All language subtitles for Murder.She.Wrote.S04E22.The.Body.Politic.1080p.AMZN.DD2.0.x265.HEVC-Bearfish_track3_[eng]

I predict that Kathleen will win.

[Jessica] Tonight, on Murder, She Wrote.

The police found Bud's body in my robe.

We're absolutely clean on this.
Now trust me.

We're also negotiating
with Bud's grieving widow.

If she and her attorney
agree to the bucks,

well, she gets first crack.

Hey, I'm talking dinner here.
Maybe a chance to talk.

He must have gone
from his room to mine, naked.

Surprised?

Nothing about politics surprises me.

I assume he had his own key.

-Jack, please!
-[crowd chattering]

[cheerful orchestral music]

Mr. Speaker, the 23rd district

joins with the 18th and 33rd districts

in unanimous support for the candidate.

Mr. Speaker, the Union
of Federated Office Workers

submit the name of the only candidate

that has the full support
of the Upstate minorities.

A proven leader,
and can deliver the votes.

If my opponent can't find a way

to pay back the $600,000
he owes from his last campaign,

then how can the voters expect him

to do anything about the federal budget?

Well, I certainly wish
I had a millionaire spouse

like Mrs. Lane here.

Perhaps the fairness doctrine

would allow your husband
to help repay my debts.

After all, we're from the same party.

Why does she have to take
all these cheap shots

just because I've got a few bucks?

Oh, Jackson, ought to come out
on the road with us more often.

You get used to it.

Drelinger has read that same bad joke

on the past four TV appearances.

"After all, we're from the same party,"

complete with the ha-ha-ha's.

The man's on the threshold of senility.

Well, the ha-ha-ha's must be working.

My man still leads Kathleen
by ten points in the polls.

Kathleen is closing the gap,
and you know it.

Better get your old boy
some new ad libs, Butterfield.

Yeah, and some fresh 3x5 cards.

In the few moments that we have left,

Mrs. Lane, this morning's
Daily Post alleges

that you and Bud Johnson,
your campaign manager,

were becoming--

well, how shall I put it-- involved.

I don't believe this.

Bud Johnson's only involvement
with me is managing my campaign.

Anything beyond
that, is merely malicious gossip.

So you're denying that
the relationship is romantic?

Yes, my campaign director and I

were dancing together last night

in front of 1,000 voters

at the Italian-American block party.

The Post calls it a romance.

I call it the tarantella.

All right. She's on a roll now.

I'm gonna try and answer
some of these calls.

The few hours my campaign
allows me to sleep,

I sleep with my husband...

when he can get out on the stump with me.

There have been persistent rumors.

Mr. Hall, I don't want
to talk about rumors.

It demeans both our professions.

But five years ago

when you were Mayor of your hometown,

stories persisted that you had
an affair with a married man.

Forgive me, Mr. Hall.

What should be put to bed in this campaign

is gossip, not me.

Well, I'm sorry.

I see that's all the time
we have for Face The Issues .

I want to thank both candidates.

Thank you, Edmund.

And, I for one, am certainly willing

to overlook and forget

any of Mrs. Lane's past indiscretions.

This is Edmund Hall.
Have a pleasant Sunday.

Cass? Bud.

Bud. Thank God.

-Sounds like trouble.
-You bet.

-Harold just quit.
-What?

We spent eight weeks wining and dining

the best speech writer in the country--

Man, that really leaves me
hanging out to dry.

Well, I'm working on some alternatives.

-Good. Good. Keep on it.

Listen, Cass,
uh, I just spoke with Gracie,

and she's gonna stay up at the farm

with the kids for a couple of weeks.

Bud, don't start. Okay?

Hey, I'm talking dinner.

You know, maybe a chance to talk.

Bud, you're a nice guy,
but I'm talked out.

Now, what was, was. Now let it alone.

Kathleen, you were wonderful!

Oh, Bud was right.
I should have known better.

I try to deal with issues,

and that muckraking gossip hound,

all he cares about is--

Somebody call me?

Oh, yes. You're supposed to be impartial.

You cut Kathleen off just when
she was about to nail Drelinger.

It's a half-hour show.

I can't spill over into
pro bowling highlights.

Edmund, other than
the blow-dry and some makeup,

just what are your qualifications

to be a newsman?

She danced with the Mayor last night

and half the city council.

Is she fooling around with them, too?

Just be glad I'm focusing
on your wife and not you.

The Post is sifting through
your back taxes,

but did I bring it up?

If you're looking
for old news, dig up Watergate.

I paid every penny back.
It's on the record.

That's wonderful, Edmund.

You've just handed me the winning issue.

I'm going to appeal to every voter

who's ever been audited by the IRS.

Ah, it will be a landslide.

I'll say one thing, Kathleen.

You kiss a lot better
than Arthur Drelinger.

Kate, if you don't mind,
I want to get back to the house.

I want to look at those
condominium estimates tonight.

Well, I wouldn't be
very good company, anyway.

We will see you this weekend in, uh...

Bud. Help.

Where will this wandering
caravan be on Saturday?

Let's see, Lacentra, and, uh...

Holiday Township and Forrest Heights.

Of course, that's just Saturday morning.

Listen, there's a glitch with Harold.

I've got to run and try to iron it out.

I'll see you back at the hotel, all right?

Well, I showed you
the great capitals of Europe.

You can show me the motel capitals

of middle America.

[laughter]

You people have Hall on your payroll,

or does he just have a garbage fetish?

Guy is just doing his job.

Anyway, Kathleen can't overcome
Drelinger's lead.

A bright girl like you--

top 10% of her class at Pendleton--

You of all people should
be able to do the arithmetic.

Oh, what adds up in this voter profile

is that you're falling way behind

among working women and blacks.

When our guy clobbers Kathleen,

and he will,

we're gonna be taking on
some extra staffers

for the main event.

Does that mean that you'll be looking

for a highly visible and bright,
working, black female?

What do you think Kathleen
took you on for, sweetheart?

I can't imagine.

Well, Butterfield.

How do you score the debate?

On balance, I'd say you came off best.

[chuckles]

Did you ever think of going into politics?

Uh, look.

This is strictly on background,
but somebody fed that story

to the post about Kathleen
and Bud Johnson.

The Drelinger camp
would never smear an opponent.

Look, Kathleen Lane is news.

Right now the only story I've got

besides those rumors about her love life,

is how she's closing the gap on Drelinger.

If you guys have got something,

and you give it to me
instead of The Post ,

well, all I can say is,

my sources are always confidential.

Well, we don't deal in dirty tricks.

It smacks of bad sportsmanship.
But we are doing some research.

If something newsworthy does turn up,

you might get a call.

Just make sure I get it first.

If any headline material does turn up,

and I'm not saying it will,

it would come from some anonymous source.

Understood?

Perfectly.

Fletcher, J.B, Mrs.

I'm sorry.

The computer does not recognize you.

When do you say you made
this alleged reservation?

I made it last night in Chicago, but--

You should have a confirmation number.

Every reservation
has a confirmation number.

Yes, well, I told you,
I didn't make it personally.

-It was arranged--
-Jessica?

Kathleen, thank heavens.

You look absolutely wonderful!

Well, so do you.

I'll look a lot better

after I've checked in
and gotten into a hot tub,

if they can find
a tub for me to climb into.

Is there a problem?

Well, they seem to have lost
the reservation

that you made for me.

Good Lord, I told Bud
to make that personally.

Excuse me, uh... Preston?

There seems to be some sort of mix-up.

I would very much appreciate it

if you could arrange to put Mrs. Fletcher

in a room as close to mine as possible.

Of course, if there's anything available.

And you are?

It's been almost four months,
and I'm still Mrs. Anonymous.

Well, I thought
you were coming up in the polls.

Oh, I am. But this is only the primary.

The fact is, if it isn't
a presidential election,

the public interest is on a par
with Saturday night wrestling.

Frankly, if it wasn't for all of the money

that Jackson's poured into my candidacy,

I'd still be a total nobody
instead of a relative unknown.

That sounds awfully cynical.

I hadn't realized

what a big fishbowl I'd be living in.

The press has been having a field day

digging into my personal life.

Not just mine, but Jackson's, too.

Anything for a story.

And the less it has to do
with the issues, the better.

Speaking of the issues, I was delighted

when you asked me
to come here speak for you.

You know, your program
on environmental cleanup

is something that I can really get behind.

I have another little problem.

My head writer quit on me this morning.

And this Friday,

I'm making my most important address

to the state party leaders
right here in the capital.

And it isn't enough that I find a writer

who understands my position on the issues,

I need somebody who knows me,

who won't just be putting words
into my mouth.

Oh, no.

Oh, please, Jess.

Kathleen, if you give me a good,

juicy murder and a few suspects

my imagination will swing into high gear.

But speechifying?

I'm not sure that I could write
on a soapbox.

But that's exactly why I need you.

You can write so movingly.

You won't make me sound like
an oracle on Mount Olympus.

This morning, I tried to ad lib a speech

and almost guaranteed

a group of foreign war veterans
maternity leave.

Sure, you're laughing, but I'm desperate.

Unless you pick up an oar
and start to paddle

I'm afraid I'm going to have
to jump this ship.

Well, we can't have that. All right.

I'll climb on board for a week's worth of

"My Fellow Citizens."

[intercom buzzing]

Yes, Ruth?

A man for you on line one.

This is Edmund Hall.

Are you interested in a story

that will bury one of the candidates?

Who is this?

Call me a "highly placed source."

Is that you, Butterfield?

If you're not interested,
i'll take it to The Post .

Okay. Let's say I'm interested.

The 11:00 bus for Cleveland
is now boarding at gate ten.

[phone ringing]

Hall.

Open the phone book.

What?

The phone book--
find your station's number.

What is this, some kind of joke?

I don't think Kathleen Lane
will be laughing.

Now who is this?

[dial tone]

Bud, see what you think
of this piece so far.

Good. It's good.

Though you might want to soft pedal

this reference to day care
for working mothers.

But in a speech Kathleen gave last week,

she came out for day care.

Yeah, well, that was at a day care center.

The speech you're working on

is for a couple hundred ladies
at a country club,

and they already have day care.

They call her the maid.

[laughs]

How does Kathleen feel about day care?

I mean, really feel?

Beats me. I never asked her.

Hi, guys.

Just left Kathleen
at the senior citizens' center.

And did she come out for long life?

Yeah, that's our position.

Anne, when's Kathleen getting back?

Late.

While she was at the center
the state party chairman called.

He wanted to see her.

She said she was gonna drive

one of the staff cars out to his house.

Maybe he's gonna drop the other shoe

and come out for her.

Yeah, and maybe he's gonna drop

the other show on her
and come out for Drelinger.

Bologna?

No comment.

Here now with the 11:00 news, Edmund Hall.

Good evening.

In the headlines, this campaign exclusive.

A highly-placed source
close to the senate primary

has made available to this reporter

photographs of married
candidate Kathleen Lane

seen here with her also married

30-year-old campaign director, Bud Johnson

at her vacation retreat
at Lake St. Catherine.

According to campaign insiders,

her husband was
out of the country on business

at the time.

This morning's Daily Post alleged...

Mrs. Fletcher.

Did you see Channel 8?

Yellow journalism in living color.

Have you seen Bud? He's not in his room.

No, and Kathleen's not in her room either.

Great! Where are those two?

[sirens wailing]

Okay, okay, get back, get back.

All right, everybody, all right.
Stand back of the barricade.

Stand back of the barricade.

Cass, what's going on?

Oh, Kathleen, he must have
fallen from the balcony.

Mrs. Lane, you have any idea
why Mr. Johnson killed himself?

No.

Did you see the 11:00 news tonight?

No, but my associate, Cass Malone,

told me about
those ridiculous photographs.

The way I see it,

if he saw those photographs on the news,

he knew he had finished your chances.

Lieutenant, we weren't lovers.

No?

Then how come he jumped from your balcony?

Well, that's impossible.

Recognize this, Mrs. Lane?

Yes, that's mine. Where did you get it?

Where did you see it last?

I guess I took it off when I showered.

Lieutenant, where did you
find that bracelet?

In the pocket of the robe
the victim was wearing.

Now, every guest gets a robe.

They're all the same,
but yours is missing.

Now, I don't know
what the victim was wearing

when he left the balcony,

but when he landed,
he was wearing your robe.

Now, Mrs. Lane, you care
to tell us what's going on?

Lieutenant, Mrs. Lane wasn't here.

She's just returned.

Uh-huh.

[phone rings]

Penthouse.

Excuse me, Mrs. Lane. It's your husband.

Take it in the bedroom.

Lieutenant, we found
something across the hall

in the victim's room.

Right.

No, I didn't see the news, either.

Some supposedly flirtatious photographs

of Bud and me alone out at the lake.

As I understand,

some reporter called me
to give me a description.

Look, honey--

I don't want to sound cold,

but you can't let Bud's death
stop your campaign.

Jack, the police found
Bud's body in my robe.

What the hell does that mean?

I don't know.

Traffic's light. I'll be there in an hour.

What's your room number?

1811. No, wait.

The management gave me another room.

Check with the desk.

Oh, and Jackson, please, drive safely.

The victim's pants. The victim's room key.

Something I can do for you, Mrs. Fletcher?

Oh, one of your men said
I'd find you here.

Lieutenant, I think you should have a word

with your fingerprint man.

What's he turned up?

Nothing.

Well, what I mean is,
he didn't find any prints

on the door handle leading to the balcony.

So?

Well, a man doesn't go out
on a balcony to end it all

and wipe his prints off the handle first.

No, I won't give a statement to the paper

until the facts are sorted out.

Mrs. Lane, we just got these on loan

from Channel 8.

It doesn't take a detective to figure out

who stands to gain from this, Lieutenant.

So you and Johnson
weren't at the lake together?

-We were there.
-What are you saying?

Are you saying these are doctored, faked?

Those pictures
are really perfectly innocent.

Look, ma'am,

now we figured he fell between 10:45

and that news broadcast.

Maybe even just
after these pictures were aired.

Where were you tonight?

Me?

Well, I...

Kathleen, weren't you out meeting

the state party chairman at his house?

Mrs. Fletcher, you said
that you were her speechwriter.

Are you also her spokesperson?

Lieutenant, I did go out there.

Actually, I didn't meet with him.

The message I got
must have been fouled up.

I arrived there about 10:30.

I rang the doorbell, nobody answered.

So I climbed back into my car,
waited about a half an hour,

and then I drove back into town.

Did anybody see you?

Yes, I told you. The parking valet.

When I pulled up outside,

Bud's body had just been discovered.

Well, who's to say that

you didn't return to the hotel earlier?

I'm to say.

The hotel has my new room number.

Kathleen, shall I go with you?

Oh, no, Jess, I'll be all right.

Jackson's driving in.

These letters and numbers
mean anything to anybody?

"A.D. 53 / K.L. 46."

They seem to be a poll of some sort.

-Nan?
-That's right.

They're preliminary figures

from a survey conducted this afternoon.

Did you give this to Mrs. Lane
or the victim?

No, what I mean is,

they were phoned in to me at 10:00.

And I brought them right over,
but Kathleen wasn't back yet.

At least, nobody answered when I knocked.

So I slipped them under the door.

Oh, how odd.

That nobody answered?

Maybe somebody
didn't want to be disturbed.

I was wondering
how they got onto this table.

Sure, Bud and I went for a swim.

It was totally innocent.

Kathleen, we've always
leveled with each other.

I'm only going to ask you once...

Jack, I swear, I--

Please, let me finish. It's no secret.

Bud gave his hotel room keys
to every woman... but his wife.

Jack, we weren't having an affair.

I promise you.

That's all I wanted to hear.

Those photographs of Bud and I hugging--

I had just beat him at ping-pong.

He actually started to pout.

I just felt sorry for him.

What was the score?

Twenty-one to three.

You always have to win, don't you?

I'm not so sure I'm going to win this one.

You've done nothing wrong.

Tomorrow you'll call a press conference

and deny everything.

Let's go to bed and get some sleep, huh?

-Quiet please!
-Quiet please.

Quiet.

You'll all have a chance.
She has a statement to make.

Ladies and gentlemen,

I am prepared to make a statement.

Please.

Thank you.

Bud and I were co-workers,
and yes, friends.

But it never went any further than that.

I just wish that he were alive now

to personally refute those charges

and those misleading photographs.

Mrs. Lane, are you going
to stay in the race?

My supporters and my husband
want me to stay and fight.

I'm sure that's what Bud
would have wanted too.

But most important, I want to carry on.

And no amount of press pillory
can make me back out.

Mr. Lane, is it true

that you were out of the country

on the weekend
that Bud Johnson and your wife

spent the day at your summer cottage?

I was away on business in the Bahamas.

But Kathleen told me that
they intended to work there.

Ms. Brown, I have total confidence

in my wife's fidelity.

Score one for the home team.

Thank you.

I would just like to add,
my wife started out a dark horse

some 20 points behind Drelinger.

Now she's closed
to only seven points behind.

I predict that Kathleen
will win come primary day.

Mrs. Lane,

who do you think took those pictures?

Who do you think has the most to gain?

Are you implying Drelinger's
people are behind it?

You said that, Harry. I didn't.

Mr. Hall, suppose you tell us

and your colleagues
just how you got those pictures.

There are shield laws in this state,

and I'm prepared to go to jail
to protect my sources.

Mrs. Lane, first the police said

it was suicide.

Now the word from headquarters
is a loud and clear

"no comment." Would you care to comment?

You know as much as I do, Mr. Hall.

You told the police that
you were away from the hotel

when Bud Johnson died.

That's true.

Then, if you weren't there
to let him into your room,

I assume he had his own key.

Jack, please!

Yeah, it's murder, and yeah,
I think she did it.

But proving it...

I'm not so sure about that.

Meanwhile, she's being convicted

on the front page
of every newspaper in the state.

Hey, she's news. Nobody asked her to run.

You sure you don't want
some coffee, Mrs. Fletcher?

It looks lousy, but--

Oh, no, no, no, thank you. Lieutenant--

The thing is,

this case has a lot of loose ends.

The DA's the kind of a guy
who likes his packages

wrapped up nice and neat.

You know what I mean?

What you mean, is that this case

may never come to trial.

You could say that.

While Kathleen Lane tries
to run for office

with this cloud of suspicion
hanging over her head.

Well, it's better than being
tried and convicted.

Have you considered

that somebody else
may have killed Mr. Johnson

and framed Mrs. Lane
for the express purpose

of destroying her candidacy?

It's crossed my mind.

Well, next time
it starts crossing, lieutenant,

please stop it halfway
and give it some attention.

I have known this woman for 17 years,

and believe me, she is incapable
of deceit or subterfuge.

And she's also incapable
of committing murder.

Sure, she's a friend. I understand.

Oh. It's much more than that.

She's innocent.

And she's not gonna spend
the rest of her life,

political or not,

with people whispering behind her back

that she's a killer.

Not if I have anything to say about it.

Excuse me.

Thank you.

Oh, Mrs. Fletcher!

Edmund Hall, Channel 8.

Yes, news at 6:00 and 11:00.

I'm sure your broadcast tonight
will be quite lively,

since you managed to provoke Jackson Lane

into a near brawl.

How are you planning to lead off?

With a hook or a jab?

If you're in town Sunday,
tune in Face The Issues.

That's my foray into public service.

And news at 6:00 and 11:00 isn't?

Well, my Sunday show's not hard news.

We have on scholars, intellectuals.

That's nice. Excuse me, Mr. Hall.

Look,

if you happen to have a new book out,

I'd love to have you on the show--

unless you're opposed
to tooting your own horn.

Oh, I don't mind selling books, Mr. Hall.

You could even say
a few words about Kathleen Lane.

The longtime friend angle
always intrigues the electorate.

Something personal that
she might have mentioned to me,

like the identity of that doctor

that she was supposed to be seeing

while she was the Mayor?

Well, the public loves a peek

into a candidate's personal file.

No, at times,

it seems that's all
they are interested in.

Look, Mr. Hall, I might--

just might-- consider chatting with you

about my latest novel and other matters

if you will tell me
who gave you those photographs.

You're quite a horse trader,
Mrs. Fletcher.

But the truth is, I don't know.

Oh!

That's why you claimed confidential source

and shield laws, etcetera.

Well, I could hardly tell the truth.

I'm supposed to gather news,

not have it left for me
in bus station lockers

by persons unknown.

Unknown?

Doesn't the name
Arthur Drelinger spring to mind?

All right, I'll level with you.

C.W. Butterfield,
Drelinger's campaign manager

has been beating around the bush.

Said he might have something
newsworthy about Kathleen Lane.

But I can't swear it was the photos.

So do I count you in for Face The Issues ?

I will think about it.

Well, don't think too long.

We're also negotiating
with Bud's grieving widow.

If she and her attorney agree
to the bucks,

well, she gets first crack, naturally.

I'll wait to hear from you.

I just can't believe that
somebody would murder Bud

just to win an election.

Even more disturbing is the fact that

they have gone to considerable
trouble to smear you.

You know what I don't understand is,

if Bud's clothes were in his room,

and he was found dead in my bathrobe,

he must have gone
from his room to mine, naked.

No, I think it's more likely
that he was lured into your room,

killed, and then put into your robe.

Then the murderer took
Bud's clothes back to his room,

using the key that I saw lieutenant Gowans

take out of Bud's trousers pocket.

Kathleen, I can't say
that this has any connection

with Bud's death,

but Edmund Hall has been trying
to pump me about you

and that mysterious doctor.

Hall is a nothing more than
a peeping Tom with a hand mic.

Kathleen...

is there something that
you haven't told me about?

Anything at all?

No, of course not.

Did you talk to the party chairman

about the meeting that you were
supposed to have at his house?

Yes, he said he never called me.

Nan Wynn was the one
who told me he called.

So someone called Nan Wynn

claiming to be the party chairman,

luring you away from the hotel.

Kathleen, where is Nan?

I don't know.

I've been trying to reach her all day.

Where are you going?

What about my speech?

Well, the speech can wait.

Kathleen, I think it's high time
that somebody had a chat

with the source of your troubles.

The issue in this campaign,
friends and neighbors,

is a simple one.

Moral integrity, honesty,
a respect for justice

and a love for the American way of life.

C.W., there's something wrong here.

What is it now, Arthur?

Shouldn't that be "issues," not "issue"?

I mean, here I am, reading off this

laundry list of cliches.

"Simple... honesty... respect for justice"

are slogans, Arthur.

Ideas.

You want to say "issues," fine,

say "issues."

Just try to make it sound sincere.

While you're at it
don't blink your eyes so much.

It makes you look shifty-eyed.

Well, if these lights weren't so bright.

Leo, how's my makeup?
I feel like I'm sweating.

Excuse me, sir?

Yeah?

Lieutenant Gowans, he's outside.

Well, I already told him we didn't slip

those photos to Channel 8.

You want me to have him wait?

Outside, in the chief's anteroom.

Oh, that's a terrific idea.

No, bring him inside!

Okay! Outside everybody!

Five minutes. You're doing fine.

You're doing fine.

-C.W.,
-Yeah.

if we did have anything to do

with those photographs Hall got a hold of,

I don't want to know about it.

Is that clear?

Chief, we're absolutely clean on this.

Now trust me.

Gentlemen.

Lieutenant! So good to see you.

Dreadful business,
this thing with Johnson.

My heart goes out to that poor woman.

Yeah, I just heard on the radio

that a new poll from The Daily Post

says Mrs. Lane just fell
12 points behind you.

Well, you can't say you're surprised.

Surprised?

Nothing about politics surprises me.

If the lady self-destructs,
well, that's her lookout.

I only get involved
if she got a little help.

I'm not quite sure

I understand that remark, Lieutenant.

Well, let me just make it
very clear to you, sir.

Were you and Mr. Butterfield here

between 10:00 and 11:00 Monday night

when Johnson died?

I think I resent that question.

Chief, the lieutenant's
just doing his job.

And obviously, neither one of us
has anything to hide.

The fact is, Mr. Drelinger
was at the Onyx Lodge

from 8:00 till 11:00.

He was receiving the Man
of the Year award.

And of course, I was there.

Eleven, huh?

I heard it was 10:30 when you two left.

I thought it was later than that.

We were in my car at 11:00,

driving Mr. Drelinger to his hotel.

We stayed in your hotel room
till after 12:00.

Wasn't that correct, Arthur?

Yes. Absolutely correct.

Well, thank you.

If I need anything else, Mr. Butterfield,

I'll let you know.

Of course. Trust me.

-Mrs. Fletcher.
-Lieutenant.

That speech you made, kind of got to me,

so I decided to work on those loose ends.

-And?
-Nothing, zip, zero.

Look, if you can do any better,
please, be my guest.

Mrs. Fletcher, what a surprise.

I know you must be very busy,

but I wonder if you could
spare me just a few moments?

Arthur, Jessica Fletcher.

Kathleen Lane's new writer.

The mystery novelist. Yes, yes, of course.

Mrs. Fletcher, this is indeed a pleasure.

Are you here with a message from Kathleen?

Now, if she's ready to bow out--

"Bow out"? Oh, no, nothing like that.

I just wanted to satisfy my curiosity

about one or two small things.

Such as?

Well, for starters, those photographs

that someone gave to Edmund Hall
of Kathleen and Bud Johnson.

We had nothing to do with that.

Really?

I can't imagine why anyone

would want to sneak around
with a telephoto lens camera

trying to shoot something--

well, shall we say "compromising"--

and then slip it to Edmund Hall,

unless they were deliberately
trying to smear Kathleen Lane.

Mrs. Fletcher,
I couldn't agree with you more.

That kind of backstairs journalism

is an insult to the people we serve.

C.W., make a note.

We want a strong, public statement

condemning that sort of sleazy journalism.

My goodness!

No wonder you have so many

strong supporters, Mr. Drelinger.

I may be confused,

but someone told me that you had
a file on Kathleen Lane

and that you were working up something

to release to the press.

Who told you that?

That is a damn lie.

Mrs. Fletcher, the only file
we have on Kathleen Lane

is her position on the issues.

And between you, me, and the doorpost,

we're not that far apart
on a lot of things.

No, Mrs. Fletcher.

If there's one thing
Arthur Drelinger can't abide,

it's dirty tricks.

Arthur, here's the documented printout

of our new phone survey.

Kathleen Lane is officially...

dead.

I swear, Mrs. Fletcher,
I was not a spy for Drelinger.

Yes, but according to Cass Malone,

you delivered the message to Kathleen

to visit the party chairman,

which left her without an alibi.

I only took the message.

The man said he was an aide
to the party chairman.

I thought you believed

in Kathleen's stand on the issues.

What I believe in are numbers.

The substantial salary numbers

that Drelinger's campaign offered me,

and the ugly numbers

that Kathleen is suddenly
trailing by in the polls.

Well, it just seems to me that
if you beat the body politic

over the head long enough
with these polls,

they tend to become
a self-fulfilling prophecy.

Self-fulfilling or not,

Kathleen is dead in the water.

Take a look at the month-to-month curve

on these numbers.

Kathleen starts out 20 points back.

Then she closes it to 15.

Then 12, then ten, then five.

And this past week--

the photos, Bud's death--

It's back to 12 in two days.

You mean, Kathleen was
within five points of Drelinger?

The day Bud was murdered, yes.

But the figures
that you passed under the door

were 53 to 46.

That's seven points.

That was a mistake.

I told you and lieutenant Gowans
and no one else.

What's the big deal?
Anybody can make a mistake.

Oh, dear.

Mrs. Fletcher! What's going on?

Is she throwing in the towel?

I honestly don't know.

Well, she's called a press conference.

She's trailing Drelinger by 12 points now.

What else could it be?

Well, maybe she's decided
to hang in and fight it out.

But if she has decided to withdraw,

I think you can take
some of the responsibility.

Oh, give me a break, Mrs. Fletcher!

I don't make the news, I just report it.

Really?

It doesn't seem as simple as that to me.

Whatever you report, becomes the news.

You seem to decide what is news

and what is important and what isn't.

I mean, somehow you seem to mix up

importance with sensationalism.

Let me explain something to you.

The political beat puts people to sleep.

It's dry, it's boring.

They want to see Dallas, Knots Landing...

So you give them soap operas,

but what about the issues?

What have we got, two, three
minutes of airtime per story?

We've got to grab them.

Now, what are we gonna
give them, dry statistics?

Charts, graphs?

You seem to have a very low
opinion of your viewers.

One thing I know
about the public, Mrs. Fletcher,

they have a very short attention span.

If Kathleen Lane folds,
she's yesterday's newspaper.

In a month, they won't even
remember her name.

Well, thank you for the lesson
in political science, Mr. Hall.

Thank you.

Oh, Kathleen...

Jessica.

Thank you so much
for trying to lend a hand.

Then it's true?

I can't convince her to carry on.

Jessica, how can I?

I've learned the hard way that a candidate

is worth two angles to the media.

When I was 20 points behind in the polls,

they tried to build me up

with those heartrending stories
about the gutsy underdog.

But after molding you
into "David versus Goliath",

they wanted a new angle
for the morning edition.

That's the idea.

And when I closed the gap,
they started to tear me down.

No, my attempt at public service
has cost me my dignity,

my privacy, and my sanity.

And it could have cost me my marriage.

I'm sorry, Jessica.
It just isn't worth it.

Kathleen?

The Lynch party is trampling the lawn.

We're still suing Hall and Channel 8?

No, we're not, darling.

We're just gonna get on
with the rest of our lives.

I'd better go out there

and give them the hanging they came for.

Jackson, could I have a moment with you?

Kathleen!

I'll be right along.

Yes, what is it, Jessica? Something wrong?

Well, I'm afraid so.

I think I know who took those photos

of Kathleen and Bud
and leaked them to Channel 8.

You do?

It was the same person that lured Kathleen

away from the hotel
the night that Bud died.

Well, if it's someone
on Drelinger's staff,

then we've got to stop her
from withdrawing.

Oh, I'm afraid
it's a little late for that.

Please! Please, I have a statement.

If the candidate's character

becomes the issue of the campaign,

and the bedroom becomes the ballot box,

then the candidate can no longer
speak on the vital ideas

and programs which should be addressed.

Although my husband

and some tireless volunteers
and staff workers

pleaded with me to remain in the race...

I am announcing my withdrawal.

[reporters clamoring]

I hope to speak out

on some of the issues from time to time

and that the party will still
look for the best man,

or woman...

and not give the nomination
to Arthur Drelinger by default.

What a gutsy lady she is, huh?

You know what I'm going to do?

I'm going to take her away for a while,

for a few months.

We always talked a lot about
spending time in France.

But it really tears me up, though,

that she'll never get a chance
to show what she could do.

On the contrary,
you must be enormously relieved.

Relieved that somebody
like Drelinger smeared my wife,

and forced her to withdraw?

Oh, Jackson, I'm sorry,

but Kathleen's most dangerous opponent

in this campaign wasn't Drelinger.

It was you.

Me?

After spending $1 million
to launch her campaign?

Yes, I imagine

there probably was a time when you thought

the election might
help your business deals.

But then the sharks started to circle.

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

I'm talking about the media spotlight

that sudden-- suddenly began to pry

into your personal and business life.

Everybody knew about your tax problems.

But you thought that was all behind you.

But because of Kathleen,
you became news again.

The press began to dig

to see what dirt they could come up with.

Oh, that's ridiculous!

I don't think so.

You knew that you couldn't take
that kind of scrutiny,

so you decided that Kathleen
had to drop out of the race.

I think it was you
who took those photographs

of Kathleen and Bud Johnson.

I was out of the country!

Well, that shouldn't be hard to check.

They keep very good records these days.

Lieutenant...

you can't take this woman's
wild charges seriously.

Perhaps you'd like to show us
your passport, Mr. Lane.

Oh...

all right.

Maybe I wasn't in the Bahamas.

That doesn't prove I took the pictures.

I think that you called Edmund Hall,
disguising your voice.

I think you also left that phone message,

luring Kathleen on that wild-goose chase

to the chairman's house in the suburbs.

The next thing I know,

you'll be accusing me
of killing Bud Johnson!

For God's sake, I was here--

40 miles away from the city!

Oh, you may have given that impression

when you called on your car phone.

But you were there, all right, Jackson--

in Kathleen's suite.

That's a lie!

Nan slipped the poll results

under the door at around 10:00 o'clock.

Fifty-three to 46. Seven points apart.

Those are those numbers
you shouted at the reporters

at the news conference
the very next morning.

My wife started out a dark horse

some 20 points behind Drelinger.

Now she's closed
to only seven points behind.

Care for an instant replay,
courtesy of Channel 8?

Well, that's what it was-- seven points.

That was a mistake.
It was actually five points.

Nan was already making the correction

and typing up the release,

about the time you threw
Bud Johnson off the balcony.

The only way
you'd have gotten seven points

would have been if you'd have
been in that room,

and seen the figures
she'd slipped under the door.

Bud found out that I wasn't
in the Bahamas that weekend.

Once the photographs made the news,

he'd start to put it together.

And then...

A.D. 53 / K.L. 46

...the solution came to me,

Bud's suicide.

It would finally put an end
to Kathleen's campaign.

I got-- I got Kathleen out,
and I slipped into her suite.

I phoned Bud's room.

And I told him Kathleen was back

and wanted to see him.

I was-- I was cornered.

[stutters] I had to do something.

I brought the hammer from home.

So you removed his clothes,

dressed him in Kathleen's robe...

And then you threw him off the balcony.

Jessica,

the people I dealt with in those days,

the people I deal with now,

I didn't get where I am
by being a choir boy.

And they were getting awfully nervous

about those rumors.

It wasn't jail.

I was looking--

I was looking at... much worse.

And I couldn't think of what else to do!

And now, I'm going to step out
of the goldfish bowl,

and, once again, become Mrs. Jackson Lane,

the devoted wife

of a wonderful, loving husband.