looks exactly the same.

And they think I have a 25-year-old dog,

because rich people are so oblivious.

Like, I don't know what it is.

People get a bunch of money and-- Oops.

- Your scarf was on fire.
- Oh, thank you.

Yeah, I hung out with Owen
a lot this last year,

when his wife left him.

I kind of became his quasi-shrink.
We talked a lot.

He'd come down here.
We'd smoke. He'd cry.

I've been through divorce.
Yeah.

That's how I got this apartment.
Oh.

Well, it wasn't really divorce.

He died on the toilet,
but nobody wants to hear that story.

No, we sure don't.

But Owen is divorced?

Um, not officially.
Whoa. Okay.

His ex Tatiana,
she's making it complicated.

I don't want to say
anything bad about Tatiana,

but she's a detestable person.

She calls herself a lifestyle curator,
a thought leader.

What is that?

Not familiar with it.

Owen financed her company,

now she wants to cut him out

and she wants full custody of their child.

Huh.
Owen is a good dad.

Tatiana really, really, really...

Just-- Just be careful.

...really sucks. Oh.

Yeah, you got it.

You got it right in the thing there. Oops.

I mean, Tatiana is hot if
you like that sort of thing.

That's-- That's gonna-- Ooh.

But she is so mean to Owen.

People are weird.
They like being treated like shit--

-Please, just-- Good Lord.
-Oh.

-I really cut myself.
-Yeah, you did.

Put some pressure on that. The knife
was so sharp, I didn't even feel it.

Put-- Wrap it up.

Anyway, that's Owen's story.

And there's more stuff,

but I don't wanna betray his trust.

Please, I totally understand.

Drinking a lot.

-Hard drugs.
-Ooh.

I don't want to say which ones.

It's like Percocet, Oxy, Molly.

Drugs are no way to deal with your problems.
No.

It sounds like you really care for Owen.

What? That is personal.
Just a habit. I ask a lot of questions.

I used to be an investigative reporter.
I am not in love with Owen.

I never said you were.
You didn't?

-No.
-Oh. Well, I...

Okay. I thought maybe that's what you said.

Mignon, get your foot out of this pan.

Yeah, that's the pan.
That's the one.

Really? You're gonna-- Yeah.
You're gonna eat that?

Maybe not that piece.
Yeah, well, not this one.

This one's bloody.
Mm-hmm.

Yup.
Sorry.

So Owen didn't kill that girl,
but they are gonna suspect him.

Why are they gonna suspect him?

Well, he got arrested a few months ago.

Oh, no.

I probably shouldn't tell you that.

Well, what, uh--
What happened?

Well, okay.

Whoa. More fire. More fire.

Oh, it'll burn off.

Um, so there's this banker that lives on
the fourth floor, he's kind of a dick.

He and Owen got in a little fight.

Really?
And why was only Owen arrested?

What is this?
Woodbird and Bernstein?

Almost.
Owen is a good guy.

I'm not in love with him.

Matzo ball soup?

You know what,
as much as I would love to eat,

-I-- I really have to be going.
-Oh.

But if you hear anything else about
the murder, you let me know, okay?

Sure, Fletch.
Okay.

Bye-bye, Mignon.

God, again?
What is this? The battery?

Mignon, shush.

I got it, Fletch.

Mignon!

See ya, Fletch.

PETA is not a big fan of this idea.

They balance their body
temperatures through their skin.

That's why pigs like to roll
around in mud or puddles

to cool off on warm days.

They have very few sweat glands

and they don't release body heat
through sweating like we do.

So, the saying "sweating like a pig"
is, like, total bullshit?

Well, that phrase actually comes
from smelting of iron ore to...

Okay.

Good evening, Inspector.

What brings you to Back Bay, Mr. Fletcher?

You know, I just love listening
to podcasts in my car.

Particularly interesting one on pigs.

Did you know they don't sweat?

And they have the longest
orgasms of any mammal.

Would you mind stepping out of
the car please, Mr. Fletcher?

Okay, but I'll only stay
for two or three insults.

Four, max.

This is a nice car for a broke asshole.
That's one.

No one seems to remember you from
the Warren Tavern last night.

I don't remember any of them either.

Come back with me to police headquarters.

I still have a few more questions.

You know, I would love to, uh,

but I'm meeting the head of the
Tharp Foundation for dinner tonight.

You can either come voluntarily
or I can arrest you.

I get it.

You want my help.
Okay. How'd you find me?

We police get to keep
some secrets, Mr. Fletch.

And those civil liberties are so pesky.

Hi, Griz.
Hello.

Did you miss me?

No.

Hey, guys, is there a way we
can call in a coffee order?

I'd kill for a macchiato.
Not literally.

Nice job, Griz. Four stars.
Your back seat's filthy.

Anybody up there watching live?

They gotta hear about pig orgasms.
Pig what?

Don't-- Don't--
Don't encourage him.

You should Google it, Griz.
You would not be disappointed.

So what do we know about this victim?
Like we're gonna tell you.

Laurel Goodwin's from Worcester.

Was living in Allston with two roommates.

Worked at a Cambridge Café as a barista.

W-We're telling you.

Ms. Goodwin was pursuing
a career in the art world.

- Hmm.
- Interesting connection.

Well, I either just walked into a frame up

or, uh, somebody from my past
is trying to get revenge on me.

Who hates you?

Besides Griz.

Well, I did put quite a few
prominent people away

when I was a very famous reporter

at the News Tribune in Los Angeles.

I looked into your criminal record.

And?

Bad check charge.

Two contempt of court charges.

A number of non-payment of alimony charges.

100 percent of most of
those were dismissed.

You're a bit of a shady
character, Mr. Fletcher.

But I am adorable.

Come on, guys. Look, all of the
pertinent information isn't even in yet.

Did you even talk to or interview this--
this next-door neighbor, Eve?

I mean, she had some very interesting
thoughts about Mr. Tasserly.

When I showed Eve a picture
of Laurel Goodwin,

she said that she remembered
seeing her the night of the murder.

With a man who fits your description.

Well, Eve is a stoner.
I wouldn't trust anything she has to say.

We found your fingerprints
on the wine bottle.

So?

It's the murder weapon.

Huh.

Minute traces of hair and
blood from that young woman.

You guys, look, that bottle was
left on top of a welcome note

for me as a gift.

It was set up that way
so I would have to pick it up.

What note?

Oh, God, I forgot to give you it.
Here. I still have it.

Withholding evidence.
Not suspicious at all.

"Mr. Locke"?

My pen name. Ralph Locke.

Sounds made up.

It's a pen name.

"Enjoy your stay."

Yeah, Griz, you better run that
down to forensics, tout de suite.

Oh, are you Ferberizing?
Is that why you're tired?

Yeah, yeah, we are actually.
We're Ferberizing him.

I never knew any creature
on earth could just cry so much.

But it's gonna be so worth it
when Charlie can self soothe.

Cute!

She's not wrong,
but you have to stick with it.

You shook a police tail today.
You rented a fast car.

Your fingerprints are on the murder weapon,

and someone matching your
description was seen with the victim.

I could arrest you.

And we're not going to arrest him?

Who wants to do that paperwork?
Am I right?

If you did it, Irwin, I will catch you.

I don't like people calling me Irwin.

Dang! Pigs have crazy long orgasms!

Hey!

Hey!

Fuck!

Hey!

Ow.

-I'm here to--
-No.

Yes.

Okay.

Bye.

I'm here to see Frank Jaffe.

Do you have a meeting?
No, just tell him Fletch is here.

Is that a first name or a last name?

Just Fletch.

Just Fletch?

Cool.

Larry, you let this prick in?

Hi, Frank. Thank you.

"Brown Out."
Septic tank explosion.

I get it. Very clever.

Did the Pulitzer committee see this?

Fuck you.
You still owe me money.

What? No, I don't.

Yes, you do.
For what?

For charging a fuckload of
ridiculous shit to the News Tribune

and leaving town.
I had to pay for it.

- You rented a fucking carriage horse.
- Language.

I paid you back.
No, you didn't.

I apologized for not paying you back.

No, you didn't.
Well, I meant to.

Listen, where is everybody?
They're still working from home.

Can you believe it?
The fucking babies.

The place is like a silent retreat.

And these goddamn millennials,
they're so respectful.

I can't tell you how much
I fucking hate this place.

You didn't bring anybody from LA?

Just Pete who does The Jumble.

Hey, Pete!

Hey, Fletch.

Jesus.

I hate Pete too.
Mr. Excitement.

What do you want, Fletch?

Can I talk to you in your office?

My office is a fucking goldfish bowl.

I can't even scratch my nuts in there.

Let's go to my real office.

But you can't wear that hat.
They'll chop your fucking head off.

What brings you to Boston?

'Cause if you're looking for a job at
a newspaper, you're a fucking idiot,

but I could use you.

I have retired from reporting.
Oh, good for you.

Mmm. Do you happen to know if luxury rental
cars have hidden GPS trackers in them?

They do. In case people steal them.
Why?

Well, the police are following me around.

Oh, good. I hope it's for something serious.
I need a pick me up.

First night I'm here,
I get accused of murder.

What?
Wait, the girl on the south end?

That's the one, yes.

Uh, you ever come across
this Detective Morris Monroe?

He seems to think that I'm the culprit.

Really? Yeah, he's a smart guy.

His father was a cop.
He's from Dorchester.

Uh-- They call him "Slow Mo Monroe",

because he, uh, takes so long
to solve cases,

but he solves a lot of cases.

You think you could pull some strings

and, uh, find a police
report on someone for me?

No, Fletch. No way.
Way too big an ask.

Oh. Just be a real shame
if Daphne found out

that you defiled Clara Snow in the
supply closet all those years ago.

I mean, especially in today's climate.

-Mmm.
-You were her boss.

First of all, it wasn't the supply closet.
It was the copy room.

And it was a bilateral defiling.

Are you really trying to blackmail me?

Kinda.

-You wouldn't.
-No, you're probably right.

On the other hand,
I am still under suspicion for murder.

Whose police report?
Owen Tasserly.

Write it down, you old lush.

He was arrested a while back for something.
I don't know what.

But I think he might be
the actual murderer.

I'll see what I can do.

Thank you.

But hey, if you did kill that girl,
do the right thing.

And give me an exclusive.

Almost great seeing you again,
Frank.

Just glad you kept your fucking shoes on.

Uh, hi, is this Tatiana Tasserly?

Yes, uh, it's Frank Jaffe.

I'm the style editor
over at the Boston Sentinel.

Listen, we were thinking
of doing a little piece

on Boston's top lifestyle curators

and your name was on the top of our list.

I know.

Well, that's just wonderful.
I would love to do that.

I want a room to tell a story

and all the pieces are the characters.

I wanna feel like I'm in the
middle of a conversation.

Between inanimate objects.
Right.

Genius.
Oh, my gosh, and this thing?

Oh--
This idea of the branch in the vase?

I have--
How do you come up with this?

-I-- I've only seen branches on trees!
-Right. I know.

I'm really giving it a moment,

which lures the eye to this gorgeous table.

And I got this, Frank,
from a convent in Cuba.

Wow. Those Cuban nuns must be very proud.

Right?

Even if they don't have
anywhere to eat anymore. Huh?

Every single piece I curate is bespoke.

Ooh. Bespoke.
I love that word.

What does it mean again?

Bespoke?
Bespoke.

-Uh, it's when an object bespeaks. It...
-Right.

...be-talks.

It-- No, wait.

It be-teaches us something about ourselves.

Wow. Thank you.
Yeah.

I think I have my pull quote.

I mean, so many people, Frank,
are trapped in a world of sameness.

I just want to surround them
with beautiful things.

Beautiful clothes.
Beautiful food.

Don't you just hate people who
are too poor to afford beauty?

Um...

The worst.

Well...

Anyway, you're currently separated
from your husband, Owen Tasserly.

Yes. Yeah. Yeah.
Okay.

Uh, now, is he still co-owner
of Chez Aesthetica?

We had an evolved
and harmonious disuniting.

And he decided to leave the company.
Hmm.

Now, I-- I'm sure you heard of the
unfortunate incident at his townhouse.

The-- The murdered woman.
Yikes.

We've been reporting on it in the paper.

We were totally shocked, of course, um...

Well, Owen's been away traveling in Europe.

Right.
So...

I'm always looking for ways
to actuate the senses, so--

Yeah, of course,
but if I could just follow up.

You would make me kind of
a hero back at the office,

if you could give me any kind of clue

as to who might have committed that murder.

Frank, sorry, I can't help you there.

Um...

But Owen can be so irresponsible.

So many people have keys to that house.

His housekeeper, his trainer,

his pothead neighbor who feeds his fish,
and God knows who else.

Why doesn't he just change the lock?

Frank, I have told him a million times.

Owen can be such a fucking idiot sometimes.

Hmm.

I'm so happy you're here, Frank. Such a fan.

- More water.
- Your Negroni.

- Oh, Grazie. Grazie.
- Some olives.

Ah, thank you.

It's so nice.

Ah, Fletch, you're late.

Can I get you a drink?
Yes, please.

A vodka gimlet.
Thank you very much.

The staff seems very smitten with you.

Fletch, I am not going to have
any of your American double-talk.

I want truth.
Where are my paintings?

Well, see, here I thought they
were the Count's paintings.

Oh, the Count is dead.

How do you know this?

I know in my heart.
The pain I feel.

You and Angela think

I was only with my Menti,
my pequeno javali, for money,

but this is lies.

Pequeno javali?

Mmm.
"Little boar" in Portuguese.

I am half Brazilian,
also half Italian and half French.

That's, uh--
Huh.

Uh-- And what is the Countess doing here
in Boston in this very expensive hotel?

Thank you very much.

I come to stop you.

I know that you and Angela
plan to rob my paintings.

Confess, Fletch.

I'm sorry, how do I know that,
uh, you didn't take the paintings?

Or have the Count kidnapped or murdered?

I loved my Menti.
I would do nothing to harm him.

I did not steal the paintings.

Fletch, if I murder anyone,
I will murder you.

Now, Fletch, come up to my room.

I have something to show you.

Well, that's not gonna happen,
Your Highness.

Fine. I go up and come back to show you.

Order me another drink.

Grazie.

Okay.

Morris, I thought I'd stop by.

I couldn't--
He just came here.

You're enjoying this, aren't you?
Very much so.

It's quite satisfying.
What? No day care today?

My wife had a doctor's appointment.
My nanny is, um, indisposed.

It's her support dog's birthday.

Is that dog registered anywhere?
I'd love to send it something.

Okay, look, are you here to confess?

No, but I did have some
ideas about the case.

Goddamn it! We are not working
on this case together, Irwin.

Come on, just hear me out.
What is happening?

What?

Hands can parade around naked all day,

but God forbid you show a few toes?

Now, come on.
Let's talk about the suspects here.

Number one.
Tatiana Tasserly, Owen's ex-wife.

-Who you dropped in on today.
-Yes, I did.

Maybe she didn't know Owen was out of town,
and she wanted to frame him.

- Why?
- Acrimonious divorce.

She wants control over the
company that they share

and custody of their daughter.

Tatiana Tasserly was in
yoga class that night.

Vinyasa or Bikram?

We'll get back to that.

She could have hired somebody
to do the job.

Second, Eve, the neighbor.

She has a key to Owen's townhouse,

she feeds his fish while he's out of town

and just happens to be in love with him.
She admitted it to me.

O-Okay. Okay.

W-What you're doing right now,
that's called witness tampering.

You're just begging me to arrest you.

Come on, Morris. You want me on
the outside, so I can solve this thing,

- and then you can take the credit.

It's okay, look at the cow.
Look at Mr. Moo. Mr. Moo.

Daddy's got to talk to
the murderer right now.

The only reason I haven't arrested you yet

is because I enjoy watching you
dig a deeper hole for yourself.

Eve has a motive.
Rejection, jealousy.

I hope it's not Eve though.
I really like her.

Such compassion.

And then, of course, Tasserly himself.

I mean, it is his townhouse.

Tasserly was on a flight to
Paris at 5:27 p.m. that night.

Plenty of time to do a murder
before you get on that plane.

Coroner has time of death at 9:00 p.m.

You're gonna trust a coroner?
They're weirdos.

Tasserly's motive?

He's been a lunatic
since his wife left him.

Oh, and someone broke
into his house last night.

I don't know who it was. Couldn't
get a good look, but he had a beard.

Might have been Tasserly.
He might be back in town.

Owen Tasserly broke into his own house?

Criminal mastermind.

Whoever it was did not want to get caught.

He take anything?
Not that I could tell.

Lakers fan?

What do you think?
What about you?

What do you think?

Charlie, Charlie--
Charlie, I get it.

I'd be crying too if I was a Celtics fan.

Person of interest leaving the building.

Slow Mo, he's getting away!

Watch it, pal.
He'll arrest you at your retirement dinner.

Hey, guy, don't worry.
Monroe's not even sure who shot Lincoln.

Somebody solve a crime.
How about that?

Can you just--

Oh, thank you. Go ahead.
After you. Okay.

Are you--

Uh-- Uh, are we going up?

God bless her.

Hmm.

Oh, he's on the move.

If he crosses the state line,
I want to see where he goes.

Hey, you coming?
No.

"No." Love that.

Hummingbirds have a metabolism
77 times faster than ours.

I got a hybrid diet craze
that's just around the corner.

Mr. Horan. How are you?

- I'm well, thank you.
- Here for the clambake?

No, I'm just here to pick up
some things from the boat.

I actually-- I can't have anything.
I'm allergic to shellfish.

Are you?
Good to see you, Marv.

But I can have corn-- Okay, bye.
Thank you.

I'm allergic to shellfish,
so I can't really have--

Yeah, no.

Okay. Well, see you.

Come on in, Jack.
Save me some corn.

And potato salad.
That's all I can eat.

♪ It's time we bought ourselves ♪

♪ Some tickets out of Frownsville ♪

♪ I see us by a lake in a cabin ♪

♪ That just so happens ♪

♪ To come with a boat for two ♪

♪ Paddle ourselves a rendezvous ♪

Sorry. It's just me, Ronald.

- Everything's okay.
- Hey, Ron.

♪ You can run but you can't hide ♪

Actually, you can hide,
but I will find you.

♪ Some of these days ♪

♪ You're gonna feel so lonely ♪

♪ When you miss my huggin' ♪

Thank you.

♪ And you'll miss my kissin' ♪

♪ You'll miss me, baby ♪

♪ When I've gone away ♪

♪ You'll feel so lonely ♪

Thank you so much.
We're The Hot Sardines.

Wow, what a perfectly beautiful day.

The twin smells of the ocean and
money carried on the summer breeze.

Here's one we call "Meet Me
at the Bottom of the Bottle."

It's about drinking.

Something perhaps some of you
might know something about.

You have, uh, permission to board?

I do. Uh, in fact,
the owner of the boat just texted me

and asked if I could check.

He might have left something on board.

Uh-huh?
Yeah.

And what's the name of the owner the boat?

Oh, Ronald Horan.
Ah.

Yeah, he said he might have
left his lesson plan on board.

Did you know he's a professor?
No, shit.

Ronnie, uh-- He brags about it to everyone.

Yeah.
What's your name?

Uh, Sydney Blake.
Ah.

I'm, uh, Kenton Alfred.

I'm the commodore here of the club.

Hey, your old man isn't
Jefferson Blake, is he?

My uncle.

Ah!
Yeah. That's--

Well, your uncle and I got
into a little mischief...

Oh.
...back at Exeter.

We once stole a homecoming float

and-- and crashed it
right into a goal post.

-We were a little, uh, stewed.
-Oh, yeah. Sure, sure.

Nothing like a little consequence-free
fun for the rich, huh?

How is the old the guy doing these days?

Oh, you didn't hear?
No, uh-- We lost uncle Jeff.

No, no.
I'm sorry, what happened?

Yeah, he swam right into
a-- a boat propeller. Yeah.

Oh, no.
Yeah.

Uh, just basically, you know, pureed him.

Oh, good Lord!
Just a mess.

He just looked like sauce.
It was not great.

Oh.

Well, see you around.

Mr. Fletcher.

Morris.

Are you really an inspector?

The mayor bestowed that special rank on me

after I solved the murder
of a city council woman.

She got stabbed multiple times with
an ice pick in her own bathtub.

I mean, I guess if you work in politics,

you probably do have
to take a lot of baths.

We obtained surveillance footage
from a store around the corner.

Where the fudge is made?

And the footage shows Laurel
Goodwin walking with a man

whose height and build
is very similar to yours.

Well, that doesn't rule out
Tatianna or Eve,

or anybody really hiring
someone to do their dirty work.

Did you see his face?

He was wearing a purple hat
with a yellow logo.

Exactly like the one on your head.

You fucking with me?
Come on.

Be honest, Morris.
Are you fucking with me?

Mr. Fletcher, when have you
ever known me to fuck with you?

Okay. Well, I-- I see that, sure,

but it's probably a Minnesota
Vikings hat, you know?

Any theories?
Yes.

Irwin Maurice Fletcher,

you're under arrest for the
murder of Laurel Goodwin.

Come on now! That's--
You're not playing fair.

Can you do me a favor?
Read me my rights in Italian.

I've been working really hard on it.

Let's go.
Okay, ow.

Andy, it's me.

Oh, I'm glad you're awake.
Listen, I need--

You're what?

Oh. Well, in that case,
I'm really glad you're awake.

Yes, what aren't you wearing?

Oh, goodness.
You woke up in a very naughty mood.

What?
No, I don't need a reason to call you.

I was just calling. I happen to be
calling you, you know, to hear your voice.

And I need you to bail me out of jail.

Come on, Griz.
Is this about the bus?

It was nothing personal.

You're free to go.

How can I make it up to you?

Are you set for luggage?

I'll let you take me to dinner?

I'd rather throw myself into Boston Harbor.

Seems extreme.

Go, Lakers.

-Hey.
-I got that police report you wanted.

I just emailed it to you. It's encrypted.

- Oh, good. Uh, what's the password?
- Go fuck yourself.

Frank, don't be an asshole.

Okay.

Fletch, how dare you abandon
me at the hotel yesterday?

The Countess de Grassi has never
been left alone at the table.

Countess, what are you doing?

Ah, you were right.
The hotel is too expensive.

I can't get Menti's money.

Everything is all freezed.

Uh, why did you come here?

Why should the Countess de Grassi
stay in a too expensive hotel

when her almost son is here

in this nice big townhouse

near very good shopping--

You can't stay here.

What would poor dead Menti say

if he know the Countess
is in some fleabag hotel?

Hmm?

No. No happy.

Now, Fletch, where is my room?
I'm sorry. I--

You know, I came here to work.
You're just gonna be in the way.

Oh, you bet your big cock
I'm going to be in the way.

I am going to keep an eye on you.

Okay, you can stay one night,

and then we're gonna look for
a nice mid-range hotel for you.

What is this "mid-range"?

Now come, Fletch. Come. Sit.

I now show you what I want
to show you at the hotel

when you leave me with il conto.

I found this at the villa.

Photos. Angela's photos.
Hmm.

Did you know Angela went to university

here in Boston for a year?

No, it never came up.

Hmm.
Do you know who that is?

Turn it over.

Owen Tasserly.
Did you know they were friends?

She might have mentioned it.
Oh.

Andy made all the arrangements.

Fletch, listen to the Contessa.

Angela cannot be trusted.
Why is she not here?

She's trying to find
her father, your husband.

Oh, Fletch. Fletch.

I know this is so bad news for you.

Now, where is the shower?

You want to take a shower?

No, I want you to take a shower.
You stink.

I make drinks.

Countess, do you mind?

Fletch, I found a dead fish in your tank.

Okay, well, we'll light a candle for it.

-Now, could you please--
-Oh, Fletch, I am so sad.

My Menti is dead.

My chiromante tell me the
kidnappers have killed him.

Where did all your clothes go?
What is the chiromante?

How do you say?
Uh, is a fortune teller.

She tell me they take my Menti,
they put him in a coffin,

they fill it with cats,
and they bury him alive.

Is horrible, no?
Well, it sounds very implausible.

Fletch, is no time for a wisecrack.

My Menti is allergic.

Now, shall I make us negronis?

Sure.
Okay.

Go buy gin, vermouth, campari and oranges.

Can I please have the bathroom to myself?

Fletch, you parade around me naked,

but I am not going to sleep with you.

You came in here.

Please do not put too much vermouth

in my Negroni.

Hurry up.

I got eyes on Fletcher.

In the alleyway, headed towards
your end of the street. Over.

Copy that. Roger.

Oh, no! Oh, no!

- You Irwin?
- Call me Fletch.

- Really quite extraordinary.
- Yes, it is.

He's asking 25 million.
My advice is to counter at 20.

Well, okay.
Make that counter.

Fantastic.

Hey, uh, excuse me,

do you happen to know where I
can maybe buy some fireworks?

Yeah, New Hampshire.

Where are you, Fletch?
I called a few times.

My lawyer told me that the fucking
Countess has gone to Boston.

Has she tried to contact you?

I'm coming to Boston tomorrow.
My flight arrives at 5:32 p.m.

Can you pick me up? I miss you.

Ciao, amore.

What the--

The fuck?

It was the teenagers.
They were drinking.

So sorry about your window.

This boat is private property.

- Yeah, I know.
- No one is allowed on but me.

And I am bringing in
my own private security.

Oh, hey. I know the guys
who used to guard Peter Wolf.

Shit.

- The J. Geils Band?
- No.

My security team will be here
within the hour. Thank you.

Come on.
Angel is a centerfold?

I don't know what that is
and I hope that I never do.

How long have you guys done security?

About eight years.

I've never felt the need to have a gun,

because I have sort of an inner calm.

Oh, for--
Let's go check that out.

Let's go.

Uh, I'm coming. I'll--
Sorry. I'll help.

Pretty dark, so be careful, guys.
It's really dark.

-Okay, Marv.
-Thanks, bud.

It's just those same inebriated kids.

Probably just doing pranks, and, you know,
just trying to get hits online.

Trying to go viral.

I've been doing this 21 years.

When I, uh-- When I was 17,
I stopped a burglary at Caldor,

and I kind of was like, "You know,
I think this is the thing for me."

I-- I tripped the guy, but still.

Hey, you guys like J. Geils?
"Freeze-Frame"? "Love Stinks"?

I think Horan's never even heard of them.

I mean, I get you don't know
"Whammer Jammer".

First record.
Who's gonna hear that?

Harmonic instrumental.
I mean, whoa.

But "Centerfold"?

You really need to get some sleep.

Oh, my God.
No, I don't, actually.

Fletch, I told you I not sleep with you.

Countess, this is my bed.
There are three other rooms.

Have you found my paintings?

I wasn't looking for your--
for the-- for the paintings.

I think the wicked Angela
has you under a spell.

For your information,
I'm crazy about Angela.

I'm actually thinking of
asking her to marry me.

Oh, no.

Don't waste your third marriage on her.

Menti was my third marriage, and, oh,
he was my best one yet.

You know, I wish you and Angela
could get to know one another.

I think you would actually be friends.

She hate the Countess.

I think she just doesn't know the Countess.

Fletch, are you trying to seduce me?

That is not at all what's
happening right now.

Okay, Fletch. Okay.

-Maybe only this once. Come. Come.
-Okay.

I'm gonna go to one of the spare rooms.

Hmm. Bravo, Fletch.
Bravo, bravo.

You have passed my test.
Now you can be my son-in-law.

- It's a nice big hairy chest, I see.

You have a nice chest, Fletch.
Thank you.

Morris! Morris! Morris!

Jesus, Griz.
Sorry.

Oh, my God.
I have something for you.

There was an incident last night
at the Mayflower Yacht Club

and these kids,
they were shooting out some fireworks.

And I think that they went
astray onto this one yacht.

Yeah?

The yacht belongs to Ronald Horan.

We found Fletcher parked in
front of the Horan Gallery.

Right.
So do you think that--

This stupid idiot moron
has something to do with this.

Fuck, yes.

Yeah. Fuck yeah! Fuck yeah!

Ow! Oh, ow.

Well, he told me his name was Ralph Locke.

And that's why I wanted to see you.

Be very careful doing
business with Mr. Fletcher.

Thank you, Inspector.
I appreciate that very much.

I missed you, Fletch. Mmm.
Oh.

I missed you, too.
I missed you so much.

Mmm.

Okay. Okay. Sure.

-So, has the Countess tried to contact you?
-Yes.

Shit. What is she up to?

Well, spying on me.

Where is she staying?

At the townhouse with me.

Are you kidding me?

How could you let her stay with you?

She showed up with suitcases.
I can't get her to leave.

Did you have sex with her?

No. I slept in the other room.

I don't believe you.

Andy, why did you lie to me about Tasserly?

What?
What are you talking about?

You didn't tell me you did
a year of college in Boston

and that you knew Owen Tasserly.

Of course I did.
No.

You said you got the townhouse
off a luxury rental website.

Fletch, you're becoming paranoid.

- Listen, I think Owen Tasserly
killed Laurel Goodwin.

He was arrested for bonking
his neighbor over the head

with a very heavy object.
He's violent.

He could have easily bonked
Laurel over the head too.

Owen's not a serial "bonker".

Well, look, he's going through
a hellish divorce.

He's abusing drugs.
He's-- He's a mess.

Yeah.

He told me all about that.
Poverino.

-What? You talk to him?
-Yes, we talk.

He's an old friend.

Does Owen know any martial arts?
What? No.

-Does he have a beard now?
-How should I know?

You just said you talk to him all the time.

You can't hear a beard over the phone.

I don't know.
Maybe you Facetime or send each other texts.

I just got off a very long flight.
I'm very tired.

You're attacking me with
all these questions.

Okay.

Okay. I'm sorry.

Grazie.

- Angela!
- Sylvia!

Fletch, we're gonna cook you dinner.

Okay, listen to this.

Our Ronald Horan is under investigation

for a possible false insurance claim

about a robbery at his gallery.

What is Irwin up to with this guy?

Also, you asked me to search
the Italian papers.

Check that out.

What's it say?

Oh, in English.

Fletcher's at a press conference about
a kidnapping of the Count de Grassi,

father of Angela de Grassi.

Andy Angela.

And the kidnappers are
demanding a Picasso painting

from the Count's collection as ransom.

But Angela's saying that
the painting's been stolen.

Hmm.

So, are we gonna bring Fletcher in?

Not yet. Keep looking.

Okay.

Wait a minute.

-Just like family, we are together.
-Mmm.

If only Menti were here.

Dear papa.

Oh, grazie.
Mm-hmm.

Mmm. I'll get it.

Who is it?
No one you know.

-Is it someone I know?
-Fletch, set another place.

- Owen!
- Angela.

Come into your own house.
Ciao, amore.

This is my boyfriend
who's been staying here.

And Sylvia, my stepmother.

I know. I know.
We look like sorelle. Sisters.

Uh-huh.

Quite an art collection you
have, Mr. Tasserly.

Thank you.

-That my shirt?
-No. Maybe.

-Owen, you are an art dealer, no?
-I'm an art broker.

-You study any martial arts by any chance?
-Muay Thai.

Muay Thai.

Look, I owe you a big apology
about the other night.

What? What happened?

I let myself in because I
needed something urgently.

I honestly assumed nobody would be
staying here after there was a murder.

I didn't know it was you,
or I wouldn't have done that.

-What did you do?
-Oh, he kicked my ass.

Uh...

What did you need so urgently?

Some medication.

Medication? For what?

Um... It's a rare disorder.
Segegenisis.

It's-- It's--
It's a stom-- stomach thing.

It's a--
You get it from eating too much...

porridge.

Owen, come on.
Tell us the truth.

Fine. I snuck in to get a bottle
of Oxy I had in the drawer.

Oh.

I flew back from Paris early
because I know I need to get help.

But I was weak, okay?

Did you come here tonight to see me

or to look for more Oxy?

Can't it be both?

Ay.
Owen, you're going to rehab.

Anything else you want
to tell us about, Owen?

-Where are my paintings?
-What is she talking about?

Is the Picasso here?

- Sylvia.
- What?

-Come on, you're being ridiculous.
-No.

Owen knows nothing about the paintings

that you and your criminal brothers stole.

There it is.

Ladies. Ladies.

Ah, Rothko.
Oh, Lee Krasner. Miró...

Ladies.

- Ladies.
- Where's Frida Kahlo?

Owen, who are these loud Italians?

Tatiana, thanks for coming.

Oh, shit.

What? Frank!

Frank? That's Ralph.

He's the guy who's been renting my place.

He told me he's Frank Jaffe
from the Sentinel.

Then he came over and interviewed me.

- So there is an explanation.
- Uh-huh.

You came over to my wife's house
pretending to be a journalist?

Well, I was a reporter of some repute.

-What are you playing at, bro?
-What is going on here?

Okay. A lot of balls in the air right now.

-Fletch, what did you do now?
-He killed Frida Kahlo.

I knew you were a phony.

A style editor?

He doesn't even know
what bespoke means.

-Doesn't even know what bespoke--
The fuck, dude!

You better be able to explain yourself.

- Okay. Well, it's not a short explain--

Jesus! Fuck!

All right.
You have got to stop hitting me!

I'm calling the cops on
this piece of shit right now.

Call the cops. Please. Ask for Inspector
Morris Monroe. He's a smart guy.

-You can use my name.
-Which one? Fletch? Frank? Ralph?

- Owen, stop! Stop! Everybody calm down!
- Ow.

Hey, hey, basta.

You! Yes.

Put your phone down. Yes.

Let's all take a breath.
Listen to me.

Fletch has been investigating the murder.

I'm sure that's why he
was at your house, Tatiana.

Oh, wow. What smells so good?

Wow. Are you guys doing a seder?

Eve, you're here.

-Who is this?
-Of course you're here.

- Why are you here?
And who is this?

I don't know.

We met on the street.
He asked to come up and see you.

- I let him in.
- Cool.

Are you Irwin Fletcher?

Yes, I am.

Whoa!

I mean, no, I'm not.
I always get that wrong.

My name is Bart Robinson.

I was engaged to marry Laurel Goodwin.

Okay. Hey, buddy.
No one's getting shot today.

Let's get you sobered up, huh?

-Get some coffee in you. This is Sylvia.
-Please. You come to Sylvia.

-She's gonna get you some nice food.
-I'll make you a plate of food.

- We'll be okay.
- What kind of food?

Get you a bite to eat.
We're gonna take care of ya.

What is that?
Owen, is that Oxy?

I have a prescription.
Right now? Really?

Owen, I told you.
Booze and pills, it's a bad road.

-People love you, Owen.
-Oh, Eve.

- Oh!
- Owen!

Owen, you didn't sign the fucking paper!

That dog is make pipí on the carpet.

Oh, yeah. She's hungry.

Um, I have to go.

- Wait, what? Why?
- Ah, bravo.

Fletch, this is something
I need to do right now.

And I will not be cross-examined.

-Let it out, buddy.
-Yes.

Let it out. Let it out.

You are being impossible.

This is delicious.

Are you really not gonna tell me anything?

Andy, don't do this.
You're on thin ice, Fletch.

Angela, right?

I'm on thin ice?

God.

Mr. Horan, lovely to see you.

So, uh-- It's last call at the clubhouse.

Oh, well. Better hurry. Yeah, you gotta--
better get in there.

You know, if they're closed, there's--
must be Scuppers-- Cheers. Thank you.

-Hey, Commodore.
-Hey, Ron.

Shit.

You still haven't explained
why you were avoiding me.

I was not avoiding you.
I was trying to protect you.

You lie some fucking bullshit!

Do you really expect me to believe that?

Angela, I told you.
I am under investigation.

People are watching my every move.

Oh, come on, Ronald!

You could have found a way to let
me know you sold two of my paintings!

- Oops.
- What on earth is...

Mr. Locke.

Fletch?
Hi.

What are you doing here?

You know, I was worried.
I'm a-- I'm a worrier.

You don't need to worry.
The paintings are here.

We can save Menti.

Come on. You're like a wet dog.

Stupid shoes.

Ronald was my professor in Harvard.

He was also my lover.

Okay. You know what?
Don't look so proud.

She doesn't have the
best record at picking guys.

So, you stole the paintings
and gave them to him to sell?

They're rightfully mine.

But before I met you,

Ronald stopped returning
my calls or my emails.

So I was surprised when you
told me he had sold two paintings.

I always intended to
keep my bargain with you.

I was just very concerned
that I was being surveilled.

I'll take your word for it, Ronald.

I did a little digging, you know.

It would appear that
your father's art collection

was all looted during World War Two.

If they belong to anyone,
it's probably the Italian Republic.

Okay, wait.
Was Owen Tasserly in your class?

Yes.
We were both in Ronald's class.

Why does that matter?

What is your obsession with Owen Tasserly?

You lied to me about Tasserly,
and I think I know why.

-What are you talking about?
-Owen goes to Europe all the time.

So he clearly helped you steal
the paintings from your father's villa.

Then Laurel Goodwin found out
and he killed her.

But instead of turning
Tasserly in for that,

you decided to let me take the fall.

Because all you care about
is your paintings.

There's video of Owen and Laurel
on the night of the murder.

The cops thought it was me
because of my Lakers hat.

You're the only one that
knows about my Lakers hat.

So you are an accessory
to murder and a liar, Andy!

And a cold-hearted snake.

What?

Okay.

Uh... Okay, I was wrong.

- Um, you're not the bad guy.
He's the bad guy.

Shit. Can I take this back?
Can I take any of that back?

Put these on.

I--
Okay. Can you--

One second.

Okay, I'm very sorry.
Uh, I was wrong.

And-- But you have to admit
it was a pretty good theory.

-I just missed a couple of--
-Shut up!

Really!

Ronald, what are you doing?

I was in a bad spot.

You shouldn't have sent
Fletch to shake the tree.

Why did you kill Laurel Goodwin?

I researched you, Fletch.

You're a decent investigative reporter.

I couldn't run the risk of you
nosing around in my business.

I needed you out of the picture.

I guess I'm flattered.

Inspector Monroe came to see me today.

That's when I decided I had to
leave the country with the paintings

and tie up the loose ends.

How did you know about my Lakers hat?

Mmm. Murderers get to keep some secrets.

Now, put on the handcuffs.

You weren't planning to take us
out to sea and tie us up together

and push us overboard, were you?

I was already prepared to
commit one murder tonight.

What makes you think I won't commit two?

Oops.

Ronald, stop this bullshit!

Yeah!

Shh, shh, shh.
You raise your voice again,

I'll just put on some very loud music.

Can I pick it, please? 'Cause the EDM...
Just anything else.

- Dixieland, jazz...
- ...bluegrass.

Put on the handcuffs, asshole.

You're sick!

He hasn't had a cold in over 20 years.

- I should shoot you now.
- Ronnie!

-Help!
-Help! He's got a gun!

Ronnie! What the hell
are you doing down there?

Ah!

Oh, no!

Hi, Fletch.

Uh, hi.

Uh, so, the Scotch
should be a fine single malt.

Again, it's a hospital,
but we'll see what we can do.

What about beer?

Edibles make me gassy.

Horan's boat is that big green...

Turned into a pretty nice night.

From a weather standpoint.

Sorry. No paintings.

What? No, no, no. That can't be.

We checked everywhere.

We cut open the mattresses,
ripped out the paneling.

There are no paintings on that boat.

That is impossible.

Wait.
Uh, how did you find me here?

Well, when there was
the incident here last night,

I put together that Horan owned the boat

and that we found you
parked in front of his gallery.

Well, I put that together.

Well, yes, I--
I know that, Griz,

but when I say I, I mean--
Griz-- Griz put that together.

So I went to see Horan

and there was something about
him that just made me suspicious.

So we did some digging and
found out that he was heavily in debt

and being investigated
for a false insurance claim.

- Mmm.
- Mm-hmm. I also found that.

Griz put that together.
Just saying.

And that's when it hit me.

Us.
Us.

Horan killed Laurel Goodwin.

Went to go arrest him. He wasn't there.

And we had a hunch that he might be here.

How did you connect him to Laurel's murder?

- He's always sanitizing his hands.
- Mmm.

He had the cups for the
ink pens, clean and dirty.

Germophobe.
Germophobe.

So take a look at this right here.
Look at this video.

Look at the very end.

-Oh, look there.
-Uh, what? I don't s--

He jerks his hand back because
she touches his bare skin.

Germaphobe.
Germaphobe.

But that man has black hair.

Found this cheap black hair dye.

So, how did he know who I really was?
That I wear a Lakers hat?

Do you remember a picture of you
from an article from La Republica?

Sure.

Oh...

-I was wearing my lucky hat.
-Mm-hmm.

And I Zoomed with Horan.
Wow, I am an idiot.

Thank you.
Yup. Finally, a consensus.

Okay, but why Laurel Goodwin?
Why her?

Laurel Goodwin was auditing
Horan's class at Harvard.

Horan had installed some art in
Tasserly's townhouse. So, he had a key.

He feigned interest in Miss
Goodwin's career to lure her there.

She was just a convenient victim.

He wanted to frame Fletch.
Oh, God. Poor woman.

That bastard!

He was going to kill me, too.

I'm gonna head back to the station.
Yup.

Well, let me just say I'm glad
that we finally solved this case.

Together.

- We?
- We.

We three.

No.

- Mmm.
- We solved the case.

- Well, we.
- No, no, no, no.

You came barefoot into my office

and woke up my child with a list of
suspects that Horan wasn't even on!

-I don't know about that.
-You got your ass kicked on the boat

and almost got shot in the face.
That's what you did.

I'm gonna go to the car.

I'm gonna miss us.

But you know, only you could
have snuck in a place like this

and been able to just blend in.

They'd never let me in a place like this.

And I'm an inspector.

Yeah, I know.

'Cause you're Jewish.

It's not right.

L'chaim.

Okay, Andy, why didn't
you just come clean with me?

This all would have gone so much
easier had I known the whole story.

I couldn't trust you
with all the information.

Why?

Because, like you said...

you're an idiot.

So you were just using me this whole time?

No, Fletch.

It's just that I fall in love with idiots.

I may be an idiot,
but I saved your life.

You didn't.

That girl, she saved both of our lives.

Well--
What was her name?

Grizzly.

Actually, you know what?
I never did get her...

Hold on one second.

Oh, this is fun song.

Griz, one last thing.

I never got your real name.
I-- I gotta know.

It's Griselda. And I'm not
ashamed of my name, Fletch.

You shouldn't be ashamed of yours either.

Thanks.

There's a lot of other things
you could be ashamed of.

Like your arrogance,
your white privilege, your feet.

Okay, well, um, thank you
for saving my ass, Griselda.

-Mmm.
-And if I could just say--

Hands off the car, Fletch.

The fuck do you want?

Hi, Frank.

You still want that exclusive?

Menti, how are you, my friend?

Buongiorno, Fletch.

How were the Canary Islands?

Ah. You arranged everything splendidly.

Hmm.

Well, it turns out...
...the Countess actually loves you.

She was even able to forgive Angela.

-She's a remarkable woman.
-That she is.

And in Angela's defense,
she didn't know about the murder.

I think she stole the paintings so
the Countess couldn't have them.

I think she resents sharing your love.

Where are the ladies now?

They are spending your money.

Ha!

So I have your paintings in a
van in a garage very near here.

I had a thought.
Why don't you keep them?

You can't be serious.

It is better for my family
if the paintings stay away.

Are you absolutely sure about that?

The paintings are worth roughly...
a shitload.

They were stolen by the
fascisti in the first place.

They always made me feel guilty.

-Grazie.
-Grazie right back to you.

Angela is my daughter.

I can forgive her.
Can you?

Well, I would have,
but she, uh, dumped me.

She dumped you.

Maybe someday I will understand...

...the sex from behind.

Che cosa?

My Italian is very good.

Ah.

-Mio dio!
-Papa?

Sei un visione?

I'm not a ghost, my darling.

Papa!
Ang.

I'm fine. I am fine.

I-- I have a confession for you both.

We make believe my kidnapping,

- so that we--
- Why you do that?

To discover who take the paintings.

- Oh.
- -We decide it's best to...

Slo Mo Monroe.

Don't you have any other cases?

-No, I solved them all.
-Yeah? Mazel.

Oh, I got something for your son.

I was gonna send it to your office.

Huh.

I mean, is that adorable?

My wife will love it.

Did you find the paintings yet?

No, but city and highway cops

are on the lookout for a '98
turquoise Ford Econoline van.

Plates Victor-Gary-2-7-0-Sam.

Apparently registered to an I. M. Fletcher.

I gave that van away, so...

So you're telling me if we stop that van,

we're not gonna find
the Count's stolen paintings?

You are one relentless guy, Morris.

You would have made a good reporter.

Mm-mmm, no.
I don't know who people hate more.

Cops or reporters.

It's cops.

Bye.

Enterprise Exotic Car Rental.

Hi. Yeah. Listen, uh, I had
a family emergency come up

and I can't return the car in person.

So I parked it in an alleyway
right off of Utica there

and, uh, you wouldn't believe it,
somebody stole the license plates.

Oh, my goodness.

So someone can just pick that up.

Well, sir, you're gonna
have to file a police report.

Yeah. I'm sorry. You're breaking--
You're breaking up there.

Menti.

-Countess de Grassi.
-Si?

This came for you.

Only one?

Fletch. You're a piece of shit.

I-- I think that's, uh, Munch.

No way this shit's real.

That's gorgeous, Mignon.

As a boy, Edgar Arthur Tharpe Jr.

covered his walls with pictures
he'd torn out of books and magazines

of cowboys, Indians, buffalo...

- Hi, Frank.
- -Why the fuck did you send me

that ugly fucking painting?

I just threw it in the trash.

You're welcome.

- Where are you now?
- None of your business.

I need you for a story.

There's a shit show going on
over at March News Corp.

Old man March is retiring abruptly

and he's putting his idiot son in charge.

I need you to go to
Chicago as soon as poss--

Let me just stop you right there, Frank.

I am still officially retired
from investigative reporting

and there's no amount of money
that could change my mind.

Well, that's perfect, because this
pays roughly no amount of money.

Come on, Fletch.
Aren't you bored?

Not yet. Bye-bye.

Wait, wait, wait. Don't hang up.

Oh, and that ugly fucking painting,

have it appraised
before you throw it away.

What? What?

- Tay!
- What?

Where's the trash? Give me--

Five stars.