All language subtitles for Remington Steele s03e18 Now You.eng

- I don't like being blackmailed.
- Blackmailed?

You could use some R and R.
I mean, we all could, couldn't we?

He's dead, Miss Holt.
He's dead because of you.

- Mrs. Sterling's pregnant?
- Three months.

Miss Kelton,
nice to see you again.

Nice to see you, Mr. Majak.
What is that?

Ah, this little gem
is a 12th-century temple figure.

It's beautiful.
How much is it?

$10,000.

Excuse me.
Could you tell me something about these?

Oh, certainly.
Excuse me.

Nothing else I can help you with?

Oh, no, not today.
Thank you.

- Don't lose her.
- Don't worry.

- Grace Kelton?
- Yes.

My name is Laura Holt.
I'm a private investigator.

May I have a word with you?

I'm so embarrassed.

I mean, I don't really even know
how it got into my purse.

I- I must have
been daydreaming or something.

Miss Kelton...

this is a list of the items
that were taken from Majak's...

in the last few months.

I'm afraid you're
the prime suspect.

You make it sound like
I'm a thief or something.

Well, go ahead.
Look around if you don't believe me.

- Suppose I start with this cabinet here.
- No.

Oh, I-I mean, why would I steal
a bunch of antiques...

and toss them into a cabinet?

Don't you think I'd wanna sell them
or at least display them?

May I look into this cabinet?

I'm sorry.

I- I don't even know
why I do it.

I just can't help myself.

Does Whit know about this?

I mean, you don't have to
tell Whit, do you?

Please? I mean,
please don't tell him.

I'm afraid I have to.

- I'm Whit Sterling.
- Laura Holt.

- I'm sorry to interrupt you during dinner, Mr. Sterling.
- Don't you worry about that.

I needed a break anyway.

I'm oozing so much charm
in there...

my shirt's beginning
to get damp.

- Please.
- I'm afraid, uh-

I have some rather
unpleasant news, Mr. Sterling.

Grace Kelton is a kleptomaniac.

I'm sure her mother
is very disappointed.

She has stolen over fifty thousand dollars'
worth of antiques from my client.

I've recovered most of the items.
However-

Pardon my ignorance, Miss Holt,
but I don't know what you're talking about.

I've never heard of this Grace, um, uh-
What was her name?

Kelton.

- Who the hell is she to me?
- Your mistress.

My mistress?

Excuse me.

If you only knew
how funny that is.

Miss Holt,
I'm a happily married man.

Mm.

Mr. Sterling, please.
We've been very discreet.

There has been no police involvement as yet,
and my client assures me...

there won't be, as long as you make restitution
for the missing items.

Where did you get this?

I told you, from Grace Kelton.

And your client
sent you here with it?

That's right.

Now, you tell him I understand.

I understand what he wants.

And you tell him
I'm the poorest sport in the world.

And as soon as I find a way
to cover my butt, he's going to pay.

- I don't like being blackmailed.
- Blackmailed?

Now you get out of here before I do something
I'll regret in the morning.

- Leave that.
- Whit?

Oh, darling.

Darling, our surprise guest
was just leaving.

Those were the only ones she had.

I checked off the items
she admitted taking.

And Mr. Sterling, how did he react?

Not very well.

What did he say exactly?

That he understood
what you wanted.

Good.

He also said, uh,
he would get even.

Impetuous man, our Mr. Sterling.

Cash?

Well, a most discreet handling
of a most delicate situation. I thank you.

- Hello?
- What did you say to my husband last night?

Who is this?

He's dead, Miss Holt.

He's dead because of you.

I told her husband
exactly what I just told you.

I know he was upset,
but hardly suicidal.

All I know is I had a perfect life until
you introduced yourself to Whit last night...

and now he's- he's, uh-

My husband never had a mistress.
Lie! That's a lie!

- Claudia! Claudia, get a hold of yourself!
- You're a liar!

Go upstairs.

Dr. Romsen will be here soon.

I'll finish up with Miss Holt.

I'll never forgive you
as long as I live.

Obviously, she's in shock.

We had to break the door down.
We found him.

I can't believe
I'm responsible for his death.

Of course you're not.

The only one around here
with blood on his hands is Whit.

He pulled the trigger.
I don't know why.

You worked with him, Mr. Bigelow.

Did you know he had a mistress?

Miss Holt, with all due respect,
I don't think now is the time-

With all due respect,
Mr. Bigelow...

I have just been accused
of driving a man to suicide.

I think I have a right
to ask a few questions.

Yeah. All right.

As far as I know, Whit and Claudia
had a perfect marriage.

There was no one else.

What about Leopold Majak?
What was Mr. Sterling's relationship with him?

- I don't know. He never mentioned him.
- Doesn't your company...

do business with Majak Antiques?

Well, not that I'm aware of.

Ah, Dr. Romsen,
thank you for coming.

- Where is she?
- I sent her back upstairs.

What was she doing down here
in the first place?

- I told you to keep her in bed.
- Easier said than done.

I realize Whit's death is a tragedy,
but she still has the baby to think of.

Unless she follows my instructions,
she risks losing it.

Mrs. Sterling's pregnant?

Three months.
First child.

She's not a young woman anymore,
and this may be her last opportunity to have one.

They were both incredibly
excited about it.

I must say, Laura...

I can't understand why you didn't
involve me in this initially, you know?

I thought it was just a routine tail.
And you're hardly one to relish routine.

Or did you just want to prove that
you could do it without me?

- I don't have to prove anything.
- Oh, of course not.

At least not to me.

As far as I'm concerned,
you're the perfect subordinate.

I would like to speak
with Leopold Majak.

Yes?

- Well?
- I am Leopold Majak.

Are there any other
Leopold Majaks...

connected with this enterprise?

Absolutely not.
Only me.

My name is Laura Holt.

From Remington Steele Investigations.

A Leopold Majak hired me to-

I am Leopold Majak.

Then a man, claiming to be you...

hired me to stake out this store
to catch a kleptomaniac who-

- Kleptomaniac?
- Yes.

Yesterday, I was here.
A woman came in. I followed her.

I returned- I returned
with some stolen items.

Madame, please, I must insist,
perhaps you have the wrong store.

No. No, I was here.

Impossible.
We're never open on Mondays.

Never?

Never.

Would you care
to do the honors, Mr. Steele?

Oh, please, Miss Holt, please.
This is your case.

Carry on. Carry on.

Not much
of a housekeeper, your kleptomaniac.

The stolen antiques
were right here in this cabinet.

Don't move! I'm new on the job
and just as scared as you.

- Please.
- Don't do it. I'm warning you.

We're private investigators.
This is my associate...

and she's merely trying to
show you her identification.

- Please, Laura, will you?
- What are you doing in here?

I was here yesterday.
I came back to see Grace Kelton.

Who?

This is Grace Kelton's apartment.

No, ma'am.
This is the Diaz apartment.

They've been in the Philippines for three weeks.
No Grace Kelton ever lived here.

If what you say is true, um...

someone's gone to a great deal
of trouble to set you up, Laura.

If what I say is true?

Does that bit of phrasing
suggest you don't believe me?

Look, Laura, we've all had our shoulders
to the wheel lately.

Um, you obviously
more than me, of course.

Uh, but you could use some R and R.
I mean, we all could. Couldn't we, Mildred?

- Hmm?
- Hear! Hear!

Mr. Steele,
my client has disappeared.

I've got a kleptomaniac
who doesn't even exist.

A man supposedly killed himself
because of me.

And you're prescribing
a vacation?

Well, when in doubt, relax.

- Where you going?
- To change clothes.

We have to make
a house call this evening.

- Hmm. This is a priority situation, Mildred.
- You're telling me.

In order to get Miss Holt
out of this nasty predicament...

I think we're gonna have to do
a little information gathering ourselves.

- Where do we start, chief?
- Hmm?

Check all flight and hotel accommodations
to Cabo San Lucas...

Rio deJaneiro, Hawaii.

And the Fiji Islands. Huh?

- Start looking.
- For what?

The reason Sterling was murdered.

Murdered?
How did we get to murder?

Well, if he didn't kill himself,
and he didn't die of natural causes...

it's the only logical conclusion.

Laura, the man sat
at this very desk...

put a gun to his head
and a bullet in his brain.

So it appears.

The door was locked
from the inside.

Suppose the murderer
locked the door from the outside.

During the commotion raised
by the discovery of the body...

put the key back
on the inside keyhole.

The door locks from the inside only
with a bolt, not a key.

How hard would it be
to take the door off the hinges...

lock it from the inside
and rehang it?

These hinges are covered in paint, Laura.
They haven't been tampered with for years.

Maybe there's a hidden panel.

Well, let's hope it leads
directly to Rio deJaneiro-

Copacabana Beach,
"The Girl from Ipanema. "

Laura, will you listen to me?

You're not responsible for Whit Sterling's death.
The man committed suicide.

The fact that you came into contact
with him the night he decided to do it...

is an unfortunate,
unfortunate coincidence.

Don't berate yourself
over the fact, okay?

See what you can do
with that, Mr. Steele.

Why do I get the feeling you haven't
been listening to a word I've said?

- I have.
- You have?

"The Girl from Ipanema. "

Look- Never mind.

Ah!

This is like the figure
Grace Kelton stole from Majak's.

A Purple Heart.

Seems your Mr. Sterling
was a Korean War hero.

Great. He survived
the Korean War but not me.

Go!

I'll find out where this came from.
You follow up on Marla Rakubian.

From now on,
I suggest we stick together.

If we stick together,
it'll take twice as long.

- We'll run the risk of losing him.
- Who?

The murderer.

Laura, can I ask you one question?

- What?
- Have you ever been to the Fiji Islands?

Oh, please, leave me alone.
I am still Leopold Majak.

- Do you recognize this?
- Are you insane? Get that away from me.

Why? What is this thing?

- Ten to 20, that's what it is.
- I beg your pardon?

This temple figure would cost you
a quarter of a million dollars.

Minimum.
That is if you could get it.

Which you can't, because
it's of museum quality...

and found only
in the Beijing Museum... in China.

- You mean it's stolen?
- Undoubtedly.

Worse. It's major contraband.

You could go to prison
just for having it in your possession.

I hate to think what would happen
if you were caught smuggling it into the country.

The figure Grace Kelton allegedly stole
from this store was just like this.

That, young lady,
did not come from this store.

I believe you, Mr. Majak. Hmm.

Thank God.
Now I can die happy.

- What do you want?
- Mr. Bigelow, may I have a word with you, please?

Fred, don't talk to her.

Get out of here
before I call the police.

Mrs. Sterling, please.
I think your husband was murdered.

Oh, my God, I can't take it.

I can't stand any more harassment.

- Yes, get me Security, please.
- I'll handle it, Claudia.

Okay?

Here's your boots, Mr. Bigelow.
Cleaned up real nice.

Oh. Uh, Claudia,
would you take care of this?

She'll take care of it.
Just thank you.

I'm telling you the truth.
I had no idea Whit was smuggling anything.

I find that difficult to believe.
You were his partner.

Oh, in name only. Whit,
he was the one with all the contacts.

Uh, he did all the importing.

- And you?
- Oh, I do the selling.

Jocularity and tolerance
are my two biggest assets, Miss Holt.

Whit needed somebody who could endure
those endless lunches at the Polo Lounge...

and still look good
in a three-piece suit.

He paid me very well.

Of course my salary
was nothing compared to what he made.

Still, it beats
selling computer chips.

- How is your merchandise brought into the country?
- By boat.

We have a warehouse in Hong Kong.
Everything is shipped from there into Long Beach.

Does the name Marla Rakubian
mean anything to you?

Why?

I think your boss may have been
having an affair with her.

- Harrington, Customs.
- Just a minute. Why aren't you in uniform?

D.C. office.
Checking on my boys.

They're not harassing you
too much, are they? No? Splendid.

Good man. Carry on.

Lose somethin'?

Good afternoon, gentlemen.

The name's Harrington.
Customs. D.C. office.

We got a tip to check this ship
for contraband.

Chester says let me see that I.D.

Oh, yeah.

That's what I call
unfair home field advantage.

Chester says you're dead.

Isn't that nice?

Excuse me. I understand this ship's
already been off-loaded.

- That's right, lady.
- Any idea where the cargo went?

Check with the manifest officer.

They usually take everything
over to C.F.S. for Customs.

You haven't seen a tall, dark-haired man
around here, have you?

English accent?
Uh, a bit overdressed?

Nope.

What were you doing
on the Rakubian?

Who sent you?

What's your real name?

What were you looking for?

Why are you staying around?

Who are you working for?

- Do you really care for me?
- How much do you know?

- Do you know that I love you?
- Uh, no.

No, what?

Do you love me?

I think so.

You think what?

I- I love you.

- Aw.
- Oof!

- Anything?
- Yeah, he loves me.

Chester will make him talk.

Chester, dead men don't talk.

When he comes to, try again.

Chester says a winner.!

Six is the point.
Six is the point.

Glad that you chaps
are having a good time.

You know, Mildred, it must be
that the phony Majak...

found out Sterling was smuggling antiques
into the country and was blackmailing him.

That's a sharp piece
of deduction, Miss Holt.

And I'm the last person in the world
to throw any cold water on it, but-

- But what, Mildred?
- Well, if that's true...

why would the phony Majak
kill Sterling?

Isn't that kind of biting
the hand that feeds you?

I'll admit it's a little murky
at the moment.

Now, I know we ruled out
suicide, but-

- But what, Mildred?
- Maybe there's something we don't know about.

I mean, maybe Sterling was sick.

Maybe he didn't have much time left and decided
to end it all before the goop hit the fan.

- It was murder, Mildred.
- I know. I know, but-

- But what?
- If it was suicide...

then we could mark the case closed
and move on to something else.

Such as?

Cabo San Lucas?

Rio deJaneiro. Hawaii.

The Fiji Islands?

Now, I know the boss is really concerned
about your emotional and physical well-being.

Not to mention his tan.

Oh, please, please, Miss Holt.
Let me just check on Sterling's medical report.

Just to be safe.
The hotels on Fiji...

have a hot tub in every room.

All right, Mildred.
I- I suppose it couldn't hurt.

Oh, easy for you to say.

What have you... been doing?

Well, let's see.
So far I've been beaten to a pulp...

crammed into a steamer trunk, locked away
in an abandoned warehouse, drugged, tortured.

But, well, otherwise,
shown a raucous good time.

All because of this?

I thought something like it might have been
smuggled in on that shipment last night...

but it cleared Customs
without a hitch.

Then why was someone so determined
to stop me from getting a look at it, eh?

I think that cargo bears
closer scrutiny, Mr. Steele.

You remember how frustrated we were when you
couldn't figure out who killed Myron Flowers...

- the breath spray king?
- Mm-hmm.

I believe I referred to it
at one point as, uh...

Steele's last case.

Well, this just might
be Holt's last case.

I can't figure out
what's going on.

I have a hatful of clues, and I have nothing
to string them together with.

Well, you know, Laura...

we've, uh...

been so caught up
in our cases lately...

I wonder if they aren't
the only things stringing us together.

Nobody said
you had to stick around.

Well, uh, in a few days,
I'll be gone, with a bit of luck.

Oh?

Reclining on a beach somewhere...

azure seas...

a long, cool pi�a colada...

and a wonderful young lady
by my side.

Anyone I know?

- That much of a letdown?
- This paper-

What about the paper?

It's not the same paper
I saw on board ship.

- How do you know?
- Close your eyes.

- This is hardly the time-
- Just close your eyes.

Okay?

Hold out your hands.

Which one is the dollar bill?

- What is this, a trick question?
- Which one's the dollar bill?

Well, unless they're
different denominations, they both are.

Open your eyes.

Are you telling me these antiques were wrapped
in paper just like this aboard ship?

Yes.

So that's why
we couldn't figure it out.

It wasn't antiques
they were smuggling.

It was the paper.

It appears we're dealing with international
counterfeiters here, Mr. Steele.

What a wonderfully bizarre twist.

Let's see what we've got.

The phony Majak was using Sterling's shipments
to smuggle in counterfeit paper.

Sterling was smuggling
Chinese artifacts.

He found out what the phony Majak was up to
and threatened to blow the whistle.

Majak hired you
to blackmail Sterling into silence.

Only the game got a little dirtier
than Majak expected.

- And Sterling ended up dead.
- Murdered.

That remains to be proved, Miss Holt.

- Weasel?
- Steele, Steele, Steele.

Who's the Catholic schoolgirl?

This is my associate, Laura Holt.

If I'd known we would meet in such illustrious
surroundings, I would have dressed for the part.

Well, hey, it isn't just anybody
I invite into my home.

You, um, live here?

Yes, I do.
I even have a summer home.

It's the third Cadillac
from the left.

Oh, the El Dorado. Yeah, well,
that's the only one to have, isn't it?

Right.
Come on, lay it on me.

Oh.

I've seen better paper
on the newsstands.

Hey, if it was perfect,
it would be real.

Now all we need
is a hearty soul to pass it.

I can't do it.
I just can't do it.

Of course you can, Mildred.

A little dab of eau de carp,
and the disguise is complete.

Eww!
Can't I just do a computer check?

You're the only one of us
nobody's seen.

You've gotta do it, Mildred.
It's gotta be you.

T- Men, Mildred.

- Dennis O'Keefe, Alfred Ryder. Eagle-Lion, 1948.
- Oh!

O'Keefe and Ryder
set up their own push...

in order to smoke out
a ring of counterfeiters.

Ooh! Okay.
All right. All right.

If it's good enough for Dennis O'Keefe,
it's good enough for me.

- Good. There you go.
- Ooh!

Just remember,
Mildred's cover was your idea.

Oh, pungently put.

All right, there he is.

Okay, Mildred, in you go.

Go on. Go.

Oh. Phew!

Ooh.

Maybe we should go
to Plan "B," boss.

We don't have a Plan "B," Mildred.

I could come up with one fast.

Nonsense, Mildred.
We'll be right behind you.

Just don't get downwind of her, Laura.
That's all I can say.

All right, get those bets down.

Shooter is hot.
Shooter's comin'out.

Eight. Eight.
Keep those dice hot.

Keep those dice hot.
Here we go. Come on, big eight.

- Oh, six.
- All right, six.

- Who's the shooter?
- Him.

Don't pass.

I'll take that.

What's the matter?
Don't like big bills?

Not much I don't.

Come on, big eight.

Seven. A loser.

All right, gimme them cubes.

Let's see your stuff.
Come on. Six. Six is the point.

Uh, hold it.
We got a wiseacre in here.

Somebody's passing funny money.

Oh, like hell, man.
We're all pals here. Come on.

Are we?

Whoo-hoo!

Oh! Oh!

Chester says come with me.

What is that stench?

Her.
She smells like tuna fish.

Chester hates tuna fish.

Once again, where did
you get the money?

I told you, this guy give it to me.
Told me to spread it around.

- What guy?
- Him!

- Easy, Chester.
- Oh, very clever. Very clever indeed.

There must be, what, 5,000 workers
within a half a mile radius of here...

who can't wait to cash their paychecks
on a Friday afternoon?

- My, my, my.
- Counterfeit cash.

You must admit
it was a well-devised plan.

Yes, yes, it did have its subtleties.
I must admit.

Your admiration is gratifying,
Mr. Steele.

- Thank you.
- Whit Sterling is dead, Majak.

No one admires a murderer.

I had no reason
to kill Mr. Sterling.

You saw to that.

She did a fine job
of blackmailing him for us.

However, I can see that blackmail is not going
to work with Mr. Steele. Now, Chester.

Uh, Chester, I wouldn't do that
if I were you, mate.

And why shouldn't Chester?

You haven't got enough ammunition.

We took the liberty of calling
the Treasury Department this afternoon.

Eh, just a moment, gentlemen, please.
I wanna have a little word with Chester.

Steele hit Chester.

Chester hit floor.

Ah!

Well, uh, ahem, so much for
the window seats, eh?

Oh, come now, Laura.
They can't all be killers.

I mean, like it or not, some things
really are as they appear.

Do you honestly believe
Whit Sterling committed suicide?

Look, whether I believe it or not
is beside the point. The facts are there.

The phony Majak and his cronies
are behind bars...

and we're gonna miss our plane
if we don't get a move on now, hey?

- Here's the Sterling autopsy report.
- Great.

It took me a while to get it,
but I finally convinced Keyes he owed us one.

- Keyes? Norman Keyes?
- Yeah.

Insurance companies can sometimes
get their mitts on medical files.

He just pulled a few strings.

Oh, well.

Does that damn woman
always have to be so diligent?

She just wanted to double-check,
see if Sterling had any medical history...

- which might make suicide more palatable.
- Uh-huh? And?

According to this,
the official cause of death...

was a gunshot wound to the head,
self-inflicted.

Deceased otherwise healthy.

There, you see?
It's in black and white.

The man was an absolute
paragon of health.

He was a-

- The Barefoot Contessa.
- Who?

Humphrey Bogart, Ava Gardner.
United Artists, 1954.

Ava marries an Italian count.
Deliriously happy, she wants to give him an heir.

Unfortunately, the count is impotent,
so she has an affair with the chauffeur.

The count shoots them both. Huh?

Odd how life sometimes
imitates art.

The parallels between
The Barefoot Contessa...

and your life, Mrs. Sterling,
are uncanny.

You're pregnant.

Yet, according to
your husband's autopsy report...

a 30-year-old war injury
had rendered him impotent.

Enter Fred Bigelow-
young, virile.

A real comer.

You and he have an affair.
You become pregnant.

And the two of you concoct
a plan to murder your husband...

making it look like suicide.

Giving you the child
you always wanted...

and you the business-
all of it.

I liked it better in the movies.

All right.

Fred and I, yes, we're lovers.

I decided the best way to handle it
was to tell Whit the truth.

But I was wrong.

He became terribly upset.
He locked himself here in the library.

I felt horrible.

I felt like I was to blame,
and I couldn't bear that.

So, I tried to put it off
on you, Miss Holt.

Oh, excellent recovery.
Excellent!

Very quick thinking on your feet, Mrs. Sterling.
Very quick indeed.

Only there's a hole in your story.

A very, very...

tiny hole.

Voil�.

Consider this, Mrs. Sterling.

You and Bigelow
murder your husband...

carry him into the library,
place him at his desk...

put the gun in his hand
so it looks like he shot himself.

Then while Bigelow
makes his way outside...

you tie a string to the bolt
with a slipknot...

run it across the room through
a tiny hole in the windowpane...

to Bigelow who pulls it through.

You leave,
closing the door behind you...

as Bigelow carefully
pulls the string...

until the bolt clicks.

Gives it a jerk...

slips the knot, and pulls it through
the hole in the window...

making it appear as though your husband
had locked himself in and committed suicide.

You've been reading
too much Ellery Queen, Miss Holt.

Have I?

You have exquisite taste
in clothes, Mr. Bigelow.

I especially admired
those Italian boots...

the shoeshine boy delivered to your store
the day I visited you.

So much so, she forced me
to break into your apartment.

If you check,
I believe you'll find...

there's a very distinctive pattern in the heel
that matches the prints in the mud...

outside that window.

Where were you at precisely 2:15 a. m.
the night Sterling was killed?

Exactly 15 minutes
after the murder.

Exactly the time the sprinklers
went off outside...

muddying the ground
where you stood.

I'd say the choice
is clear, Bigelow.

You can take the fall alone,
or you can name your accomplice.

Hey, I only pulled the string.

She pulled the trigger.

Locked-room murder, Mr. Steele.

I must admit, Laura,
Hawaii was the perfect choice.

- Mm.
- Mmm.

A shame about
all those planes being grounded.

- Still, if Mildred ever gets back
with the macadamia nuts...

I suppose this might be
the next best thing to being there.

If you close your eyes,
it's almost as if we are there.

Hmm.

You seem to be sailing
somewhere without me.

You know, Laura...

when I was being interrogated
by that kleptomaniac...

it was almost as if-

Well, in my delirium...

it was almost as if
you were there asking the questions.

What kind of questions?

Disturbingly vague now, but...

I get the uneasy feeling
that the answers might frighten both of us.

In that case...

some questions
are best left unanswered.

And some answers
best left unquestioned.

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