All language subtitles for New06180001

- Oh, uncle Jim! Uncle Jim! - Now, here! Now, here!

Detectives don't kiss detective lieutenants!

Tonight on Murder, She Wrote.

What's her name, Roland? Do I know her?

Well, that's hard to say, darling.

You have such a wide circle of friends.

You can kiss half of everything you own goodbye.

- He neglected her shamelessly. - His wife was frigid.

She treated him like dirt.

First thing in the morning, I want you to call

this captain Cohen.

About to get yourself a one-way ticket

off the force, for good.

Now, I've got you!

Oh.

"May your neighbors respect you,

"trouble neglect you, the angels protect you,

"and heaven accept you.

"As if there were any doubt.

Happy birthday, love, O'Malley."

That's Jim O'Malley for you.

You know, he never lets a birthday go by unrecognized,

even if it is a month late.

Let's see what he's been up to.

"Dear Jessica, thought I would take a moment

"to give you the details

of my latest brush with dismissal.

"You may have read about it in the papers.

"It was a case involving Roland Trent,

the real estate entrepreneur."

I don't care how you do it.

Condemn the damn building if you have to.

Just make sure the property is in my name

by close of business on Friday, period.

Damn.

Finished, darling?

Now maybe we can talk.

Gretchen, I'm sorry.

I'm working on something important now, all right?

Oh, of course. Silly me.

I should have phoned for an appointment.

If you're gonna play the neglected wife,

you might start by dressing down for the part.

Roland, please, let's not fight, okay?

Look.

Why don't we take a trip

on our 10th anniversary next month?

We can go to Paris.

We can go back to that little place...

Paris? What, are you out of your mind?

I told you I'm busy.

Look, if you wanna go, go. Take one of your friends.

You just don't get it, do you?

I don't care about Paris.

I just wanna be with you, just the two of us.

Anywhere but here.

Away from your office and your business.

And especially your cellular phone.

Trent.

Yeah, Bert.

Roberts, let me out at the next corner.

No! That's ridiculous. Tell him no.

Look, Bert, we both know he's overextended.

I'll tell you what,

give him a few days to Stew

and then come back with a new offer, 10% less.

Don't worry about City Hall. I can handle them.

Taxi!

Yes, Sir, I think

we can put this thing to bed by the weekend.

No, the councilman was very cooperative,

especially after a few martinis

and a nudge from that stack of Ben Franklins.

Thank you, Sir.

Always happy to help.

Please, call on me anytime.

Thank you.

Good morning, Mr. Abbott.

Brought the files you were asking about.

Doesn't a closed door

mean anything to you, Officer Rawley?

Oh, I'm really sorry.

Ruth wasn't at her desk, and I thought

you were waiting for me, but I can come back.

No, no, no! Frances, I'm sorry.

It was my fault. I asked you to rush over here.

And then I forgot to warn Ruth you were coming.

Oh. Well, they're all here.

Staten Island's crime stats for the past 12 months,

cross-indexed, complete with graphics.

Good girl.

If you'd like me to go over them with you--

Frances, I have a confession to make.

Sir?

I asked you to bring these statistics personally,

because...

well, frankly, I wanted to see you again.

I have been thinking about you

ever since dinner the other night.

I enjoyed it too, Sir.

I was very flattered to work with the deputy Mayor.

And you, of course.

Work?

Is that all you ever think about?

Look, Mr. Abbott...

Paul. Please.

Look, I have a friend who's got a great place in the Hamptons.

He's asked me down for the weekend.

I, um... I hope you're free.

As a matter of fact, I am tied up.

Nothing you can't wiggle out of, I'm sure.

I said, no thanks, Sir.

So, you wanna get physical?

Sounds like fun.

You're quick.

Ruth!

Get this little tramp out of my office.

Little what?

She barged in here and propositioned me.

She thought she could buy a promotion with sex.

What?

Maybe you'd better leave.

I didn't do anything!

Don't make it any worse, honey.

This is Paul Abbott. Get me the police commissioner.

Don't let it get to you.

You're not the first. You sure won't be the last.

Oh, am I supposed to just ignore it?

I'd do my best, if I were you.

I don't know what went on in there before I showed up,

but I can tell you this, he's got it on tape.

Tape? Are you kidding?

Honey, the man tapes everything.

Loves to hear the sound of his own voice.

Now, just go back to work

and try to forget you ever met this man.

Thanks.

Frances xavier Rawley.

And a good morning to you, too, O'Malley.

I repeat, captain, Frances Xavier Rawley.

I heard, I heard.

Then perhaps you'd be kind enough to explain

why, in the name of all that's holy,

she went from a liaison assignment

with the deputy Mayor's office to desk duty in the South Bronx!

She got a poor rating. It happens.

The daughter of Mike Rawley, the best partner a man ever had?

And the best officer this city ever saw.

I know, I know.

Frances Rawley is a chip off the old block

and always has been.

She has never had a poor rating, not even at the academy.

So, if she's got one now, I intend to discover why.

Then go. Discover. You have my blessing.

The man's a saint.

Roland, please, don't do this to me.

Gretchen, I don't know

what you're getting yourself so worked up about.

I'm having dinner with David Kingston.

You're more than welcome to come along.

Doesn't that sound like fun?

Spending an entire evening listening to you and your lawyer

come up with new ways to cheat the IRS.

If you'd rather stay home alone, that's up to you.

What's her name, Roland? Do I know her?

Well, that's hard to say, darling.

You have such a wide circle of friends.

You...

at least have the decency to deny it.

I don't know what time I'll be home,

so you don't have to wait up for me.

Unless, of course, it gives you some sort of perverse pleasure.

Don't be surprised if I'm not here

when you get back!

If I didn't know you so well,

I could almost take that seriously.

Roland!

Roland!

Come in.

Everything all right?

Yes, Alice, everything is just dandy.

I was wondering, maybe you'd like to go

to the office and finish off those letters.

I'll meet you downstairs in 15.

Uh, all right.

Thanks.

David, the woman is a millstone around my neck.

I've gotta get rid of her.

That would be simple,

if you hadn't made her a full partner

in your business as a wedding gift.

Yeah.

Not the wisest move I ever made, huh?

That was on your advice, as I recall.

On the contrary, I tried to talk you out of it,

but you were too starry-eyed to listen.

Yeah.

So, what can I do?

Well, you have two options.

You can crawl back to Gretchen

-And beg her forgiveness -Skip to number two, huh?

Or you can kiss half of everything you own goodbye,

because that's what she's gonna get

if you leave her.

I don't suppose there's a number three?

Looking beautiful.

Thank you, darling.

- Hi. - Hi

oh, I've wanted to do that all day.

I'm glad you waited to do it with me.

- Oh, hi, David. - Cindy.

Well, look what time it's gotten.

I must be on my way.

David, relax, relax.

Yeah, we're just having dinner.

We're not doing anything wicked.

Yet.

I still have to go over the papers

for the Phillip's acquisition tonight.

The meeting's at 9:30 tomorrow.

I left my briefcase at the office.

Yeah, so, go on.

You and Mr. Abbott were working late, and...

Mm-hmm, and he suggested that we get a bite to eat.

I was thinking something casual, you know...

Take out. Like this.

Right, but instead we ended up at Chez Marin.

My, my.

Mr. Abbott must have a formidable expense account.

I guess.

You know, he was very nice.

He was very much the gentleman.

I was actually beginning to like him.

Oh, I've heard French wines can have that effect.

No kidding.

But then today came. Broad daylight. No wine.

I guess he was kind of surprised to find out

I didn't care for his brand of office politics.

Which explains

how you ended up in the South Bronx.

Why didn't you tell me about this when it happened?

Because I'm old enough to fight my own battles.

And if you get involved,

Abbott might cause trouble for you too.

An errand boy for the deputy Mayor?

What the fellow needs is a good spanking.

Don't give it another thought.

Now, my darling,

do you remember Officer Quintero, my assistant?

- Oh, sure. - Bright young lad.

He's got himself promoted

to the district public relations office, you see,

and I got to replace him.

So, I thought maybe this time,

I'd break in someone of the female persuasion.

Are you kidding? You'd do that for me?

Doing it for myself. You come from fine stock.

South Bronx will just have to get along without you.

- Oh, uncle Jim! - No, no!

Now, now, no kissing superiors there

while on duty.

Our shift was up two hours ago.

Oh, well, wee bit of a hug then.

So what are we gonna be working on?

To tell you the truth, girl, things are a bit slow.

But I've got an awful, itchy feeling

in the back of my neck something's about to happen.

Well, now, what's all this?

Still itching?

Like a case of the hives.

Evening, Billy.

What have we here?

Pretty cut and dried, lieutenant.

Jumper.

That's fine, Billy. Thank you.

Looks like she took a swan dive

from the penthouse office.

That's the only one with a terrace.

How might we get up there?

Well, you can go in here and use the lobby elevator,

or go through the garage to the private elevator.

Private elevator, you say?

I don't suppose anyone was seen using it this evening?

No such luck.

No such luck. Thank you, Billy.

Marvelous what a man can do

if he has the money and the inclination.

Oh, great, here comes gorilla Grillo.

Should've saved yourself the trip, lieutenant.

This is a suicide, open and shut.

Or should I say, over and down?

If it's as clear cut as all that, Detective Grillo,

why are the lab boys crawling all over the premises?

Procedure, Sir. Just going by the book.

Well, there's a note here in the typewriter,

if you'd like to see for yourself.

"Life has lost its meaning for me.

Forgive me, my darling. Love, Gretchen."

This ought to stir up some headlines tomorrow, boy.

You know, this isn't just any office.

- This is Roland... - Roland Trent's office. I know.

Did you also know that the jumper was his wife?

Thank you for that little tidbit of information.

I'd guess that the lady was a secretary at one time.

Her? Nah.

She went right from being Miss July to Mrs. Trent.

What's the matter?

You two ought to read "The Enquirer,"

you might learn something.

Weird.

What is it, Frances?

I don't know, but...

wouldn't a woman who's about to take a high dive

make at least one mistake in the note?

Especially somebody with acrylic nails

at least an inch long?

You noticed that, did you? Well done, Frances.

Well, let's locate Mr. Trent and give him the sad news.

I already took care of that, lieutenant.

Oh, you did, did you?

Well, I figured I should handle it right away, Sir,

seeing as it's Roland Trent.

You can save that reverential tone

for Church, Vinnie.

Where, by the way, I haven't seen you lately.

So I hear congratulations are in order.

- Well, congratulations. - Thanks.

Yeah, I kind of figured O'Malley

would tap me to be his assistant.

But then I don't have your qualifications, sweetface.

Grillo...

just a couple things, so we understand each other.

First of all, my name isn't sweetface,

it's Frances.

Only, you can call me Officer Rawley.

And second, if I hear you say anything like that again,

to me or anybody,

I will show you what I just learned

in my last self-defense class.

Oh, yeah? What's that?

Well, let's just say it might seriously impair

your social life for a few days.

Hope I'm getting through to you.

Pardon me, who's in charge here?

Detective lieutenant James Ignatius O'Malley.

And who might you be, Sir?

Oh, lieutenant, this is Roland Trent.

But of course it is. Forgive me, Sir,

I don't know where my mind is tonight.

My Sincere condolences to you.

I lost my own dear wife a few years back...

Lieutenant, I don't quite understand

what you're doing here.

I'm sorry, Sir. I thought it was obvious.

We're investigating the death of your late wife.

What is there to investigate?

Gretchen took her own life.

My, my,

you're a remarkably perceptive man, Mr. Trent,

to walk in this room and know at once it was suicide,

without so much as a glance at the farewell note.

I knew it was suicide,

because some insensitive clod of a sergeant

left a message to that effect on my answering machine.

You've suffered a dreadful shock this evening, Sir,

but if you don't mind, I have a few questions.

Could you tell me, Sir,

when was it that you last saw Mrs. Trent?

Uh, earlier this evening, around 7:30.

I was getting ready to go out for dinner.

- Alone? - No, with my attorney.

I couldn't cancel.

I urged Gretchen to come along,

but as usual, she turned me down.

As usual?

She always felt inadequate around my business associates,

even though most of them would have preferred

her company to mine.

Especially Kingston, he adored her.

Kingston?

Yes, David Kingston, my attorney.

Was there anyone else at dinner with you, Sir?

No, it was just the two of us.

How long have you had this office, Mr. Trent?

As long as I've owned this building, several years.

Well, Sir, perhaps then

you need to have a few words with your cleaning crew.

I don't und-- my cleaning crew?

I was noticing these bookends over here

on the side table, Sir.

Well, this one is dull, Sir, if you'll...

if you'll pardon me, a bit grimy.

But this one, bright as a new penny.

Isn't it odd that only the one of them should be clean?

Yeah. That was careless.

And this felt here that's on the bottom, Sir.

That's wet.

That's very bad, Sir.

Water can do terrific damage to a fine wood finish.

Thanks for pointing that out.

I'll speak to my building manager about it.

Is there anything else?

Yes, there is just one thing.

And you know,

it is really strange, Sir.

I mentioned the farewell letter to you

from your wife that's on the typewriter there.

You've not asked to see it.

I know if my dear Jenny, rest her soul,

had been able to leave me a note,

I'd have snatched it up straightaway,

committed every blessed word to memory.

You want me to be honest with you, lieutenant?

I didn't ask to see it

because I'm afraid of what might be in it.

I loved my wife very much...

but our marriage was far from perfect.

I'm afraid she may have blamed me.

Well, I can put your mind at ease on that one, Sir.

No blame is given.

I'd like to have this

when your people are through with it.

Of course, Sir.

Uh, is it okay to get this?

Yeah, it's been dusted.

Hello, Officer Rawley speaking.

Oh, hold on. Lieutenant?

There's a man downstairs demanding to see Mr. Trent,

says his name is Kingston.

Did you feel you'd be needing your lawyer, Sir?

Poor David,

he must have heard about Gretchen.

I'll speak to him downstairs.

He'll be right down.

Lieutenant, do you think it's possible

that someone was up here, handled it,

and then wiped it free of fingerprints?

That might be a possibility, Sir,

but the question then is, who handled it,

and why did they feel the need to cover up the fact?

Just a thought. Keep me posted.

I'll do that, Sir.

What did you get from that?

I think Mr. Trent is a cold fish.

That, too.

O'Malley's been around since Wagner was Mayor.

Dozens of citations, honors.

His arrest record is the best in the department.

I sincerely hope you're coming to a "but".

But he has a reputation as a hard-nose

under all that Irish malarkey.

Gotten him into hot water

with the brass from time to time.

Let this be one of those times.

Here, here, what's this?

Oh, I'm sorry, I thought you took it black.

I do,

but I'm perfectly capable of getting my own coffee.

You weren't hired to fetch and carry, girl.

- I know that. - See that you do.

Talking to your mother last night.

She's upset you've run away from home.

I am 26 years old. I took my own apartment.

And praise be that you did, girl.

Your mother's a dear, sweet woman,

but she'd try the Patience of a saint.

Still now, it wouldn't hurt to go by of a Sunday,

maybe even with a young man on your arm.

Now, don't you start.

I'm starting nothing, girl.

But a Smith & Wesson police special's poor company

on a cold winter's night, I can tell you.

O'Malley.

Oh, the top of the morning to you, captain.

O'Malley, I need six more years

before I can collect my pension.

You seem hell-bent on preventing that.

Do I understand correctly

that you actually interrogated Roland Trent

about his wife's death?

Well, it wasn't exactly an interrogation, Sir.

-It was more of a -Information gathering.

I don't care if you call it final jeopardy,

I want it stopped.

Captain, are you ordering me to stop this investigation?

There is no investigation.

The woman's death was a suicide.

We haven't heard from the coroner

about that, yet.

Rawley, can you talk some sense into him?

No, Sir.

Sam, at the risk of spoiling a perfectly lovely day,

I must tell you that Gretchen Trent's death

looks like a suicide

because someone went to great pains

to make it look like that.

She was murdered?

Very strong possibility, Sir.

- The very strongest. - I see.

And this "someone" you just mentioned,

I mean, it wouldn't be it couldn't be

oh, but it would be, Sir.

Mr. Roland Trent himself.

Be back here at 12:15.

I've got a 12:30 lunch at La Tiara.

Hey, darling.

La Tiara, 12:30. Don't be late, huh?

I trust you were talking to an answering machine,

Mr. Trent?

Otherwise, that was something of a chilly invitation.

Good morning, lieutenant. What are you doing here?

I was just about to ask you that same thing, Sir.

You seem to have avoided that tape

we had across the elevator door downstairs,

the one that says,

"New York crime scene, do not enter."

What crime are you talking about, lieutenant?

- My wife killed herself. - Perhaps so.

Even then, suicide is against the law.

What are you gonna do, prosecute her?

It's obvious to me, Sir,

that you don't appreciate the nature of police work.

Paper pushing, mostly.

Writing reports, filing reports. A dreary business.

Although...

- Although? - One thing, very strange.

Your wife's fingerprints.

They didn't show up on either the typewriter

or the suicide note.

Now, how do you suppose that happened?

I can only imagine that

one of your technicians bungled his job.

Oh, yes, well,

that does happen from time to time.

But then there was this other thing.

And what is the other thing?

The bookends, Sir.

You recall I pointed them out to you last night.

- Where are they? - Not to worry, Sir.

They're safe and sound, down in the police lab.

You gave me the idea yourself, Sir,

when you suggested last night

that perhaps somebody was up here that handled them.

I had them tested.

And this one was covered with fingerprints:

yours, Mrs. Trent's, her secretary, your secretary,

just as you might expect.

But then this other one,

as clean as the day it came out of the mold.

Not a print on it.

That's very odd, isn't it?

And I can't imagine how that happened, can you?

No, it's got me puzzled,

as well as the matter of the scream.

Excuse me, the scream? What scream?

That's just the point, Sir. There was none.

At least, according to Mr. Donatelli.

Donatelli?

Oh, he's an unfortunate case, Sir.

I mean, it was sad.

Mr. Donatelli was a former stockbroker, Sir.

He's had to sleep in the alley

ever since the Dow Jones

took its big plunge a while back.

Lieutenant, about the scream...

Oh, yes.

Mr. Donatelli was dozing in the doorway

of the building next door

at the time of your wife's unfortunate death...

and he heard no scream.

So what? People scream from terror.

According to my wife's note, she went to her death willingly.

You'd think that, wouldn't you, Sir?

But I've had to deal with dozens of jumpers,

if you'll pardon the term.

And as sure as God made the blue lakes of killarney,

when they take that final step

and realize the absolute certainty of death...

every blessed one of them screams.

What is your point?

My point, Sir...

is that either your wife

was a woman of remarkable resolve,

or else she was unconscious when she fell off that terrace

and therefore was unable to scream.

Because even if she'd fainted out there,

she couldn't get over that rail without help.

- Where the hell is my staff? - Well, they're not here today.

You remember, Sir, this is a crime scene.

But I've got to be going on to my next appointment.

You'd best come along with me, Sir,

otherwise you're gonna be late for your luncheon engagement.

Thank you.

Lieutenant.

Milk and sugar?

Artificial sweetener, please.

Miss Montrose,

how long were you Mrs. Trent's personal secretary?

For almost five years.

And did she spend much time on company business?

No, hardly any.

Just signing papers and the like,

whenever her husband asked her to.

Mrs. Trent devoted most of her time to charities.

In fact, I still have some letters to type

that she dictated that night.

She was a very generous person.

And Mr. Trent?

Miss Rawley, I'm not sure that I should comment.

Technically, he is still my employer.

It's Officer Rawley,

and I'm not here digging up dirt for the tabloids.

I'm conducting an investigation.

Of course. What do you want to know?

Why don't you tell me about the last time

you saw Mrs. Trent?

Well, it was that night...

the night she died.

We frequently worked evenings at the office.

Mr. Trent was hardly ever there himself,

and it had typewriters, computers,

and it was so much more convenient

than working here at the townhouse.

Was there anyone else there that night?

No, it was after 8:00 and everybody had gone.

Mrs. Trent was dictating the letters I mentioned.

She hated to type, and her writing was atrocious,

so she always dictated to me or into a cassette recorder.

All of a sudden, Mr. Trent was there.

He'd left his briefcase,

and he said he'd come back to get it.

And when he saw Mrs. Trent sitting behind his desk,

he got ugly.

He asked her if she was planning to take over.

And she said, "why not?"

Since she was already half-owner.

That look in his eye...

I thought he was actually going to hit her.

I told him that we'd be finished with work

and out of the office within an hour.

That seemed to calm him down.

And then he left by the front,

instead of the private elevator to the garage.

Well, after he left, I...

I realized that he'd forgotten his briefcase again.

And so, I offered to try and catch up with him,

but Mrs. Trent said no.

If he really needed it, he'd come back and get it.

Well, we worked for another hour or so,

but I hadn't slept the night before,

and I... I was tired.

I could hardly keep my eyes open.

So Mrs. Trent said that I was to go home and go to bed,

she'd dictate the rest on tape.

If only I hadn't gone...

Miss Montrose,

how would you describe Mrs. Trent's state of mind

after the confrontation with her husband?

Well, she was... she was upset, of course, but...

upset enough to take her own life?

No.

No!

If I thought that, I'd never have left her alone!

But I can tell you one thing for certain,

he is responsible.

- Her husband? - Oh...

he never knew

what a wonderful woman she was.

He was so mean and selfish.

He never gave her any time or thought.

He neglected her shamelessly.

Do you think he neglected her because of another woman?

I wouldn't know anything about that.

Something doesn't add up.

Alice Montrose obviously hates Trent,

but the minute I suggested

that he may be involved with another woman,

she almost seemed insulted.

Reminds me of my dear old aunt Kate, rest her soul.

She was that way about uncle Jack.

Rest his soul.

Kate would call him every name in the book,

and a few she invented herself,

but you let anyone else suggest he was a lazy bum,

she'd scratch their eyes out.

So what are we talking about? Loyalty?

Protecting the memory of someone we love?

I wasn't listening to you, girl.

What'd you say?

Well, is it loyalty?

Sure. I'd say... I'd say that.

Hey, lieutenant...

captain wants to see you now.

From the smug expression you're wearing,

sergeant Grillo, I'll bet you know why.

Sorry, it's confidential.

Grillo, grow up.

All right. Okay.

You're gonna be the star attraction

at a press conference this afternoon, lieutenant.

You're gonna squelch these rumors

about Mrs. Trent's death being anything but suicide.

That's crazy. I haven't finished my investigation yet.

That's not what the captain says.

Ladies and gentlemen of the press,

Detective Lieutenant O'Malley

has a statement to make relating to a...

a certain ongoing news story.

Statement? This is barely a sentence.

Watch it, O'Malley.

Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen.

I've been asked to read you this statement.

"Following several days of intense investigation,

"there is no clear evidence

that Gretchen Trent's death was anything but suicide."

At this point in time.

I'll take questions now. Dave.

Lieutenant, what does "at this point in time," mean?

It means "now."

Do you mean to suggest that there could be proof

at some later time that this wasn't a suicide?

I certainly hope so.

Are you saying you have a suspect in mind?

Oh, yes.

Lieutenant, can you reveal that suspect's name?

It is my belief that the late Mrs. Trent

was tossed from that penthouse terrace

by her husband, Roland Trent.

You old fool! Now, I've got you!

Uncle Jim, what were you thinking?

Oh, Frances, the way those reporters

were badgering me with their questions,

I had no choice but to tell the truth,

now did I?

Well, you just couldn't let it go, could you?

Well, my old friend, this time you have bitten off

more than the brass can swallow.

You're about to get yourself

a one-way ticket off the force...

for good.

- Here they come! - Here they are!

Gentlemen, ladies, please!

Mr. Trent will have no comment...

David. It's all right, David.

Mr. Trent, what about Detective Lieutenant O'Malley's

claim that you murdered your wife?

It's absolute nonsense.

And frankly, I'm really puzzled

as to why a veteran officer like O'Malley

should resort to slander

to try to build a case against me.

Are you saying that he's deliberately lying?

What else can I say?

Are you planning to Sue? Mr. Trent.

I'd rather not. I'd rather not.

I just think it would be best for everyone

if the lieutenant simply turned in his resignation.

Mr. Trent, are you able to prove

O'Malley's accusations are false?

- Of course. - Roland, this is not--

I was nowhere near my office the night of my wife's death,

and I have a witness who'll swear to that.

- And who is he? - It's a she.

And, for the moment, I'd prefer

that she was not exposed to this type of publicity.

I have to go now. If you'll forgive me.

No more questions!

No more questions! That's all.

- Mr. Trent! - No more questions.

It's either your side or O'Malley's, Sir.

Mr. Trent, Sir?

That should make "film at 11", don't you think?

Roland, what the hell was that all about?

That, my dear David, was the beginning of the end

for Detective Lieutenant James I. O'Malley.

Tomorrow, you and I will deliver our coup de Grace.

First thing in the morning,

I want you to call this captain Cohen.

That beetle Bailey.

What'll he get into next?

Right this way, Mr. Kingston.

Miss Marsh.

Sorry to make you come all the way down here.

I hope it's not too inconvenient.

We very much want to get this thing settled, captain.

- As quickly as possible. - Oh, of course.

That's funny.

Indeed, it is.

I love to start the day with a good laugh.

No, no, no.

I'm talking about this man I just ran into in the hall.

He would visit Paul Abbott several times

when I was working in the deputy Mayor's office.

I never caught his name.

What's funny, uncle Jim,

is that it's David Kingston, Roland Trent's attorney.

Is that so?

Roland Trent's private attorney

hobnobbing with an aide to the deputy Mayor.

And what did Mr. Abbott and Mr. Kingston

talk about in these little meetings?

I don't know.

It was always behind closed doors.

But his visits were pretty regular,

around the first of the month.

When all the other bills were paid.

Mm.

Just thought you'd like to know, lieutenant,

Trent's witness is about to give a statement

in the captain's office.

Have a nice day.

I'd like to give that clown a nose transplant.

Excuse me, my darling,

there's a meeting I have to barge into.

Cindy Marsh, m-a-r-s-h.

And your occupation, Miss Marsh?

Part-time model.

I was thinking about what you said...

Oh, forgive me, captain Cohen,

I had no idea you were busy.

O'Malley, come in.

You of all people should hear this.

Oh? Well, if I wouldn't be intruding, Sir.

Thank you very much.

Go ahead, Miss Marsh.

It's like I told Mr. Kingston,

Roland couldn't possibly have killed his wife.

He was with me that night.

He came to my apartment

after he'd had the argument with his wife at his office,

and he stayed.

Well, that is, at least until he heard the news bulletin

about the woman jumping from his office balcony,

then he immediately called home.

There was some message on his answering machine

from some police sergeant

saying that Gretchen had committed suicide.

And how did he react to that?

Oh, he was devastated.

It took him a few minutes to get himself together,

and then he went back to the office.

Miss Marsh, how long...

Oh, I'm sorry, Sir, is it all right if I...

Please, be my guest.

Miss Marsh, how long has this relationship

between you and Mr. Trent been going on?

You don't have to answer that.

What's the difference?

We've known each other for several months.

I assume you're speaking in biblical terms?

So what?

Roland was trapped in a lousy marriage.

I mean, his wife was frigid. She treated him like dirt.

Did he tell you that?

No, I was an eyewitness in their bedroom.

Of course he told me that!

It was the truth.

Odd, Miss Marsh,

that neither Mrs. Trent's secretary, Alice Montrose,

or any other employee of Roland Trent knew about you.

We didn't make it a habit of meeting

at his place of business.

In fact, I've never even been in his office.

May I remind you, lieutenant,

that Miss Marsh is not on trial here.

She's come of her own free will to offer her statement.

And we appreciate that, Mr. Kingston.

- May I go now? - Oh, of course.

Thank you very much, Miss Marsh.

I know it's been difficult for you.

We'll be in touch if we need you.

O'Malley.

Close the door.

Now, I'm telling you this as a friend.

If you care about saving what's left of your rear end,

not to mention your job...

Swallow that Irish pride and apologize to Roland Trent.

Oh, you don't need to worry about me, captain.

I'll do whatever it takes

to spare this department any further embarrassment.

You can take my word for it, Sir.

What the hell is all this?

Lieutenant O'Malley, Mr. Abbott.

I have a court order here, Sir,

directing you to turn over certain tapes you've made

of some telephone calls.

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

Sure you do, Paul.

The tape recorder that's in your top drawer.

Obviously, the South Bronx

wasn't far enough for you, Officer Rawley.

This time, I'm gonna have you shipped right off the force.

Ruth, get the Mayor's office on the phone for me, would you?

Get it yourself, baby.

Yes, indeed, Sir. Call the Mayor.

He's expecting you to phone.

I think he wants to tell you you're fired.

I had lunch with the commissioner today.

I think, with a little enticement,

he'll be willing to play ball

on that Long Island city project.

Do it. Handle it the usual way.

- He said no cash. - That's no problem.

Deposit the funds to his Geneva account.

And what do I get out of it?

Your usual cut, Paul. Don't go greedy on me now.

I'd hate to spoil a good arrangement.

And it goes on like that.

These tapes will never see the inside of a courtroom.

David, I don't think the lieutenant's here

to investigate my business practices.

Just a way to get my attention, right?

Actually, Mr. Trent,

these tapes indicate the motive for your wife's murder.

You see, Sir...

if Mrs. Trent had divorced you

and demanded her share of the business,

the books would have had to be opened.

And she knew far too much about your affairs,

your business affairs, that is,

to have let you off the hook if you had divorced her.

So, a dilemma.

You couldn't leave your wife, you couldn't let her leave you,

but that left Miss Marsh there on rather shaky ground.

So that left one alternative, murder the wife.

That's very imaginative, isn't it?

Go on.

I was asking myself, Sir, was it possible

that you could have seen your wife's secretary

leave by the front entrance,

and then you come up on that private elevator,

knowing that Gretchen would be here alone?

You know something, O'Malley? You really missed your calling.

You should be writing murder mysteries.

I have here, Sir,

a lab report on that bookend I took from your office.

The tests reveal that microscopic traces of hair

were found caught up in the crevices,

along with blood that was on the felt pad on the bottom.

They match your wife's, Sir.

Doesn't mean anything to me.

I wasn't here, remember? I was with Miss Marsh.

Maybe you were, Sir, and maybe you weren't.

But I have a statement from Miss Montrose

that says that you left your briefcase right here

in the office on the night of your wife's death.

When I got here, there was no briefcase.

But then, when you arrived the next day,

you were carrying that self-same briefcase.

I'm sure that Miss Montrose will identify it.

Well, you can see my point, Sir.

The only time you could have retrieved it

was at the time of the murder.

Roland, don't say another word.

Shh. Relax, David.

I have no intention of answering this insane charge.

Well, if you'll? Forgive me, Mr. Trent,

I've made no charge.

The risk you'd have been taking murdering your wife,

that's not the sort of thing a shrewd businessman

like yourself would have been willing to chance.

But you, Miss Marsh.

Now, you're a different story.

You're the one that stood to lose the most

if you were sent packing.

You're the one most likely to lose your temper,

strike out at your enemy with the nearest heavy object.

That's a pack of lies!

And I'm not going to stand around here

and let you drag me through the mud.

Sorry, not going down.

Miss Marsh, I'm placing you under arrest

for the murder of Gretchen Trent.

Well, that's ridiculous.

I told you, I was with Roland all evening.

You also told me you'd never been in this office before.

If so, how did you know

which one of these doors led to the elevator?

They all look alike.

Well, I... Roland.

Cindy, shut up!

Perhaps he's right, just say nothing

till you've had a chance to talk to your attorney.

Roland came up on the private elevator

after I called him.

And he told me just to get out of there,

that he'd take care of everything.

I didn't mean to hit her.

I just wanted to have it out with her,

and when she said she'd never leave Roland,

I just freaked.

I just wanted to wipe that smug smile off her face.

Well done, Frances.

Your dad would have been proud of you.

Oh, what for?

You're the one who solved the case.

Wrong, girl. I only picked up the trail

once you'd found out about Miss Marsh.

Oh, by the way,

the captain wanted you to have this.

Now, normally he'd present it himself,

but, in this case, he made an exception.

Oh, my gosh.

Welcome to homicide, Detective Rawley.

- Oh, uncle Jim! Uncle Jim! - Now, here! Now, here!

Detectives don't kiss detective lieutenants,

especially when on duty.

5:01.

Oh. Well, do this side.

Oh, that's lovely. Thank you, girl.