Original subtitles

I'm bringing back the man who started the company.

Preston Giles? He's in jail for murder.

Tonight on Murder, She Wrote.

Start with J.B. Fletcher.

She's the one who put me behind bars.

Preston?

Forgive me for surprising you like this.

No! No! Stay away from me!

You seem to have some sort of allergy.

I'm allergic to you.

Breakfast tomorrow, if you wish.

I think it's best if... if we didn't.

Apparently crime does pay.

Get out of my sight!

Al, you're killing me.

Look, all we're talking is another 5,000 copies.

End of the month. You have my word.

Al, Al?

Al, why don't you let me worry about the paper suppliers?

You stick to the printing and the binding, okay?

Okay, thanks, buddy.

Yeah, you're a prince.

Bastard.

You were supposed to come home two days ago.

Yeah, well, if you'd return my calls, you'd know why I didn't.

I had my hands full, remember?

And?

Kendall's nervous.

I don't blame him.

If I were refinancing you and that broken-down operation

to the tune of $20 million, I'd want some assurances that

it wasn't going into chapter 11 before the ink dried.

- I told you-- - Spare me, Ross.

It's all smoke.

The blockbuster titles, the name writers coming back--

- Linette-- - Please!

You know, I should have gone with my instincts

and not mixed business with family.

No, instead, I had to put my job on the line

to keep you from sinking into the East River.

Damn it, Ross, there is more to taking over a company than just--

Save the sermon, will you, Linette?

Your boss and I go back a few semesters.

He never would have touched this deal if he thought it

might embarrass him or the bank or his neurotic little wife.

Now, trust me.

Sutton Place Publishing is about to regain its image

as the A-1 class act in the bestseller business.

How, with mirrors?

You might say that, yeah.

A mirror to the past.

I'm bringing back the man who started the company.

Preston Giles?

He's in jail for murder.

Not for long.

I spent the better part of a month pulling strings and calling in markers.

He gets out on parole Tuesday.

I understand. No, believe me, I understand.

He's coming out. I have to go.

Hey, trust me, this is going to work.

A couple of weeks from now,

you and I are gonna have a big monkey off our back thanks to Mr. Preston Giles.

Yeah. Call you later.

Mr. Giles.

Ross McKay.

I have been looking forward to this moment, sir.

Mr. McKay.

What do you say we begin by dropping the "misters"?

Welcome aboard, Preston.

Well, thank you, Ross.

Look, I understand.

You were totally up front with me in your letters.

All I ask is that you keep an open mind

because I'm going to prove that you're wrong about me.

And, what the hell,

worst case scenario, it's got to be better than another eight or ten years in there.

Right?

Forgive me.

I guess this is going to take some getting used to.

Mmm, okay. So you don't like my style.

And maybe Sutton Place Publishing isn't what it used to be.

Nobody's perfect.

On the other hand, I wasn't jailed for murder.

I'm sorry, that was uncalled for.

Listen, if I hadn't pulled off my takeover,

then some fifth-rate greenmail operator

who never read a book in his life would have.

Sutton Place Publishing would be history by now and you'd still be inside.

So are we still on?

Yes, we're on.

End of discussion.

You know, Preston,

whether you believe me or not, I am deadly serious about this,

about returning Sutton Place Publishing to the kind of class act you ran,

something you can be proud of.

And I'm convinced that together, we can pull it off.

Okay.

So, as we discussed,

we need to get some quality product in the pipeline,

which means that we have to restore our list of first-class writers.

We start with J.B. Fletcher.

Jessica?

She's the lynchpin.

Look, during your watch, Sutton Place Publishing

was known for its quality mysteries.

You nail her,

I know of a dozen top writers that'll come flocking back.

Well, I don't know, Ross.

What's to know?

Well, she's the one who put me behind bars.

So what?

You launched the woman's career. She's your discovery.

She owes you and she knows it.

Ross, about this weekend.

I'm gonna to have to go out to Long Island.

I've got to meet with some investors from California.

Wonderful.

Be sure and give Kendall my regards, won't you?

Mr. McKay, I'm sorry,

one of our paper suppliers is on line four.

They're refusing delivery unless they get a check.

Tell them to hold.

Linette, I am getting a little tired of your excuses--

Ross, it's business.

Stop behaving like a jealous schoolboy.

Linette, I need to talk to you about the Felson merger.

Of course, Mr. Stafford.

Darling, I've got a meeting in five minutes.

Besides, we have the whole weekend to look forward to.

Oh, that's off, I'm afraid, Lin.

Millie volunteered my services as toastmaster for the Hunt Club Ball,

forgot to tell me about it until this morning.

Oh.

Well, that's probably just as well.

My husband needs my help

preparing for next week's audit.

I hope that's all the help you're giving him.

I'm sure it's no more than you're giving your wife.

Mr. Giles.

Mr. Whitcomb just called. He said he's running late.

Oh? I thought I asked you to move that meeting back to 4:00

and shift Carruthers to Monday.

Oh, dear, yes, yes, you did,

and I did write it down somewhere.

Gloria, you're having a problem, aren't you,

- working with me? - Problem? I...

No, no, Mr. Giles.

I know it's silly of me, but--

Forgive me.

I should have been more sensitive of the situation.

Look, if you'd prefer to leave, I'd certainly understand.

Oh, no, no, I'd much rather stay.

But you have to understand, Mr. Giles.

I know it's irrational, but everything frightens me.

Crossing the street, riding the subway.

That doesn't sound irrational to me.

Oh.

I'm your basic frightened person, but I'm working on it.

I read books on the subjects.

I take classes.

I--I try and psych myself.

So if you'll just be patient with me.

Well.

I see that Ross has chosen to ignore my advice.

Apparently, crime does pay.

Seems to have paid for you, Martin.

You're as predictable as ever, Preston.

May I remind you

that your accusations against me were never proven

because they were totally without merit.

Believe me, Martin,

if I hadn't gotten myself in trouble,

I not only would have proven them,

I'd have seen to it that you were locked up as you deserve.

Now, what did you want to see me about?

I suppose it's to be expected that your years of incarceration

have nurtured your paranoia.

Believe it or not, I am not the cause of all your problems.

I know that.

I have no one but myself to blame

for the mess I made of my life and this company.

You got that right.

But the miserable state of its finances when I went to prison

can only be laid at your feet, Martin.

You made it vulnerable to a predator like Ross McKay in the first place.

Now, get out of my sight

before I say or do something I'll be sorry for!

I said get out, now!

Piece of advice, Preston.

Don't be misled by your title.

I'm Senior VP and controller now

and a member of the board of directors.

And I suggest you keep a lid on your opinions

and, if possible, on your temper.

Martin, we need to talk.

Ross, there you are.

I've been trying to touch base with you since Monday morning.

The advertising copy for Drums on the Amazon,

um, I'm sorry, Ross, but it's tacky and exploitive,

totally counter to the image we should be projecting.

I've called you, sent memos.

I'm sorry, Preston.

Your messages must have fallen between the cracks.

I promise you, though,

that you and I are gonna spend some serious time together

before the weekend.

Almost forgot,

a royalty check for J.B. Fletcher.

The Corpse Danced at Midnight.

I understand you're going to be contacting her.

I'm going to try. I'm not at all certain she'll see me.

Nonsense, Preston.

I'm sure your years in prison

did nothing to diminish your legendary charm.

You know, Mrs. J.B. Fletcher,

you could be a very disruptive influence in my life.

Well, only my students call me Mrs. Fletcher, Mr. Giles.

Oh, and Mr. Giles

is that stuffed shirt in the three-piece suit

I left back in New York.

Good afternoon, Mrs. Fletcher.

Good afternoon.

Caught your interview on the morning show. Your new book sounds terrific.

Well, thank you. Believe me, Mr. Phelps,

it's a lot easier to write a book than to promote it.

Jessica?

Preston?

Hello, Jess.

Forgive me for surprising you like this.

Surprising me?

I'm in shock.

I thought you were...

Still in prison?

Look, Jess, I'm terribly sorry.

I should have called you.

Here, perhaps if we sat down.

Oh, thank you. No, no, no, I'll be all right, really...

I just need a moment.

Of course.

The truth is, I was afraid that if I called you,

you'd refuse to see me.

And I wanted to very much to see you again face to face.

Well, I--I'm not so sure that's a good idea.

Yes, well that seems more apparent by the second.

I'm sorry. Forgive me for intruding.

Preston.

Maybe it would be best if we... if we did talk.

One of my regrets, Jess, one of my many,

is that you didn't come into my life sooner.

I was so full of anger.

A good deal of it directed toward me, I'm sure.

For uncovering my guilt? I suppose so, at first.

Could I have escaped punishment if you hadn't been there?

Perhaps from the law,

but not from here.

The monstrousness of what I did,

the awful knowledge that in my anger and then in fear,

I took the lives of two people,

it hasn't left my thoughts for a moment.

It never will.

Preston, why did you come looking for me?

What is it you want?

I'd almost forgotten that refreshing directness of yours.

I was going to ask you to leave your current publisher

and come back to Sutton Place.

Oh, I see.

I'm on parole thanks to a man named Ross McKay.

I know who he is.

No, he's not one of my favorite people, either.

But he was my ticket out of prison.

I'd have dealt with the devil to get out of that place.

Come to think of it, maybe I did.

Preston, earlier you said that

you were going to ask me to leave my current publisher?

I was.

And on the way here, I changed my mind.

Ross and his wife, Linette, are having a small dinner party

at his townhouse tomorrow evening.

I was supposed to lure you there,

ply you with flattery and promises,

at which point, Ross would produce a check.

Sounds very cold-blooded, doesn't it?

Very.

Funny.

I tried to convince myself I could make a difference,

that I could revive whatever remained of the publishing company's reputation.

It's become clear I was deluding myself.

What probably best characterizes Ross is his choice of VP controller,

the same man I caught embezzling six and a half years ago,

which reminds me. Here's a royalty check.

The Corpse Danced at Midnight.

Oh. Thank you.

Anyway, Jess, I've decided to bid the job and Ross goodbye.

What can I say, Jess, except thank you.

Will you be all right?

Either I'll find a job with someone else or...

there are a lot of books I never got around to reading

in the prison library.

I wish you the best.

If there is something that I can do...

No, no, please. Thanks, anyway.

This is all moving just too fast

for a widow woman from Maine.

Oh!

Okay.

I'd be lying if I said I wasn't disappointed.

But I've been there before.

Ross, you don't--

Believe me, with the kind of deals we're offering...

- Ross. - They're all gonna come around,

including J.B. Fletcher.

No, she won't. Anyway, that's not why I'm here.

I'm quitting, Ross, effective immediately.

Don't be a fool.

I appreciate the opportunity. I really do.

But it's clear I don't belong here.

You figured that out in, what, ten days?

You're crazy, pal, you know that?

Or have you forgotten that your parole

happens to be conditional on your continued employment?

I'll take my chances.

You don't think I meant what I said about turning this place around.

That's it, isn't it?

I'm sure you believe it, Ross.

Man, I must be losing my touch.

Look, Preston, maybe you're right.

Maybe I was the fool to think I could ever match

the standards you set for this company.

I guess I was hoping that having you around,

maybe some of your style would, you know, rub off on me.

All right.

Do me a favor, though, will you?

- Just give it a month. - Ross, I don't--

Excuse me. Mr. McKay, your meeting.

Tell them to wait.

Yes, sir.

One month.

Oh, Dorothy, you better make that two hours

for Mr. Giles and myself on Friday.

By then, we'll have everything aired out and if you still want to leave, you leave.

Deal?

- Deal. - Wonderful.

By the way, how's that presentation coming along?

You know, for the new investors.

It still needs, oh, five, six hours work. I'll have it for you tomorrow afternoon.

No good.

The meeting's been moved up.

I'm going to need it first thing in the morning.

Listen, I hate to ask, but...

Not much on my social calendar these days.

I'll work on it tonight.

Preston, you're a prince.

I'll make it up to you, I promise.

Mr. Giles, Mrs. Fletcher just called.

She'd like to speak to you as soon as possible.

- Oh. - Jess?

Preston, you really didn't have to come over.

I only called you to have you stop payment on that royalty check.

Are you sure you're all right?

Oh, yes. Except for a few minor bruises, I'm fine.

I feel responsible for this.

I should have seen you to your door.

Well, I doubt that would have made much difference.

Well, have you notified the police?

Oh, yes. They just left. I couldn't help them very much.

I didn't get a look at the man's face.

And all he took was your handbag?

Yes. It had some cash, credit cards,

the check that you gave me.

Now, he'd opened the drawer where I kept my jewelry.

I must have interrupted him, because he never took it.

Well, I'll tell accounting to issue a fresh check.

Thank you. They can send it on to me in Cabot Cove.

Or I could deliver it at breakfast tomorrow, if you wish.

Preston, I think it's best if... if we didn't do that.

As you wish.

Look, I told you about it this morning, Millie.

I know that, Kendall, but I was just hoping that...

well, you know, that maybe you'd changed your mind.

It's been such a long time since we've been to the opera together,

and I made dinner reservations at Gasparis.

Don't you understand? I'm up to my eyeballs.

I've been up to my eyeballs for weeks.

I just thought that--

That's your trouble, my darling, you don't think.

Kendall, now, I'm getting a little tired

of being nothing more than your personal piggy bank.

Now, we have a marriage,

and I'm not going to let that be destroyed

by anything or anyone.

Now, don't push me.

Sorry, I guess I'm just a little tired.

Of course you are.

Don't work too late.

Kendall, what the hell is this all about?

Hello, Linette.

Millie.

I suppose that you're going to be working late too.

What did she want?

My body.

She was plying me with opera tickets and my favorite pasta.

I told her she'd have to wait in line.

Really? Well, she's welcome to it right now.

Linette, for God's sake, I'm only kidding.

- What's the problem? - This. What do you mean

you can't hold the Denver Group any longer?

You knew very well how much time Ross was going to need.

And besides, whose deal is it, anyway?

Who do you think has been holding this together?

My God, you're sexy when you're angry.

I heard about Mrs. Fletcher's brush with that mugger.

She's lucky she wasn't seriously hurt.

Yes, she was.

These people seem to have less and less regard for their victims.

But then, we're living in such violent times.

I'm rather busy just now, Martin.

Oh, no problem.

I was about to call it a night myself.

I wanted you to know, we'll be cutting a fresh check

for Mrs. Fletcher in the morning.

It'll be mailed to Cabot Cove per your instructions.

Good night, Mr. Bergman.

Good night, Miss Winslow.

Here are those letters, Mr. Giles.

Will you be needing me for anything else?

Only this presentation, Gloria. Would you mind running off 15 copies?

Of course not.

Gloria?

No! No! Stay away from me!

Jessica, I swear I did not kill Martin Bergman.

I want to believe you, Preston.

I know, I know. You'd be a fool to simply take my word.

But can you give me any reason why I should? I mean, anything?

A detail that you might have overlooked,

something that you might have been doing, someone you might have seen,

anything to put you in your office when he was stabbed?

No, nothing. I've gone over it a hundred times.

Preston, you told me something

that doesn't make sense.

You said that Martin Bergman embezzled funds in your company

and yet you never pressed charges.

My lawyers and accountants told me I'd never make it stick.

His swindle was so Byzantine,

it would have taken a team of auditors years to unravel.

Besides, he threatened me with blackmail.

Oh, he didn't have anything, nothing concrete.

He said he checked up on my past,

found a lot of unanswered questions.

Well, you know all about that.

Anyway, it was a Mexican standoff.

I had him, all right,

but I didn't want him digging into my past,

so I simply fired him and got on with business.

But according to the newspapers,

you threatened to kill him at a cocktail party

in front of witnesses, Preston.

In a fit of temper, yes.

Jessica, the man stole nearly $3 million.

I'd built the company from scratch.

We were profitable, highly respected.

But then suddenly we found ourselves

in deep financial trouble.

And a short time later, two men were dead,

including a blackmailing private detective.

Finish the thought.

If I could kill two men

for interfering with my life, why not a third?

Oh, please. Don't try to read my mind.

At this point, it just isn't possible.

Look, Jess, it was good of you to come down here.

But even if you believe me,

I realize this is not your problem.

What do you mean, how's it goin'?

It's goin' lousy, that's how it's goin'.

And I got this lady writer runnin' around, makin' a royal pain out of herself.

Later.

Excuse me, Sergeant. I just wanted to thank you

for arranging for me to see Mr. Giles. It was very kind of you.

Come here. Close the door.

Sit down.

Bless you.

Thanks.

So what'd he tell you?

Well, actually, it was a private conversation.

What are you, his priest? His lawyer?

You got no confidential privilege here, lady.

Very well. As soon as you serve me with a subpoena,

I'll be happy to answer any questions that I can.

But in the meantime--

According to your statement,

you had lunch with Giles yesterday from 12:45 to 2:15.

I don't suppose you want to tell me about that, either?

No, I don't.

Well, if there's nothing else, Sergeant, I'll--

I'll let you know when we get that subpoena.

Excuse me, Sergeant.

Is this a picture of the murder victim?

Yeah, that's him. What is it?

Well, that bandage on his right hand...

Guess he cut himself. Why?

Sergeant, this may be coincidental,

but I was mugged yesterday afternoon in my hotel room.

I didn't see the man's face,

but I scratched his right hand in the struggle, and--

Ten-to-one he's the guy you scratched, right?

Mrs. Fletcher, are you by any chance

having to deal with 62 unsolved homicides since January 1?

Well, of course not.

I am, and I am not about to welcome any of your amateurish interference

for which, if I may say so,

you're already legendary around this department.

Well, I had no intention of interfering, Sergeant.

- It simply crossed my mind that-- - Okay, okay.

What do you figure

a 52-year-old controller for a major publishing company

is doin' moonlighting as a mugger?

Well, I haven't got the faintest idea,

except that Mr. Bergman supposedly issued

a royalty check to me and it was in my handbag.

Incidentally, that was the only item that was stolen.

Supposedly?

What, you don't know if it was in your bag?

I mean that I don't know that it was a check.

I never looked in the envelope.

You're sayin' you think Bergman gave Giles the wrong envelope,

and he wants it back for some reason, so he mugs you for it.

Oh, I really don't know what I'm thinking, Sergeant.

Mrs. Fletcher, you're talkin' major understatement here.

Besides which, why wouldn't he just ask you for it?

Well, perhaps he didn't want me to see the contents.

Oh, man. You know what I think?

I think you've been plonked in front of your typewriter

for too long crankin' out those books of yours.

I mean, none of this has any connection whatsoever

to the murder, for which your pal, Preston Giles,

had both opportunity and motive,

and we got witnesses who will testify Giles threatened to kill Bergman.

Sergeant, that was seven years ago.

Wrong, Mrs. Fletcher. Yesterday afternoon.

His secretary's gonna testify

she saw him come within an inch of assaulting the victim.

Oh.

Guess he didn't tell you that, huh?

But then, hey, what can you expect?

The guy should have never been let out on the street again.

And wouldn't have if it weren't for a lot of big bucks and political clout.

And now, if you'll excuse me,

I got 62 other cases that need solving.

Call me Ross, Mrs. Fletcher.

I can't tell you how delighted I am you were able to come.

I hope this means you've also changed your mind

about returning to Sutton Place Publishing.

Well, I'm giving it some thought, Ross.

Jessica Fletcher. I'm Millie Bingham Stafford.

Oh.

I was thrilled when Ross told me you'd be here.

Your books are positively delicious.

Oh, what a lovely thing to say. Thank you.

Millie's husband is my wife's slave-driving boss.

A dyed-in-the-wool workaholic.

Last night, I went to dinner alone at some chicken emporium

and then went off to the opera alone,

while my husband played monopoly on the Hong Kong stock market,

or so he claims.

When he and Linette have their heads together,

it's hard to tell what they're up to, isn't that right, Ross?

Now, Millie, you and I are both too attractive

to worry about something like that.

Besides, Kendall would rather make a buck than a pass any day.

Ah, speaking of our missing spouses.

Jessica Fletcher, this is Linette, my wife and favorite investment banker,

not necessarily in that order.

How nice to meet you, Mrs. McKay.

Thank you.

Excuse me, Mrs. Fletcher.

Jessica, there you are.

Oh. I'm just taking in your marvelous view.

You know, that is the way Manhattan should be enjoyed.

So may I assume you've decided to accept our offer?

Well, your terms are certainly very generous, Ross.

But my attorneys would never forgive me if I didn't discuss it with them first.

Of course.

I hope you'll understand if I ask you

not to talk about any of this for the next day or two.

A very difficult assignment, Jessica.

Yes, of course. You have my word.

You know, in a way,

I feel as though I were responsible for all this,

this sorry business at the office.

Maybe if I hadn't worked so hard to get Preston paroled,

poor Martin would still be alive.

Tell me, Ross,

when you hired Mr. Bergman to come into your company,

were you aware of the problems

that he and Preston had had in the past?

Certainly. But Martin Bergman was a superb administrator.

He was the right man for the job, as Preston was for his.

Come on now, Jessica,

isn't conflict what motivates your stories,

the engine that drives your character?

Oh, yes, it is.

Well, it's no different in business,

only we call it competition.

Keeping the energy high and keeping the creative juices bubbling.

Unfortunately, in this case, the pot seems to have boiled over.

Yes, perhaps.

Are you saying Giles didn't do it?

I'm not sure. I have a feeling, an instinct.

Maybe there's more to it.

Jessica, if you'll permit me,

given his present situation,

Preston is apt to say anything to get himself off the hook.

Yes, maybe you're right.

The man has already been convicted of two murders.

Look, I know how painful this must be for you

and how badly you'd like it to have a happy ending.

I just hope for your sake that you're not deluding yourself.

The man has already been convicted of two murders.

But then, hey, what can you expect?

The guy should have never been let out on the street again

in the first place.

Look, I know how painful this must be for you.

I just hope for your sake that you're not deluding yourself.

I'd hoped I was wrong.

I'm sorry, Jess.

I truly am.

Another time, a different place,

we might have had something.

The subject was blackmailed.

Driver, take me to police headquarters, Manhattan South.

Hurry.

Oh, bless you.

Right. I guess you got my message.

No. No, no, I didn't.

Well, then what are you...

Strike that, I don't want to know. Here you go.

Your purse turned up in a trashcan

couple blocks from your hotel.

Oh, really?

Now if you'll just sign this,

I can get home to warm beer and cold pizza.

Everything's still there,

except for that check and your cash and credit cards,

which proves the perp was after money.

No. No, I'm not sure of that.

Slocum.

Yeah.

Yeah.

I hate that.

What is it, Sergeant?

Coincidence. Coroner says there were

scratches on Bergman's hand from human fingernails,

which doesn't mean he was your mugger,

and it doesn't matter anyway, since I got my killer.

Except that, damn it, I'm a Virgo.

I hate loose ends.

Especially ones, you know, that just complicate your life

without havin' anything to do with anything.

I'm sorry. I'm not following you.

Burglary at the murder victim's apartment.

Twenty minutes ago, duty cop takes a delicatessen break,

some junkie busts in and trashes the place.

I mean, go figure.

Oh, yes. Now, that is very curious.

Anyway, Sergeant,

the reason I'm here is because of that envelope.

Mrs. Fletcher, don't start.

Suppose Mr. Bergman

inadvertently gave me the wrong envelope?

Mrs. Fletcher, we've been over this--

An envelope which contained valuable material

he had to retrieve anonymously and surreptitiously.

Yeah, like what?

Well, something he was using to blackmail someone.

Blackmail? Give me a break.

Yeah, but that would explain why

Mr. Bergman was desperate enough to come to my hotel--

Ma'am, just sign this so we can get out of here, okay?

You must admit, it seems awfully tidy

that Ross McKay would happen to arrange a parole for Preston Giles,

so that Preston could come to work for him--

Mrs. Fletcher.

And Mr. McKay also happens to employ Martin Bergman,

whom he knows Preston happened to have fired for embezzlement

and threatened six and a half years ago.

And in less than a week,

when Preston and Martin and the secretary happened to be alone in the office,

someone murders Mr. Bergman?

Not someone. Preston Giles.

Or someone who wanted to kill Martin Bergman

and make it look as if Preston did it.

The someone who was being blackmailed by Mr. Bergman.

Now, you're tellin' me it was all a--

Oh, Sergeant, perhaps you really should see a doctor.

You seem to have some sort of allergy.

Yeah. And I just figured out what it is.

I'm allergic to you.

Tell me, Sergeant, do you think it would be possible

for us to obtain a search warrant at this time of night?

Search warrant? What in hell you thinkin' about now, Mrs. Fletcher?

Evidence of blackmail, Sergeant.

That's it. Good night.

Oh, but I haven't finished yet.

Have a nice trip back to Maine, Mrs. Fletcher.

No. Not until you consider one more possibility.

Okay, one.

Now, suppose that when our blackmail victim

murdered Mr. Bergman, he was unable to find whatever it was

that Bergman was blackmailing him with.

So a little while later, he burglarized Mr. Bergman's apartment,

hoping to find it still there.

I can't believe I let you talk me into this.

I mean, we don't even know what we're lookin' for.

Jess, I can't tell you how wonderful this feels.

Thank you for believing me when no one else would.

Well, you may not be in the clear just yet, Preston.

Oh?

There's something that doesn't feel right about Ross' story.

I mean, he denies killing Bergman, of course,

but he also denies having been blackmailed.

And he claims that he discovered

that Mr. Bergman was embezzling.

I can't say that surprises me.

May I drop you at your hotel?

Thank you. Yes.

East 49th Street, driver.

So why the skepticism, Jess?

I mean, embezzlement would certainly give Ross a believable motive.

I know, and the police seem to agree.

Ross insists that he was simply searching the office

for a clue to where Bergman had hidden the money.

But I just can't shake off the feeling

that something is missing.

Driver, please take me to Wall Street.

Aw, lady, make up your mind, will ya?

That's clear back the other way.

Driver, the lady said Wall Street, she means Wall Street.

And I want him out on bail by 4:00, do you understand?

No, no, you listen to me.

Every minute that Ross remains under this cloud

threatens the survival of Sutton Place Publishing,

not to mention the deal that I am putting together.

Excuse me, Mrs. McKay,

but there's a Mrs. Fletcher here to see you.

- I told her you were busy, but she-- - Tell her again.

Oh, Mrs. McKay, thank you for seeing me.

I hate to barge in like this, but it's terribly important.

Just do it, Arthur. Call me back.

You have exactly one minute, Mrs. Fletcher.

And I hope this isn't about

getting your jailbird friend Preston Giles exonerated at my husband's expense.

It's about getting them both exonerated, Mrs. McKay,

at the expense of the real murderer.

I'm curious about your husband's relationship

with your employer, Kendall Stafford

and also with the late Martin Bergman.

I don't know what you're--

Talking about? I'm talking about blackmail.

What exactly did Mr. Bergman have on your husband?

Goodbye, Mrs. Fletcher.

Mrs. McKay, your husband could go to prison

for many years for a murder he may not have committed.

Now, maybe you don't care about that,

but I do know that you'd be very unhappy about the financial repercussions.

- So it was blackmail. - That's right.

A couple of years ago, Linette's husband, Ross,

and Kendall Stafford

were involved in some sort of a bond fraud.

Now, Martin Bergman found out about it and made photostats of documents

that could have put them both behind bars for years.

Then that's it.

Ross killed Martin to silence him

and arranged it so I'd take the blame.

That must be why he got me out of prison, to be the scapegoat.

That makes sense. Except for one thing, Preston.

Linette swore to me that Ross was at home with her

when Mr. Bergman was killed.

Well, she's lying, Jess. She must be.

I'm not so sure.

There was something in the way that she told me that I believed her.

Well, if it wasn't Ross...

Well...

Last night at the party, Millie Stafford told me

that she'd had to attend the opera alone

because her husband was working late at the office with Linette.

But if Linette is telling the truth...

Then Kendall Stafford has no alibi.

But how do you prove it?

I don't know.

I mean, there was no evidence at the scene to tie him in.

No witnesses.

Well, I better tell this to Sergeant Slocum.

Maybe he'll make some sense out of it.

Why don't you hold off on that, Jess, just for tonight

and give it some more thought?

Why?

Well, uh, it's just an idea.

I don't want to talk about it until I've thought this through.

Preston?

Please, Jess. Just do as I ask. I'll call you later.

And, again, on the bottom of page 234,

it feels as if you're rushing the scene.

Let it run its course.

Well, that's about it, Mr. Nolan.

I don't know what's going to be happening here at Sutton Place Publishing,

but my advice is to find another publisher.

You're too good and so is your book to let it die.

I hope these notes will be useful to you.

Look, Mrs. Fletcher,

just 'cause Giles doesn't answer the phone doesn't mean there's trouble.

For all we know, he isn't even there.

The hotel doorman said that he went to the office.

Now, there's something wrong. I know it.

He had that look on his face earlier.

Good evening, Mr. Giles.

Mrs. Stafford.

You sent my husband a note

requesting a breakfast meeting tomorrow morning.

I had the good sense to intercept it.

I have some business to discuss with him.

Yes, the note said it involved some papers

once owned by Martin Bergman

implicating my husband in a financial swindle.

I want those papers, Mr. Giles.

I don't have them. Not here with me.

Yes, that's what Martin tried to tell me.

Can you believe it? They were in his pocket.

I see. So you took them out of his pocket after you killed him.

Well, he didn't leave me much choice.

He'd been bleeding me dry.

After all, it was my money that Kendall had been paying Martin

the past couple of years and I finally got a little sick of it.

My big mistake was believing Martin when he said there was only one copy.

The papers, Mr. Giles.

They're in a safe place, where no one will ever find them.

Except me, of course.

No one, Mr. Giles?

Interesting.

You know, I'm going to risk believing you.

It's Mrs. Stafford.

Mrs. Stafford, hold it!

All right, put your hands on the car, lady.

Lift up.

Let's go, lady.

Preston!

Oh!

Oh, Preston. Oh...

Please. A man has been shot

in the Sutton Place Publishing tower suite.

Hurry, please.

Preston?

Preston. Preston.

We got her, Jess.

The tape...

the tape...

He was bleeding me dry.

After all, it was my money

that Kendall had been paying Martin the past couple of years.