All language subtitles for MSW s07e04 Hannigans Wake.eng

If I die, the book dies with me.

Unless someone picks up the torch.
I've elected you.

Tonight on "Murder she wrote "...

What's the problem?

Hannigan dies
the book dies with him.

Not exactly,
someone else is going to finish it.

For the first time I feel like
things have been hidden from me.

You're not gonna give up
on this, are you?

The really killer
is getting frightened now.

He's afraid you're
getting closer to the truth.

- Hello?
- Hello, Jessica.

It's Phyllis Thurlow,
I hope I didn't wake you.

No, I was just taking
my morning constitutional.

I hated making this call.

Daniel's nurse just called me.

She found him in his study,
slumped over the desk.

He's gone, Jessica.

- Oh, Lord.
- You were the first one I contacted.

- I thought you'd want to know.
- Oh, of course.

If there's anything that I can do...

I think just being here
would be wonderful.

I'll phone you later in the day
with the specifics.

There'll be a wake, of course.

Of course.
What was it he said?

"You can't send an Irishman
on to his hereafter...

without a proper celebration".

I'll be there.

Have you had a chance
to read his research?

Yes. Most of it.

We'll talk about it
when you get here.

- See you soon.
- Right.

Mrs. Fletcher, this is a real honor.

Forgive me if I don't get up.

Oh please, the honor is mine.

Not many authors have one
Pulitzer Prize, let alone two.

That and 20 bucks will get you
a hamburger at Sardi's.

How about a quick belt
to get the dust off your tonsils?

My tonsils and I
parted company many years ago.

Mine have had a whole
lifelong relationship...

with Irish whiskey, which
I don't intend to terminate now...

I wasn't going to say a thing.

Your expression speaks volumes.

Now, to get down to business.

I'm in the midst of writing
a murder mystery.

Not one of those frothy confections
you whip up, but a real thing.

A real corpse, real suspects.

And worst of all,
a real miscarriage of justice.

For the past 16 years
a man has been in prison...

for a crime he did not commit.
Right, Phyllis?

My brother, Martin.

They said he killed his wife.
He didn't, of course.

Of course he didn't.

The whole thing was a sham,
from start to finish...

engineered by the lady's father.

A mean spirited egomaniac named
Richard Thompson Grant.

I know that name.

You should. His flunkies get it
planted in the press often enough.

16 years ago Lydia Grant Thurlow
was murdered in her home...

severely beaten, then shoved
into a glass breakfront.

The only suspect was
her husband Martin,

a womanizing fortune hunter,
who apparently...

married her only for her money.

Martin was observed coming home
around 9 pm, obviously drunk.

Shortly after he went inside,

a terrible row could be heard
by one of the neighbors.

She positively identified the voices
as Martin and Lydia.

That was around 9.15

After several minutes of silence,
the neighbor saw a light...

flicker and go out in the living
room.

followed immediately by the sound
of breaking glass.

10 minutes later
the police arrived.

When they looked in the window,
Lydia Thurlow was lying on the floor,

at the base of
the shattered breakfront.

There was blood everywhere.

Every door and window was locked.

There was no one in the house,
except the victim,

her husband, whom they found
passed out in his bedroom...

and their 3 years old son.

The police jumped to
an obvious conclusion.

Well, I can see why.

Obvious, but erroneous.

The next morning Martin Thurlow
was given...

a lie detector test.

Despite his hangover and lack
of sleep, he passed the test.

Soon after, the results were
conveniently lost,

and a second test
was never administered.

- Are you sure about that?
- Of course I'm sure.

These are my notes.

Interviews, correspondence,
police reports,

it's all here.
The whole dirty, ugly story.

I want you to take these home.
Read them thoroughly,

and see if you don't come up
with the same conclusion I do.

Lydia Thurlow wasn't
killed by her husband.

She was murdered by
her brother Eric...

Richard Thompson Grant's only son.

And the old man has spent
the past 16 years covering it up.

- Look, Mr. Hannigan...
- We're old friends now, Jessica.

You can call me Dan.

Dan, I'm really flattered
by all of this.

If you need someone to double check
your conclusions, well, I...

Don't be dense Jessica,
I don't need an editor.

I need someone
to write the book for me.

For you?
Don't be silly.

My morbid physicians insist
that I won't last...

another month,
and for once they may be right.

If I die, this book dies with me.

Unless someone picks up the torch.

I've elected you.

- But I can't.
- Why not?

You know how to read, don't you?
You know how to write.

Or maybe you'd like
to see Martin Thurlow...

spend another 16 years in jail
for a crime he didn't commit.

Jonathan Barish.
May I help you?

Yes. My name is Jessica Fletcher,
and I was asked to be here.

I was a friend of Mr. Hannigan's.

Oh, yes. The Blue Salon.

But I'm afraid Mr. Hannigan
is not yet ready for viewing.

The hours are 2 to 5 and 7 to 10.

- I see. Well...
- Jessica,

I was afraid you'd gotten lost.

- It's alright Mr. Barish.
- As you wish, Miss Thurlow.

But about that music,
It's not what I ordered.

I'm afraid Irish melodies are not in
keeping with Barish & Sons tradition.

In this case, make an exception.

Mr. Hannigan left instructions,
and they were very specific.

- Yes, I'm sure, but...
- What we're paying for the music...

double it,
but I want to hear Danny Boy.

And if you can't manage it,
I'll find a funeral parlor that can.

Of course.

He's in here.

They did a terrific job.

Doesn't he look peaceful?
As if he'd never been sick.

Yes.

The telegrams are starting
to pour in from everywhere.

Senators, Congressmen,
everyone whose lives he touched.

- Oh, the White House.
- That was the first one to arrive.

I didn't even know
they were acquainted.

After I got home last week,
I re-read "The Vietnam Indictment".

I was reminded what a powerful
writer he was in those days.

He never lost it. Right to the end.

When is the service?

Friday morning at 10,
at Saint Anthony's Cathedral.

The Cardinal himself
is going to officiate.

- You're going to miss him, aren't you?
- Yes. I'm going to miss him...

a lot.

Miss Thurlow...

allow me to convey
my deepest sympathies.

- Thank you.
- The world lost a gifted journalist.

Bradley Folkes, Mrs. Fletcher
I'm delighted to meet you.

Thank you.

It's a shame you had to return
under these painful circumstances.

Mr. Folkes is our
Deputy Commissioner of Police.

He makes it his business to know
everyone else's business.

- Oh, I see.
- He was also one of the...

investigating officers
in Lydia's murder 16 years ago.

A tragic case.

A drunken argument,
a momentary loss of control, and...

a family destroyed.

A woman dead, a man imprisoned...

and a young boy raised
without parents.

I've been reading your newspapers.

It was on the front page
of your local papers for weeks.

Only because of
the personalities involved.

Actually, the case itself
was very simple.

Open and shut.

Well I'm not quite sure that
I agree with you about that.

You must be hungry after your flight.

Would you allow me
to buy you lunch?

- I'm sure Mrs. Fletcher...
- I'd be delighted, Commissioner.

You must have a hundred things to do...

and I think it would be helpful for
the Commissioner and I to have a chat.

Of course.
Then I'll see you later.

Absolutely.
We've got lots to talk about.

Hannigan was overseas
when the murder happened...

so he wasn't really aware of the case
until just a few months ago,

when Phyllis Thurlow approached
him about writing the book.

She's a very determined woman.

I'll give her that.

All these years,
and she's never given up.

She's wrong, of course,

but you have to admire
her loyalty to her brother.

Why are you so sure
that she's wrong?

Counting the initial investigations,
and the follow-up...

and the press scrutiny that case...

took up more time and attention
than any case I ever worked on.

What about Eric Grant,
the victim's brother?

- What about him?
- I read the reports, Commissioner.

Earlier on the day of murder, he
came to see sister, to borrow money.

They had a terrible fight,
and he threatened her.

Daniel believed that he came back
that evening to steal the money,

and that Lydia caught him,
and that Eric Killed her.

I've heard that theory.

Back then,
Eric Grant was a junkie,

but now the family prefers to think
of him as an ex flower child,

but he was a hardcore user.

Believe me Mrs. Fletcher.

Nothing would've pleased me more than
to hang the murder on that slime.

I have no sympathy for addicts,
and never have.

But Eric Grant's alibi at
the time of the murder...

was rock solid.

Daniel Hannigan didn't agree.

He was a brilliant
writer in his time.

Bu this last year
he's been a very sick man.

Perhaps his illness
clouded his judgment.

Perhaps he was one of the few people
who refused to be intimidated...

by those people who would
prefer to see the story forgotten.

You must mean
Richard Thompson Grant.

Why don't you ask him?
Here he is now.

My! What a coincidence.

Hello Commissioner.

I saw you lunching with
this charming looking lady...

and I couldn't resist
the urge to barge in.

How do you do Mr. Grant?

Won't you join us?

I was hoping to have a chance to
chat with you, and now is a good time.

You're most gracious.

- Menu sir?
- No thank you. I'm not eating.

It's a shame your visit
is under these circumstances.

I always admired Dan Hannigan's,
style and wit,

even if I didn't
always share his point of view.

He had a flare for exposing the
dark side of the establishment.

It made for popular reading, even
when he was careless with his facts.

It's astounding how
many law suits he won.

I don't think he lost a single one.

True, but only a death prevented...

a blot on that record.
I assure you Mrs. Fletcher,

had he published his book
accusing my son of murder...

and me of obstructing justice...

Mr. Hannigan would have
lost everything he owned.

Including the proverbial
shirt off his back.

My goodness, that sounds
uncomfortably like a threat.

I'm sure Mr. Grant didn't
mean it that way.

But of course I did.

I just want this little lady
to know what she's letting herself...

in for if she decides to proceed.

Well I haven't made up my mind yet.

But I can assure you
that this conversation...

will have a direct bearing on
my decision.

Well, forgive the intrusion.

You've only hear
half the story, Mrs. Fletcher.

If you'd like to hear my half,
I'm at your disposal...

anytime, any place.

The Commissioner knows
how to reach me.

Enjoy your lunch.

I'm sorry.

I imagine when Richard Thomson
Grant makes a request...

it's hard to refuse.

For a man in my position,

the word is 'impossible'.

Thank you.

Dad...

you didn't have to come
all the way out here.

No bother.

This is Madeline.
What's your last name?

Smythe, with a long I. Actually
it's Schmidt, but I had it changed...

for professional reasons.

- Delighted to meet you.
- The same for me sir.

I guess everybody
knows who you are.

I'm so sorry you had to make the
trip from Atlantic City for nothing,

but unfortunately Eric
will be involved in some family...

business for the next few days.

Arnold will fly you right back.

Now wait a minute.

And Arnold, when you land...

give Miss Smythe a few hundred
dollars for a cab to her hotel.

- Yes sir.
- Eric!

I'll call you later honey.

But you were going to
show me the Liberty Bell!

I said later.

Don't they have laws
about things like that?

It was so nice of you to
meet me personally Dad.

You usually just send a car.

I'm sorry to spoil your week son.

But we have a problem and I thought
you might want to be involved...

since you're the center of it.

Hannigan is dead.

That's no news.
It's been all over the television.

What's the problem?

Hannigan dies
the book dies with him.

Not exactly,
some one else is going to finish it.

- Who?
- A tenacious lady, with a sharp mind.

I don't think we can ignore her.

Crazy fool. Hannigan
had it all wrong.

16 years have passed and Martin
continues to attest his innocence,

even more vehemently now
than the day he entered prison.

Dad...

I did not kill my sister.

I've always believed that son.

I've had to.

Scotch?

The man never drank scotch
whiskey in his life.

He considered it unpatriotic.

As well as being a mortal sin.

Oh you're wrong.
No, you're wrong.

Spring of '71, this bar in Saigon,

by 10 they ran out of the Irish,

Danny was getting loud and abusive,
the bartender gets up,

goes out back and fills an empty
bottle of Jamison's...

with Cutty Sark.

- I don't believe it.
- Well believe it.

His taste buds were so numb
you could have fed him...

lighter fluid.

You could have.

Why are you dredging
all this up again?

You know why. Because your father
did not kill your mother.

Because he said so?

Because he has some half baked
idea that it was Uncle Eric?

- That's crazy and you know it.
- No.

- Good evening.
- Oh Mrs. Fletcher...

Mr. Hannigan certainly
had a lot of friends, didn't he?

Loud friends.

- Is she here?
- Mrs. Thurlow?

She's over there
talking to her nephew.

Why don't you just spend
a few minutes with him?

- Just one visit.
- He's a saint. I know.

He's got you fooled Phyllis, not me.

He's right where he belongs.

Now that Hannigan is dead,
he's gonna stay there.

So that's Steven?

He seemed very preoccupied.

His grandfather's got him brainwashed.
There's no reasoning with him.

How was your lunch
with Bradley Folkes?

Informative.
You and I have got to talk.

What's the matter?

This is the matter.

This was in this morning's paper.

I saw it.

You not only saw it,
you instigated it.

I've already
spoken to the reporter.

I don't see any harm. Anything
to keep the case in the public.

Isn't that the whole idea?

I'm sorry, but you've put me
in a terrible position.

Oh Danny boy...

the pipes are calling...

from glen to glen...

and on the mountain side...

The summer's gone...

and all the roses falling...

It's you. It's you...

who must go and I must cry.

I am in a terrible quandary...

- and I don't know what to do.
- What is it?

I've been over and over Daniel's
notes and it always come out the same.

Daniel was right about one thing.

The case against your brother
was almost too pat,

too easy. But there was also
not enough hard evidence...

- to prove his innocence.
- Eric Grant killed Lydia.

Did he?
I'm not so sure.

But you've read the notes.

I've looked at all the material
I've read all the notes,

but they weren't compiled
by the same man who...

won two Pulitzer prizes.

Over and over he keeps making
assumptions that aren't backed up...

by hard facts.

I'm sorry,
but what I've read...

was careless, sloppy journalism.

I'm not sure that I can continue.

You gave your word.

No, no. That's not true.

I promised to read the notes.
And I've read them.

So now what?

You'll just walk away and
let my brother rot in prison?

What about Dan?

If you walk away now, it'll be a
blow to his memory and reputation.

Jessica, he was so sure.

There's something in there
that you're missing.

Don't quit now, please.

Mrs. Fletcher?

Mr. Thurlow.

- I'm sorry to interrupt.
- That's quite alright.

My eyes are giving out.

I'm not exactly sure
how to say this.

Why don't you just say it?

I don't think there's a lot to be
gained by you continuing this book.

Why do you feel that?

I know what Mr. Hannigan thought.
Phyllis told me.

But my Uncle Eric
didn't kill my mother.

Was he in the house that night?

The night my mother died?
No.

Then you do remember.
You were so very young...

I wasn't sure.

How could I remember
I was what, 3, 3 and a half?

It was a terrible fight that night.

So loud the neighbors
summoned the police.

I must have slept through it.
I really don't recall a thing.

I know you are very loyal
to your uncle.

But you do know that in those days
he had a terrible drug dependency.

Is it possible that he might have
been capable of striking your mother,

blacking out and totally
removing it from his memory?

I don't know.

I'm not a psychiatrist.
I'm a college student.

I came here to ask
you to leave it alone.

I'm sorry I've wasted
your time and mine.

Excuse me.

Commissioner!

You're looking chipper.

I don't feel it. I've spent hours on
the papers accounts of the murder.

I've got more question now
than I had when I started.

- I think I better buy you some coffee.
- Great.

Thank you.

You're not gonna
give up on this, are you?

Don't be so sure.

Ok. What is it you want to know,
and I haven't already told you?

Who is J.R.?

J.R.?

Yes, a couple of the
early newspaper reports...

named a man named J.R.

A drug pusher who could have
been Eric Grant's connection.

The man that he owed money to.

That's a new one on me.

But you must remember,
I didn't take over the case...

until a week after it happened.

The homicide officer in charge was
transferred to south Philadelphia.

Oh yes, Lt. Kravitz.
His name was on the files.

Maybe I ought to talk to him.

He retired about 8 years ago.
I have no idea where he is.

As for this J.R...

you know newspapers.
Anything to sell copies

And a drug scandal
in a wealthy family...

is always good reading.

But the truth is,
as I told you,

the case against Martin Thurlow
was dead bang.

- But still...
- Mrs. Fletcher...

you're beginning to sound
like one of those reporters.

This case was not about
Eric Grant and his drug problem.

If it was I'd have tossed that
creep and his sleaze suppliers...

in a dungeon and
thrown away the key.

Yes?

Alright.

Bring it in.

What is it?

An anonymous note...

having to do with
Daniel Hannigan's death.

As soon as I saw what it was I tried
to handle it as little as possible.

"Hannigan poisoned to shut him up.

Check digitalis levels.

It was murder."

I see. I appreciate it.

Thanks for calling Commissioner.

That doesn't sound like good news.

No.

The police received an anonymous
letter claiming Hannigan...

was poisoned.
They're rechecking the autopsy.

First Hannigan tries to reopen
the case, then that Fletcher woman...

had to show up to take his place,
and now this.

Dammit! It just isn't fair!

- To whom Grandfather?
- To any of us!

It'll be dredged up again Steven.

All of it!

You can imagine the
implication the press will draw.

Someone killed Hannigan
to stop his investigation.

- Who would do a thing like that?
- Not I, I assure you.

- What about Uncle Eric?
- Surely you don't believe that?

Do you want to know the truth?

I don't know what to believe!

For the first time in my life I feel
things have been hidden from me...

and I don't like it.
Who is J.R.?

- Who?
- J.R.

My uncle's drug connection.
From back in the good old days.

He has talked about him even
though he doesn't remember much.

I thought maybe you do.

Since you seem to be
so well acquainted...

with every other aspect
of this case.

I never met this J.R.

He was some street hoodlum.
Eric owed him money.

Since he was afraid to come to me
for it, he went to your mother.

It happened to be the day she died,

but there's no connection
between the two events.

No?

Where is J.R. now?

He disappeared.

Yes Steven believe it or not
I did have that checked out.

After your mother died, I sent Eric
to a hospital for rehabilitation.

When he returned,
a year later,

J.R. was a distant memory.

Your uncle never
heard from him again.

Why do I still think you're not
telling me everything?

I've told you the truth
as I know it.

You can believe it or not,
as you wish.

- Excuse me, I'm looking for...
- Mrs. Fletcher...

Lt. Kravitz?

That was 8 years ago,
just plain Bert is fine now.

My wife called,
said you'd be dropping by.

I hate to disturb you at work.

Work! I just do this
to pass the time.

My retirement almost killed me.

My wife said you wanted to talk
to me about the Thurlow case.

If it's not imposing.

No. I love to talk
about the old days.

Let me buy you a cup of coffee.
Lou, take over will you?

I was only on the case
a couple of days,

Then I got transferred
to South Philly.

Brad Folkes volunteered
to take over for me.

He's a smart guy. I always
knew he'd go big in the department.

He's seems very astute politically.

He knows how to play the game.
Something I never learned.

Is that why you transferred?

You trying to say, somebody
wanted me off the case?

Why? Brad and I
looked at it the same way.

The husband did it,
couldn't have been anybody else.

Are you so sure about that?

You want to play
that brother angle too?

Look...

If that lady was killed by a junkie,
even a rich one like Eric Grant,

Brad would have been all over him.
He hated druggies.

Dealers, users,
all the same to him.

His son was a cop, in Narc undercover.
Started right after the academy.

Then a couple years later,
Eddie, that was his name,

he got killed in a raid.

So believe me,
if drugs were involved...

in the death of Lydia Thurlow,

Brad would never
had gone after the husband.

Not even if he were pressured?

By who?
Richard Thompson Grant?

Brad's father was a policeman.

His father before that.
It's a family tradition.

Brad may know who to suck up to.

But when it comes to crunch time...

he's still a cop.
You can count on it.

I'm sorry Mrs. Fletcher, but I
don't seem to have been much help.

- Are you alright Mrs. Fletcher?
- Yes. I think so.

Yes?
This is Commissioner Folkes.

What?

Wait.
Give me the address.

Ok. I'll be there in 20 minutes.

Brad, what is it?

It's that writer woman.

Can you believe it?

Somebody actually took a shot at her.

- Is she alright?
- I think so.

- But... Apologize for me, will you?
- Of course.

- That was a close call.
- Was it?

Excuse me.

How are you doing?

It's been a long time!
How is she?

Solid as a rock.

Whose idea was this?

She came looking for me.

- What did you tell her?
- What? About the old murder?

What's to tell?
Thurlow killed his wife.

- What'll you have? Beer? Coffee?
- No. Thank you.

Ok.

I understand I dragged you away
from a dinner party. Sorry.

No harm done.
To either of us.

You were a very lucky lady.

I'm not so sure about that.

Excuse me?
Somebody did shoot at you.

No. Somebody shot at
a plate glass window.

More for effect than
anything else I think.

Commissioner look,

whoever fired those shots
was standing across the street.

How far do you think that is?
60 feet at the most?

I was standing right by the taxi.

And yet at least 2 shots...

were 15 to 20 feet
away from me.

A blind man could have
gotten closer than that.

I think that those shots
were a warning.

- To frighten you off?
- I don't think so.

Did you get a new coroner's report
on the digitalis levels...

in Mr. Hannigan's body?

Still waiting.

When you do get it, I think the
results will be the same.

If you're on to something...

I sure would love to hear it.

Well I could be wrong,
but I don't think so.

I've got a pretty good idea who's
responsible for that note...

and also for these shots.

Jessica, Commissioner,
what is it? Is something wrong?

Phyllis we need to talk to you.

Of course, you just
woke me from a sound sleep,

- but if it's important, come in.
- Thank you.

Has something happened?

Someone tried to kill
Mrs. Fletcher.

No!

Two shots were fire from an alley.
They both missed.

You see? The real killer
is getting frightened.

He's afraid you're getting close to
the truth. This proves that...

What would you say if I told you we
have a description of the car...

that was driven by the person
who fired the shots...

and the car was a late model
red compact station wagon,

like the one that you drive?

Mine? It couldn't be.
I told you. I was asleep.

I went to bed around 9:00.

I checked the hood of your car.

The engine is still hot.

I wasn't trying to hurt you.
I swear it.

I know that.

I was afraid you'd give
up on the case.

I desperately needed you to believe
that Lydia's killer was still alive...

after all these years.

Is that why you sent the note
claiming Dan Hannigan was murdered?

I wanted to buy time.

Anything to keep the case alive.

Now I've ruined everything.
No one will believe me.

I'm sorry.

I was frightened and I did
a very stupid thing.

But I swear to you, I only
did it to save my brother.

He's innocent.

Now because of me, he'll spend
the rest of his life in jail.

Well old buddy, I guess this
is so long for a while.

I don't know where you'll
be ending up.

But either way, here's
a little something for the trip.

Don't forget to put
in a good word for me.

- A wonderful man.
- Aye, he was.

Mrs. Thurlow, I just had a call
from Mrs. Fletcher.

She apologizes but something
important came up.

She said to proceed without her.

I did not kill my sister.

I was nowhere near the house
when my brother in law...

pushed her into
that glass breakfront.

Why are you so sure she was pushed?

Maybe she tripped and fell.
Maybe it was an accident.

May I remind you my daughter
had also been beaten?

Martin Thurlow admits to having
struck her a couple of times...

when he got home, but not to murder.

Of course not.

There was no one else in the house.

That's not exactly true.
There was one other person.

Your grandson, Steven.

That's idiotic.

What are you saying? That a
3 year old boy committed murder?

Of course not.

I'm looking for a scenario
to fir the facts.

Now,

just before the neighbors heard
the crash of broken glass,

one of them saw a light that
flickered on and went off.

Supposing Steven came downstairs
having heard the fight...

between his parents.

He sees his mother
bleeding and hurt.

He goes to her, somehow...

he stumbles against the lamp,
his mother lunges to keep it...

from hitting the floor, she slips
and stumbles into the breakfront.

Far fetched nonsense!

My dear lady, this is not
one of your books.

Far fetched or not,
it must have occurred to you.

Otherwise why did you squelch
the results of the lie detector test?

You're mistaken. I did not interfere
with the police investigation.

- I wish I could believe that.
- It's true.

But assuming, even for a moment,
that your theory is right...

do you honestly believe I'd allow,
even Martin Thurlow,

to spend 16 years in jail
for a death I knew...

was an accident?

You might to protect
your only grandson...

from the trauma and publicity
that was bound to follow.

You don't know me very well.

I'm sorry Mr. Grant, but there
has to be another explanation...

for your daughter's death
even if not your grandson.

It keeps coming back
to the drug dealer.

Who was J.R.?
Tell me about him.

There is nothing to tell.

He was my connection. He sold
me drugs. I owed him money.

He threatened to
kill me if I didn't pay.

On the morning of her death
I begged my sister...

to lend me the 3,000
dollars that I owed.

When I told J.R. that
Lydia had refused to help,

he threatened me, that's when I
went into hiding with my girlfriend.

J.R.? What does that stand for?

I don't know. I only knew
him by his initials.

How old was he?
What did he look like?

What kind of a car did he drive?
Surely you remember something.

Yes! And I told it all to the police.

Please, tell me.

Mrs. Fletcher. It's been 16 years.

Yes, Martin Thurlow
is well aware of that.

He was young, younger than I was.

Maybe 25.

Long dark hair,
scruffy beard,

tall, medium build.

He drove a blue Porsche.

I never knew where he lived
who his friends were.

He was just there.

Did he have any scars or tattoos?

- Some significant characteristic?
- You're grasping at straws.

There was one thing.

I may have told the police.
I'm not sure.

What was it?

Around his neck,
he wore a bullet on a chain.

He said a cop took a shot
at him in Chicago...

missed his heart by this much.

He kept it as a good luck charm.

Chicago?
Are you sure?

During the convention riots in '68.

Now we’re getting somewhere.

There have to be records
in the hospital,

from the police reports...

for a young man with the initials
J.R. from the Philadelphia area.

Thank you both very much.
I'll see myself out.

Yes?

Mrs. Folkes, I'm sorry to
disturb you, is your husband home?

I'm Jessica Fletcher.

- Please, come on.
- Thank you.

He's not here.
Have you tried his office?

Yes, but he isn't there either.

Well I really don't have
any idea where he went.

I slept late this morning and
Bradley is such an early riser...

that usually he tries not to wake me.

This must be your son.

Eddie, that was taken the day
that he graduated from the academy.

We lost him, you know.
Many years ago.

He died in the line of duty.

Yes. So I was told.
I'm sorry.

There are several places
that Brad might be.

Would you excuse me while I call?
I won't be but a minute.

Of course. Thank you.

I thought he might be playing golf,
but Jim Daniels, his golfing friend...

said Brad had to got to
a funeral this morning.

What's the matter Mrs. Fletcher?
Is there something wrong?

Wrong? No.

I was just looking at
this photo of your son.

That looks like a bullet on
a chain around his neck.

Yes.

He was almost killed in a
hunting accident when he was 12...

and he always kept that around
his neck for good luck.

- He was good looking...
- Yes.

He was an only child.

Brad and I
would have welcomed more,

but the good Lord
didn't see it that way.

We were both so proud of him.

You told me he died many years ago.
When exactly was that?

It'll be exactly
15 years next march.

I assumed your son had died before...

Before what?

Excuse me. I think I know
where I can find your husband.

- Forgive me for troubling you.
- It was not trouble.

- Please come by anytime.
- Thank you.

Jessica, there you are.

I'm so sorry.
I meant to be here.

Where is Commissioner Folkes?

- Over there. Is something wrong?
- No. I'll explain later.

- Commissioner...
- Mrs. Fletcher,

we were wondering what had
happened to you.

I talked to Eric Grant, and I
went to your house to see you.

Your wife is a very gracious lady.

You must love her very much.

She's all I have left.

We looked at pictures of your son.

I hadn't realized he was a Junior.

Your wife referred to him as Eddie,

but I imagine quite
a number of his friends...

probably called him J.R.

He's buried over there.

What did you say to my wife?

Nothing.

I asked her about the bullet
that he wore around his neck.

Eric remembered that
the J.R. that he knew,

also wore a bullet around his neck.

For five years, my boy
was a good cop.

But you can't ask anybody to go
through what he did without cracking.

Day after day, week after week,
living at the edge.

Part of the whole dirty scene.

Trying to keep his sanity
and do his job.

They expected too much of him.

It was all so easy.

The money, the cars, the women,
all there for the taking.

And in the end he just
couldn't fight it.

So he became part of the mess
he was trying to clean up.

Yes.

When Eric wouldn't pay...

Eddie went to see Lydia Thurlow.

In fact they were
arguing about the money...

when her husband came home.

Eddie hid in the next room.

Thurlow was drunk and nasty.

I guess Lydia figured if
she had give Eddie away,

her husband would only
take it out on her brother.

So she didn't say anything.

No!

Eddie came to see me the next day,
scared to death.

He swore it was an accident.

By that time I knew he'd gone bad,

but if Dorothy
had learned the truth...

it would have killed her.

I had a choice to make
and I made it.

When Kravitz got transferred
I volunteered...

to take over the case.

It wasn't hard to hang a
conviction on Thurlow.

He was my son.

What was I supposed to do?

- What are you gonna do?
- Tell the truth.

To who?
Who's going to believe you?

Maybe Richard Thompson Grant.
Maybe no one. I can't help that.

I can't let you do this to my wife.

Not after all this time.

A man has been unjustly imprisoned
for 16 years because of you.

- Doesn't that count for anything?
- Not enough.

Mrs. Fletcher,
is something wrong?

I was just leaving.

Can I give you a ride?

Yes. I'd like that.
Thank you Mr. Dolan.

- Can you drop me at the Police Dept.?
- Sure.

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