Original subtitles

Flight 827 to San Francisco International...

is now boarding at Gate 18.

I'm Clement Mitchell.

Professor Mitchell, Jack Patton sent me to meet you.

- Here let me get your bag. - Thank you.

I've arranged for a limo to take you to the resort.

Resort?

This is my first time, but it's my understanding

that Mr. Patton always holds his murder-mystery weekends at his home.

I rented a car.

Well, Jack has something special planned

for his guests this weekend, professor, but it's a mystery.

- Just like one of his books. - Heh.

There's a letter in here that will explain everything,

- and I'll take care of your rental car. - Okay. Heh, heh.

Enjoy yourself, professor.

- Have a nice time. - Thank you very much.

I'm Clement Mitchell. You're holding a car for me.

Yes, we are, sir. And you're in Lot B.

- Are you here on business or pleasure? - Business.

But it's always a pleasure.

All set, Steve.

Hold it there, Father.

I've got an extra pair of pajamas and a sweater just in case.

In case of what, Marie?

You've already packed a pair of pajamas and two sweaters.

Don't forget the six pairs of socks, Frank.

Yeah. Mr. Sweeny, my first husband, used to say: "When a man's on the road,

he can't have too many socks."

Mr. Sweeny was a travelling salesman in his youth.

- Hmm. - And his feet were always warm.

And clean, ha, ha.

Marie, I'm only gonna be gone for two nights.

You don't have to make a big production out of this.

But it is a big production, Frank.

How many people get invited to one of Jack Patton's

- famous murder-mystery weekends? - Absolutely.

It's a great honor, Father Dowling.

Publicity like this makes the priesthood

much more accessible to the community,

which is why the bishop insisted that I assume your duties while you're gone.

Though I have to admit,

I was a little concerned why I wasn't included as well.

- You, Father? - After all, Sister Stephanie,

Jack Patton might never have extended this invitation

if it hadn't been for that fuss in the newspaper

when we saved the Chalice of St. Sophia from those con men.

"We" saved the chalice?

Well, don't you remember, Sister Stephanie?

Father Prestwick was very much involved with that con.

Intimately.

Hmm.

Well, Sister Stephanie wasn't invited either. Maybe next time.

Oh, Steve, you sure you wanna drive me? I can get a cab.

Not on your life, Frank. I wanna meet this guy.

- Hmm. - Oh, Father, I can get your scarf.

- In case it gets chilly. - Bye, Marie.

- Bye. - Bye.

Well, at least there was one consolation, Marie.

What's that, Father?

After juggling the Bishop's appointment calendar all week,

two days managing a little parish like St. Michael's

should prove to be quite restful.

Oh, dear Lord. There's the plumbing again.

The plumbing?

Father Dowling was gonna fix it this weekend.

Now I guess the job is up to you, Father.

Oh, by the way you've got the Altar Guild at 4:00.

Then at 5 you've got the Gleason wedding rehearsal,

and at 6 mother superior wants you over at the convent

to hear the sisters' weekly confession.

I guess you'll have to miss dinner, Father.

I guess there's money in murder, Frank.

Murder mystery, Steve.

Jack Patton's the best-selling mystery novelist since Agatha Christie.

Hey.

They say he's obsessed with electronic security.

Waiting around like this drives me crazy.

I give him five more minutes, I'm out of here.

Oh, surely not, sergeant, we've each come

a considerable distance for this weekend's amusement.

It seems a pity to cancel just because our host is slightly delayed.

I know. But I got in from New York three hours ago,

and the guy still isn't here.

Well, he obviously expected us or his security system

wouldn't have let us in.

- Father Dowling. Sister Stephanie. - Hi.

- Lindsey Quinn. FRANK: Nice to meet you, officer.

Oh, that's a nice jacket, but it doesn't quite conceal your gun.

Besides, your friend called you "sergeant" as we came in.

Sir Arthur Wedgeworth, Sister.

You needn't bother to deduce my profession, Father.

I'm a consultant for Scotland Yard.

I'm a bit of an armchair sleuth myself, actually,

with due deference to our new friend, the professor here.

Clement Mitchell, Boston College Criminology Department.

Oh, Professor Mitchell, I've read your articles in Armchair Sleuth magazine.

- They're brilliant. - Oh, well...

Have a care, Father. Flatter an academic

- and you'll never be rid of him. - Heh, heh.

Why a nun?

- Why a cop? - Hmm.

Ever since I was a little girl, I loved the uniform.

- Me too. - Hmm.

You know, if this were a stakeout, I'd think we'd all been set up.

So you've been here before Art.

Does Patton treat all his guests like this?

Ask him yourself, sergeant, if I'm not mistaken

that's dear old Jack now.

Oh, my God.

Jack?

He's dead.

Welcome to my murder.

Six months ago, I was diagnosed with a terminal illness.

Well, rather than suffer a long and painful decline,

I've decided to plot my own murder, as you see.

Fitting climax to a triumphant literary career in crime.

Now, some of you might consider this to be in poor taste.

But since it's my death, I'll die as I want.

I challenge you, the finest deductive minds in the country,

to solve the crime and to catch my murderer before he escapes.

The police have been notified and will be here within the hour,

but it's really up to the four of you.

You'll find the evidence you need to start

at the beginning of the 25th psalm.

That first clue is in your honor, Father.

Heh, good luck. You'll need it. Heh, heh.

Let's find a Bible. There.

What is it, Frank?

Patton said that the evidence we need to start

is at the beginning at the 25th psalm, hmm?

- And he called that the first clue. - So?

The 25th psalm is an acrostic.

Every line starts with a letter from the Hebrew alphabet.

Alef, beit, gimel, and so on.

Steve,

where else would you find words in alphabetical order?

Dictionary.

- A rose. - There are roses in the front hall.

Excuse me, everybody.

X marks the spot.

Let's take a look.

Can I see this for a second? - Hmm.

Frank. FRANK: Hm.

There's some kind of a bird cooking in here.

That, Sister Stephanie, is what is known as a wild goose.

Shouldn't there be a body here?

Well, there would be if Jack Patton was dead,

but he isn't dead, is he, Sir Arthur?

You told us he was dead, Art.

He lied. Please don't be too hard on Sir Arthur, sergeant.

He's an old friend and a good sport.

I hope you're all good sports.

If you are, heh, heh, heh,

we'll have a wonderful time.

- Please sit down. - Thanks.

Father Dowling, I was just telling Sister Stephanie that she did so well

unraveling that last clue I'd like her to stay the weekend.

Looks like those spare pajamas are gonna come in handy, Frank.

- Mr. Patton. - Oh, please, Father, call me Jack.

Jack.

I enjoy and admire your books,

and I was looking forward to meeting you.

- I sense a "but" coming on. - But...

this mystery weekend is not exactly what I expected.

Faking your own murder?

Well, that was just to whet your appetite.

Tomorrow, I serve the main course.

Well, I hope your main course is in better taste.

How do your other guests feel?

Well, I haven't met Sergeant Quinn or the professor before,

but we've corresponded.

They are first-timers, like yourself. Sir Arthur is an old hand at the game.

He seems to enjoy it.

I'm sorry you don't approve.

I just don't think murder is something to joke about.

Neither do I.

Father, I write about crime and I do it well.

When I write a book, I'm in control.

There's no risk, no surprise. There's no challenge anymore.

- And these mystery weekends? - Provide the challenge I crave.

My intellect against yours.

Literary detective against true detective.

Oh, heh, heh. I'm hardly a true detective.

A parish priest who solves crimes.

Oh, Father, ha, ha, you do what I only dream of.

You should write a book.

Father,

it's a pleasure to have you here.

- Sister. - Thank you.

Steve, did you notice his palm when we shook hands?

Sweaty. He's nervous, Frank.

I wonder why?

Why don't we go inside. I'll show you around.

Great.

Well, Professor Mitchell,

we meet face to face at last.

I can't say I've been looking forward to this.

But I've just reread your last message and, uh,

I think we have a great deal to discuss.

No, actually we don't.

Was that a shot? - Steve?

Has anybody seen Steve? - In here.

- Where's the light? - Jack?

Oh, my God.

He's dead.

- What, again? - No, this time it's no joke, sergeant.

You better take charge.

Dead? Are you sure?

- Steve. - Frank.

You are never gonna believe what happened to me.

There's a secret passage way in...

Oh. That looks real.

It is.

- Evening, lieutenant. - Evening, gentleman.

Right through there. - Thank you.

- Adams. Homicide. - Sergeant Quinn, N.Y.P.D.

We got a call. What's the situation?

The victim is a white male, mid 40s, no visible wounds.

No visible wounds? He was shot.

We haven't examined the body.

I thought it best to preserve the crime scene

- as we found it until your team arrived. - Good.

Professional courtesy.

- Professional courtesy, Frank. - Oh, right.

I don't get it. We didn't lock these doors.

- Well, they're locked now. - Patton's homemade security system.

- It must have locked automatically. - So how do we get in?

Jack told me that he designed the whole system

to be controlled by a single central computer.

And where is this central computer?

Well, there's some kind of computer in the library.

Great.

Father, isn't there supposed to be a body in this room?

Good old Jack.

He did it again.

- Who did what? - Jack Patton.

This is another one of his games, but this time he had your help

to pull the gag, Father.

- Now, wait a minute. - No.

Perfect. Who'd suspect deception from a priest.

- I didn't have... - Are you telling me this is a game?

This whole weekend's a game, lieutenant.

Lieutenant, Jack Patton was at that desk and he was dead.

And somebody locked me in the basement.

Oh, Sister, please.

Father, making a false police report is a serious crime.

- If you weren't a priest... - Lieutenant, you've gotta believe me.

Excuse me.

Steve, Patton was dead. I felt his pulse.

- I believe you, Frank. - Yeah, well, they don't.

- No, they think it's a game. - Heh, game.

Steve, someone in this house killed Jack Patton,

and I think I know a way to find out who.

How?

Well, Patton talked about taking risks,

yet he was obsessed with control.

Photoelectric alarms, gates, doors, video cameras everywhere.

He's even got one here in this room.

Frank, if that works like the security system in a bank,

then it has recorded everything that it has seen.

That's what I thought, Steve.

If we can just find the VCR, we might have a tape of Patton's murder.

It's not gonna be easy, you know.

The recorder is probably hidden somewhere with the central computer.

Well, isn't this the central computer?

No, this is a terminal. It's like an extension on a telephone.

So it must be someplace else.

We'll start looking first thing tomorrow morning.

Yeah. While you do that, I'll have a talk with the others.

- Steve? - Yeah.

What worries me is we were all together

from the time we discovered Patton's body until the police arrived.

- Right? - Right.

Then we all came in here and Patton's body was gone.

If we were all together who moved the body?

It wasn't me, Frank. I was with you.

Well, it wasn't me either. I was with her.

Father Dowling, thank heavens I caught you.

You have got to come home.

When? Today. This morning. Now.

This weekend isn't turning out at all the way I had hoped.

- I finally got the sink bailed out. - Hold on.

You better get changed.

You've got the Connor quintuplet baptism in 10 minutes.

Father Dowling, please.

Heh, heh. It sounds like the typical weekend at St. Michaels.

Well, I'm sure you're doing just fine, Father.

No, no, I can't get away. You'll have to hold the fort down alone.

All right, Phil. Bye-bye.

- Trouble at home? - Plumbing problems.

Sir Arthur,

as long as you insist on playing Patton's game,

- can I ask you a question? - Fire away.

Well, last night when we all came downstairs after we heard the shot,

I can't recall whether I saw you coming out first from your room

or the top of the stairs. - Oh, I see.

If one of us shot Jack Patton, he wouldn't have had time

to return to his room before we came down.

So the killer would've either had to join us on the stairs or in the front hall.

Very good, Father. You have a flair for this.

Well, as you say, we might as well play along.

Absolutely. Let me see.

Well, I remember seeing Lindsey coming out of her room.

By the way, sergeant, that reminds me, for a police officer,

you look very becoming in black lace.

Thanks.

But it's funny, Wedgie, I don't remember seeing you

until we got halfway down the stairs.

Oh, I do. Sir Arthur was just ahead of me,

but I don't remember seeing you, Father.

So much for our alibis.

In a jury trial, an alibi without creditable corroboration

can be more damning to the defendant than no alibi at all.

Dear old Jack must be really enjoying himself this time.

Well, I'm not.

I keep on expecting Patton to jump out of a closet and go "boo."

Well, obviously he won't reveal himself until we solve the mystery.

Ah, but without an alibi, anyone of us could be the murderer.

Even Father Dowling.

Oh, not again.

Frank!

Frank!

You're not enjoying yourself very much, are you, sergeant?

Games don't thrill me, Father.

I probably wouldn't be here if Patton hadn't promised

- to help me with my book. - You wrote a book?

Patton read an article about me when I got my gold shield

for busting a drug overlord.

The book was his idea.

I hope your literary efforts fair better

with dear old Jack then mine did, sergeant.

- You wrote a book too, Sir Arthur? - Yes, also encouraged by Jack.

We met in London while he was researching that novel.

He urged me to chronicle my exploits, such as they were.

When I asked his opinion of the manuscript,

dear old Jack just ripped it to shreds. - Heh, heh, heh.

Well, criticism can be hard to take sometimes.

Well, this was more than criticism, Father, it was savagery.

Pure and simple.

You make him sound like a sadist?

Not at all. Our Jack just has to prove that he's better than everybody else.

That's all. That's the whole point of these mystery weekends.

I keep returning because I hope that one day he'll fall flat on his face.

But he never does. He's too clever.

If anyone ever deserves to really be murdered, it's dear old Jack.

It's your move.

Steve.

Sister Stephanie.

Steve?

Steve, are you all right?

Somebody tried to kill me.

- I don't like that look, Father. - It couldn't have been one of us.

- We were with you. - Do you still think this is

part of Patton's mystery game? - Of course, it is.

It's in typically bad taste.

You know, I think it's time we took a look around the house.

Let me help you.

- It's okay. - Steve, I don't understand it.

If they were with me and Jack Patton is dead, who tried to kill you?

Frank, look at this.

Both of these cars have computer ignitions with remote controls.

It's handy for warming up your engine on a cold winter morning, you know?

Or trying to kill someone by asphyxiation.

Steve, could these cars and those doors

- be operated by a central computer? - Sure.

Would someone have to be on hand to run that computer?

Not really. You could program it in advance,

like taping a TV show in a VCR.

Then all of our suspects are still suspects.

What were you doing before this happened?

Well, I was looking for the central computer,

like we talked about. I was following the cable down.

I think it went into the basement, Frank.

Great, I wish I had found that last night when I was

- bumping around down here. - Heh.

Hm.

You know, you would think that an insecure egotist like Patton

would stock his cellar with better wine.

Not much to see down here, is there?

No, apparently not.

Say, how did you get up to the library last night?

There's a secret passageway around the corner.

Frank, I was thinking,

maybe we should check out some of the other guest rooms?

- I've got my hair pin. - Sister Stephanie,

you are entirely too fond of breaking and entering.

- Only entering, Frank. I never break. - Hmm.

- Oh, good Lord. - No, be careful, Frank.

- Watch out for glass. - I'm so embarrassed.

Well, it could have been worse.

- It could have been champagne. - Yeah.

- Two down, one to go, Frank. - Hmm.

So far the biggest secret we've uncovered

was Sergeant Quinn's supply of Sugar Babies.

Well, Professor Mitchell, he must be very hard on his students.

- What do you mean? - Well, look at this, Steve.

He's so neat. Shirts, socks, shorts, shoes.

All lined up like they were waiting for an inspection.

Maybe he got his degree in the Marine Corps.

Heh. Even his magazines.

- Steve. - What?

Look at this.

"In a jury trial, an alibi without credible corroboration

can be more damning for the defendant than no alibi at all."

Very interesting, Frank. Who wrote that?

- Professor Clement Mitchell. - Hmm.

Steve, I think Professor Mitchell has shown us

a way to expose Patton's killer.

Father. My Lord.

Huh, you can't imagine the day I've had.

The kitchen is flooded.

All of the altar boys from the parish

are sick with food poisoning as a result of this afternoon's picnic.

I can't find any servers for this evening's mass.

I just learned that there is a bingo game

in the church basement this evening...

but I've loaned all of our folding chairs to the Ladies Auxiliary.

And just five minutes ago, Marie has announced to me

that this evening is her night off. Heh, heh.

Father Dowling, heh, heh, would you please tell me what to do?

Phil, did you try turning off the water?

Well, there's a valve right outside the kitchen door.

The one marked "shutoff."

Yeah, you do that.

We'll be home tomorrow. Goodbye, Phil.

If I could get a seat on a plane this late I'd go home right now. Unh.

No luck finding our host?

Scoured the grounds from gate to garden.

We've searched in every nook, and every cranny

from drafty attic to dark foundation

and nary a sign of our wayward landlord did we spy.

In a word, no.

I half wish you hadn't been kidding last night, Father.

What do you mean?

The way Patton has treated us,

if he isn't dead already, he ought to be.

No, I quit.

Oh, come on, Lindsey,

you're not gonna just let him win like that, are you?

He hasn't won anything, Steve.

This is an idiot game and I don't wanna play anymore.

Quit or lose, it amounts to the same thing.

But I agree with you, sergeant, enough is enough.

Jack, where ever you are,

we surrender.

Reveal yourself LINDSEY: Hey.

Hey, look at this.

Well, that's a car key.

Not just any car key, Frank. This is a Jaguar car key.

How much do you wanna bet that this fits the car in Patton's garage.

Well, how did it get here.

Patton must have put it here when we were out looking for him.

It's a clue, Frank. I think we should check it out.

- No. - No?

Sergeant Quinn and the others are right.

We're finished playing Patton's game.

- But... - Steve, dead or alive,

Jack Patton is an egotistical bore and I've had enough of him.

Good night.

Whoa. Ahh!

Wedgeworth.

What on earth did you do that for, sergeant?

I thought you were Patton.

- Isn't he here? - No, this is another one of his

wild goose chases, and I fell for it.

Well, at least I'm not the only one, huh?

Oh, thank you. Thank you so much.

I'm sorry, Frank.

I guess your plan to trap the killer didn't really work.

Actually, Steve, it worked out better than I expected.

You're very good, whoever you are.

But when you quoted Professor Mitchell's articles

on alibis that was in the Armchair Sleuth, word for word, heh, heh,

you were too good.

Father Dowling, I don't know what you mean.

Yes, you do.

We found copies of Mitchell's articles in your room.

Highlighted and underlined, just like a student's textbook.

And I thought I was just being well-prepared.

Hmm.

You're probably the first killer whoever gave himself away

with good study habits.

Well, at least I didn't fall for that trap with Patton's car key.

Ah, but you did.

You see, only the killer could know it was a trap.

Only the killer knew that Patton was dead

and couldn't leave anything behind in his office.

Quinn and Wedgeworth fell for the trap, but you didn't.

The trap was there was no trap.

It's too bad Patton is dead.

He would have liked playing games with you, Father.

It's a nice touch leaving his body in my car.

I should've known you and the Sister had it hidden all along.

But the game is over now.

This says I win, Father, and you lose.

We'll do this up the road a bit.

Otherwise, Sergeant Quinn might hear the shots

and she has a gun of her own.

You didn't worry about making any noise when you killed Patton.

You were supposed to hear me, Sister.

That was part of the contract.

What contract?

You never stop, do you?

You still think this is some kind of game.

Amateurs. You make me sick.

Oh, my God. The gate is electrified.

Frank, is he dead?

From what you tell me, Father, this man, Mitchell,

or whatever his name is, must have been a professional hit man.

Any idea why a professional would wanna kill your friend Patton?

He wasn't my friend, lieutenant.

Patton wasn't anyone's friend.

Maybe the hit man wrote a book and Jack didn't like it.

Some people find it so difficult to accept criticism graciously.

What is it, Frank? - Glass.

Lieutenant Adams.

He was up at the gate.

Says he was invited here for some kind of mystery party.

I have just spent two days chasing a trail of idiotic clues

all over Champaign-Urbana.

This morning it finally dawned on me

that I've been the victim of some vulgar practical joke.

Excuse me. Who are you?

Clement Mitchell.

Professor Clement Mitchell, Boston College. Who are you?

Who are all these people?

Where's Jack Patton?

Will someone please tell me what's going on here?

That's enough, professor.

Don't touch that computer, those files are evidence.

I don't understand.

The case is closed.

That man was the killer. You proved it, Father.

The man who impersonated you may have been the killer,

but from the beginning, I knew someone else was involved.

The hit man, the guy who was pretending to be you,

he was with us when Patton's body disappeared.

And he was with me when someone tried to kill Steve.

You thought, I'd identify you.

You're the one who locked me in the basement

the night that Patton was shot.

You've been hiding in this room all the time,

watching us on those monitors.

Well, even if it were true, you can't connect me with Patton's death.

You hid Patton's body in this room with you.

You wanted to have time to go through his computer files.

- You can't prove that. - Oh, yes, we can.

You see, I broke a wine bottle outside this door yesterday.

It was quite a mess. Broken glass all over the floor.

When you dragged Patton's body out to the killer's car,

some of that broken glass was on his trousers.

We saw it when the coroner came to take away his body.

This is ridiculous. The killer was a professional hit man.

Well, you may have hired him through a third party.

He wouldn't know who he was working for.

Well, then why on earth would I have him impersonate me?

To give yourself an alibi.

It's like you said, professor, "An alibi without any credible corroboration

can be more damning for a defendant than no alibi at all."

Motive.

What possible motive would I have to want Jack Patton dead?

When we go through those computer files,

I think that we'll find that you wanted his help to get a book published.

Considering how Patton treated other wannabe writers,

it probably wasn't such a good idea.

I had all the ideas.

I've been advising him for years.

I helped him design his security system.

I even gave him the plot for his last best-seller.

All I wanted was a little support...

but he ripped me apart.

He told his publisher that if they took my book,

he'd never sell them another.

His ego couldn't stand the competition,

and yours couldn't stand the rejection.

Professor, you're under arrest.

Come on. Come on.

Father Prestwick, are you all right?

- Fine. Fine. - Phil. What are you doing here?

Ah, I'm...

Father...

you have to come home.

This weekend hasn't been what I expected.

The plumbing and the Ladies Auxiliary.

In all humility, Father, I'm in over my head.

A little humility is good for us all, Phil.

A little humility might have saved a man's life.

Last night, after bingo, I locked up the church.

This morning I could not find the key.

I tried calling the Patton house, but that phone was disconnected.

I didn't know what to do.

How did you get in the church for morning mass?

Oh, well, I found a way.

Through the sacristy window.

- Heh, heh, heh. - Why, Phil, this is a side of you

I've never seen before.

You would have seen more if he hadn't had a vestment

that covered the tear in his pants.

Oh, but, you know, running a parish is much harder work

than I ever imagined, Father. - Yes.

It takes a lot of faith and a lot of elbow grease.

There we go. That's it.

All finished.

- Should I turn it on? - Oh, may I?

Be my guest.