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Ladies and gentlemen,

we're reporting from the Chinese Theatre
on world-famous Hollywood Boulevard.

Out of the blue, the premiere of "Dead
Woman from Beverly Hills" was announced

for this afternoon, although
the murder case isn't fully solved.

Perhaps the stars of the film can
enlighten us about the mysterious case.

Excuse me, sir. Sir!

What do you know about the deceased?

- If the deceased is a woman, any
comment is superfluous. - Well spoken.

- Thanks.
- But not enlightening.

What do you know
about the murder, ladies?

Let's don't ask us
in case we're the culprits.

- Thank you.
- You're welcome.

We haven't got very far yet.
Hello, mister. Sir!

Do you think
the killer will be caught?

Don't worry. It'll get solved.

Corpses are human, too, and
killers commit the same mistakes.

I see. Well...

- What do you know about the dead, lady?
- No idea what you're talking about.

- Is there even a Beverly Hills corpse?
- I hope so. I mean, alas.

Otherwise all this would be wasted. Sir,
what do you know about the deceased?

- What I know about her?
- Yes.

Save the funeral speeches and remember,
one knows least about one's close family

Least of all, a dead woman.

In other words: we know precious little
about the deceased. Alas.

"Dead Woman of Beverly Hills"
Inspired by a Curt Goetz satire

Screenplay

Wardrobe
Make-up

Editor
Assistant Director

World Distribution

Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't mean
to intrude. Really.

Gipsy, come on, come on. Let's go.

Gipsy, come on!
Not so slow! Get in! Go!

Come on. There.

Hey, what's your hurry?

At last. I was trying
to get your attention.

There's a dead girl not far from here.

- Okay. Then let's get the sheriff.
- If you think so. - Let's turn around.

Here comes the sheriff.

And here's the mister
who discovered the body.

You shot the bird with that?
It fires bullets.

I didn't have any shot at hand.

It's not easy to hit a bird
with a bullet.

- Why is it loaded?
- I always reload at once.

- The corpse's up there.
- Okay, all right.

- Where did you learn to shoot, son
of a gun? - In Switzerland.

There, everyone shoots
like William Tell.

Who's that Tell fellow?

Have a nice day.

Get! The killer must hang.

Well, Gipsy, what is it?
Do you smell the killer?

No. Just me.

Ben, there you are. This is Curt Gerst,
who found the body.

He shoots like Billy Tell.

- And that's my brother, Ben Blunt.
He's a detective now. - Hello, Curt.

I'm pleased to meet you, Mr Blunt.

Tell your brother
I'm not the killer, please?

He wouldn't believe it.
Found anything?

I beg your pardon.
Smile for the camera.

When was the babe murdered?

This morning, but not here.
This babe's a married woman of 26.

How do you know it wasn't here?

No signs of a fight, no clothes.

- Maybe the culprit took them.
- Nonsense.

She was brought here
dead and stark naked.

Hey, no smoking!

Unless you want to set fire to
Beverly Hills again.

Hey, what did the kid die of?

Strangled, I'd say.

If only she showed slight marks
on her neck...

What's wrong with the dog?

He's sniffing her hair.
Come here.

- Take her away.
- Yes.

Nice day today, isn't it?

Hey, Ben, how about a drink?

- Good idea. I'll catch you later.
- Okay.

And bring the killer along.

Funny guy. Should work in the movies.

There's better than him.

That's true.

- What do you make of the crime?
Can I be informal? - Yes, of course.

- Do you suspect anybody in particular?
- Yes.

The truth is: she was neither
a dancer nor a model,

but the wife of
an antiquity researcher from Prague.

Curt, why were you doing 80 mph,

going away from the corpse
when the policeman stopped you?

- So the policeman would stop me.
- Impressive, for a European.

Murder in Beverly Hills!

Special Edition!

Read all about it!
Murder in Beverly Hills!

Naked corpse discovered.

Special Edition! Murder in Beverly Hills!

Her name was Lu Sostlov, by the way.

Are you crazy?

What are... This is no traffic light.
Curt!

But...

Say, what's the matter with you, really?

I met Mrs Sostlov
at a barbecue in Malibu

eight days ago.

- But you didn't recognize her today?
- No.

What was your impression of her
at that party?

A mighty strong one.

I couldn't stop looking at her face.

It was terribly baffling.

- Were you in love with her?
- I think so.

I lost a few night's sleep over her.

Did you see her again?
I mean, before today.

No.

I only saw her that one time in Malibu.

Watch your step.

They found water in her lungs?

She wasn't anywhere near water.

How do you know that?
Come on!

Either this case is very difficult or
very easy to solve.

It'll take me three days. Unless...

- Unless what?
- Unless it'll take me four.

- Why are we here?
- This is my office.

- Oh!
- Well, it's not quite finished.

Look, these are the memoirs.

- Hers?
- Yes. That's her diary.

It's not exactly PG,
but there's a lot of stuff.

That's why I carried out a few
interesting interviews.

Anybody in the diary strike you
as particularly suspicious?

Everybody in her memoirs is suspicious.

Do you know a certain Dr Steininger?

Steininger? No.

A painter and sculptor who often
frequented her family.

- He was on one of her lovers.
- She had more than one?

Well...

Take, for instance, de Lorm,
a young author at Warner Bros.

He was nuts about her.
Smitten, mesmerised.

But both he and Steininger have alibis
for time of the crime.

- Where's her husband?
- In Chicago or flying here.

By now he must know.

So, that leaves me.

I'd love to suspect you, Curt.

But you were asleep when it happened.

At noon, a certain Joe Ree
picked you up for lunch.

Then you went for a walk with your dog
and shot at vultures.

Not great, but it's still an alibi.

Anyway, I am grateful for that.

I'd have never put it together.

How did you manage it?

It's been only two hours
since we found the body.

I did find her a few hours
before you.

I.d.'ed her, found the diary,
interviewed suspects,

- returned to her...
- Hello, mister! - Okay.

- to wait for you.
- What? Why me?

Because you're the last person
mentioned in her memoirs.

Weird. Looks like white dust.
What do you think?

Beats me.

- Powder, maybe.
- Nope.

The stickiness...
It's rosin.

It comes in different forms,
for violins, viola, cellos etc.

Don't you play the cello?

You found her car? Hollywood?
Sycamore Drive?

No, don't touch anything.
I'm coming over.

Here, read that.

Make yourself comfortable.

But no calls. They're listening.

Read it. Might give you an idea
who did it, and so on.

"I'm writing these lines not
for someone to read,

but on behest of my psychiatrist,

to finally rid myself of these memories,
to save me from the madhouse.

As my psychiatrist said:
When the Lord created me,

and sprinkled me with eroticism,

he messed up the dosage.

Though it's a personal matter,
he had to warn me.

Did I not want to try
to liberate myself from ideas,

conditioned by experiences
in my early youth,

by putting said memories down on paper.

A method of "blood letting".

Well, I certainly don't want
the madhouse,

if only to avoid running into
my psychiatrist.

- So, I'll try and record...
- ...record truthfully how it happened.

I don't think anybody's soul
could be harmed.

Goethe said, 'One dares not
that before chaste ears declare,

which chaste hearts cannot spare.'

"The men will forgive me,

because they like to forgive women who
have fallen for them."

Women mustn't forget that the Lord
created us all differently,

and that nobody knows
what others really think.

I'll be understood only by those,

who can't sleep nor eat
when the spark of love has struck.

Who go tongue-tied
upon seeing their beloved,

who faint when in his arms.

And now I'll commence.

Olaf Swendka, famous and popular
tenor of our city theatre,

sang Lohengrin to decide
the fate of a girl in the audience.

A swan pulled him onto the stage.

A character made of ores.
He, himself,

sent to us from the Grail.

Lohengrin, son of Parsifal.

"Hail, King Henry!

May the Merciful Lord
stand by your sword."

Thus spoke Elsa of Brabant.

"If I were appointed your champion,

will you, free of fear and horror,
trust my protection?

Elsa, if I am to become your husband,

if I am to protect country and people
for you,

if nothing is ever to take me from you,
then you must promise me one thing:

Never shall you ask me.

Never shall you ask me.

Never, my Lord, shall the question
come to me!

Elsa! Do you understand
what I am saying?

Elsa, I love you.

Stop your fidgeting, silly brat, you.

- Curt.
- Huh?

- Curt!
- Shush!

Curt!

- Huh?
- Do you think it's possible,

to drive a dead naked woman
all across Beverly Hills in a car?

Why wouldn't it?

From Sycamore Drive to the hills
it's 14 miles.

At least 6 through heavy traffic.

- And in broad daylight.
- So what?

If you were the killer, how would you
transport the naked body?

I'd dress her.

That's not bad. What else?

I'd seat her as though she were asleep.

Then I'd take off her coat
and throw her in the grass.

A shame you're not the killer, Curt.
It would make everything easier.

- Are you positive?
- Positive.

Mr Swendka!

Kids, not all at once.

That's it for today.
Go home, behave yourselves .

There you go.
Thanks.

And you?

Why are you still here?

Come down.

Come on.

Come on.

You're shivering...
with cold.

- What's your name?
- Lu.

- How old are you?
- 17.

You're lying, little witch.
You're 12 at most.

I am 17!

I'm sorry.

- So. You want an autograph?
- Yes.

- But I don't have a picture of you.
- Can't be helped. I don't, either.

All right then.

If you... Tomorrow, if you want,
at 3 in the afternoon.

17, Castle Park.

And now, home with you.

- Hello!
- Yes?

- What do you want?
- To see Kammersänger Swendka.

- And you are?
- I'm Lu.

- The master Kammersänger expects me.
- I see. Come with me. - Yes.

- Will I get my autograph today?
- Of course. Come on, let's get it.

Come on.

You must be disappointed with Lohengrin.
Gray temples instead of golden locks.

He isn't a little boy.

- He's bound to have Gray temples.
- See?

Bring me your book.

Go on.

Chocolate?

No?

We are alone.

alone for the first time since we met.

Now we are cut off from the world,

no eavesdropper shall hear
the salutations of the heart.

"I should write a poem for you.

Oh, don't you appear in that day's prose
as a lovely poem?

A blessed being that nature
only managed in you.

Everybody,

I wager, wanted to read it,

for whole days and nights."

Little mermaid.

Yes.

I love you.

The earth interrupted its orbit
around the sun.

The universe stood still.

Little mermaid.

Yes.

If you care for me,
you have to leave now.

You're not leaving?

- So you don't love me?
- I do, I do.

Know what they did to things
like you in the Middle Ages?

Burned them at the stake,

to stop them leading husbands astray,

and bewitch them.

Little witch.

- I have to go home.
- No.

Then you fill me too with heavenly joy!

As I feel my heart go out to you,

I breathe delights
that God alone bestows;

As I feel my heart go out to you,

Feel so sweet cause me to burn

As I feel my heart go out to you,

As I feel my heart go out to you,

I breathe delights

that God alone bestows.

that God alone bestows.

Do you love me?

- Do you want me to love you?
- Uh-huh.

Can you not smell these sweet fragrances?

How wondrously they delight the senses!

I love you.

Mysteriously they approach
through the air,

and unquestioningly I give myself
over to their magic.

What witch taught you, you liar?

You claim to be 17,

- But you're no older than 13.
- I am 17.

I'll teach you what it means
to drive a grown man crazy.

You and Cleopatra are cut
from the same cloth.

If something exists,
that's sweeter than a dream,

it's knowing that this is no dream.

I am Olaf Swendkas' lover.

Cleopatra, Queen of Egypt,

Julius Caesar sends his greetings.

He likely lost his mind, your Julius.

To my Roman dictator.

Your Cleo sincerely hopes
that you'll sing again for her.

Wear something nice, Olaf!

- Do you want me to be faithful?
- Yes, my hero.

- No other women?
- None.

- Am I your sole lover?
- Yes.

- All other women chase you in vain?
- No.

- They do chase and dream of you?
- Yes.

- I'm the only one who gets you?
- Yes, little witch.

I love you.

I love you!

I love you!

I love you!

I love you!

I love you!

They call me Lohengrin.

- Who is it?
- Open the door. Police.

- Police?
- Yes, police.

Open. We have to arrest you.

- I only hope, the murder was planned.
- Why?

Murder plans can be re-planned.
It's harder when it's chance.

You can't re-plan chance.

What about Swendka, the singer.
Does he have an alibi?

- A very good one, at that.
- Pity.

- She was a romantic creature.
- Yes.

She must've been killed near her car,
in one of the bungalows.

Why's that?

Because woman is lazy and
wants to rest her little feet.

Here's where we found her car.

Down there's Sycamore Drive.
On the left, Canyon Road.

A 3 minute walk, at most.

My point is: the murder house
must be inside this circle.

What about the body? Somebody would have
noticed something, right?

In 90 of 100 bungalows, the kitchen's
directly linked to the garage.

Easy to get her out.

Petite as she was, she'd have fit
in any car boot.

Within this circle, we merely need
to pick out those bungalows...

where the garage
is directly connect. Makes sense.

Yes.

Say, Curt,
you live around here, too, don't you?

What's your point?

What are you implying?

- And you own a bungalow.
- All right, all right, Ben.

We didn't have to come here
to ascertain that.

- You could have asked over a drink.
- Great idea, pal.

- Let's have a drink.
- Where?

In your bungalow

That night, they took me
to the examining magistrate,

Dr. Manning.

He gave me a strange look.

- How old are you?
- 17

Listen, child. Nice of you
to want to spare your lover,

but he's admitted everything.
You're only harming yourself.

- He didn't harm me.
- Didn't harm you, then?

Your Kammersänger
told us a different story.

He never caressed you,

or kissed you?

- Didn't touch you at all?
- Never.

Here's why you're lying:
you're not even 14.

If I prove I'm 17,
will you believe me then?

I want the truth, little beast.

Why should I alone tell the truth
when you're lying?

Did Mr Swendka say he touched me?
Yes or no?

I'm asking the questions.

- How often were you with him?
- I don't recall.

You still claim, Mr Swendka didn't harm
you. You know what I'm referring to.

- I do.
- How do you know?

I was once assaulted by a man.
He did harm me.

- You're smart, you little slut.
- What?

Is that what I am?

You'd do anything to save your lover:

You'd lie,
you'd kill,

you'd love.
All of it.

All of it, wouldn't you?

Leave.

I recognised the flicker in his eyes
from my lover.

A harbinger of the loss of all reason.

I should have accepted as it was
the only way to save my beloved.

But now I had failed Olaf
like Peter had failed his Lord.

I hoped he knew
nothing could happen to him.

Or didn't he believe
I'm really 17?

In that case, I had to help him.

I'll do anything for him.

Anything.

I'm...
I'm sorry, doctor.

Please forgive me.
I didn't mean it that way.

I'll do anything you want.

Too late.

My father Parzival wears its crown,

I, its knight - am called Lohengrin.

He's ...?
He committed...?

You!

You have...

Why didn't you tell him that I'm 17?

To hear him thus attest
his sacred origin

causes my eyes to brim
with tears of blessed joy!

- Swendka is dead.
- I know that. - What?

- I told you, he had a good alibi.
- Well, yes.

- Peter de Lorm's alibi is faulty.
- Wasn't he one of her lovers?

Right. Like Steininger, whose alibi also
has a whole. The 2 must have met today.

The killers, there you go.

Swell, but de Lorm lives in town
and Steininger by the sea.

You're saying that I...

Yep. Only you live
in a bungalow in the right area.

- What now? - I almost forgot.
Your alibi isn't right.

- You met Joe Ree yesterday, not today.
- Ree is an idiot.

Listen, Curt. Are you quite sure
you didn't kill her?

Positively!

Moron.

My lover's death affected me deeply.

I was sent to Uncle Gustav,
who's pastor in a sleepy village.

I was supposed to rest there.

Wow, great landing.

And a great pilot.

Now what?

Let's rest.

Uncle Gustav!

Uncle Gustav!

Uncle Gustav!

- Don't you recognize me? I'm Lu.
- Yes. You have grown.

- You've come to find peace
in the country. - Yes.

You'll have a good time with us. We'll
read the scriptures and sing together.

What? Okay.

I resisted the good influence,

the peaceful vicarage
tried to exert over me.

The sole reason of my continued survival
was revenge against

Examining Magistrate Dr Manning.

who'd driven my beloved to death.

Uncle Gustav was good to me.

So good, I sometimes almost
forgot the reason of my life.

Then I closed my eyes,

and thought of my Lohengrin,
victim of human viciousness.

Only I knew.

Only I had the right to avenge him.

For that, I had to gain weight
and become pretty again.

I drank a lot of milk and studied poses,

to be able to serve my victim
a delicious dish when the time came.

Something for him to choke on.

I came to realise that even
Uncle Gustav was afflicted...

by the strange eye condition.

I made a mental note:

Man's biggest affliction is his own eye.

I decided to focus on this weakness.

Sometimes I scared myself.

Every day, I verified my appearance
and found,

my devilish plan
had altered my features.

I almost looked like an angel.

I began to fall in love
with my own reflection.

With my childlike body,

my knowing eyes,

my questioning mouth.

Could I really be a witch?

Thinking, I could excite men,

excited me, like a spider.

Spider-like, I felt it all over my body.

And spider-like, the enticing awareness
of my cruel powers

over men began to crawl.

Like a spider.

Poor Uncle Gustav.

I felt sorry for him.
I meant him no harm.

I only wanted to lure Dr Manning
into this sweet trap,

for him to perish.

The boy with the bike,

appeared to be
just the right test object for my trap.

I promised Uncle to look for mushrooms.

Will you help?

Will you help?

Oops.

What's your name?

Pe...

Peter Dehne.

Let's be friends, shall we?

Yes.

Come on.

Are there any mushrooms here?

No.

Then, what are we doing here?

- Want some candy?
- Yes.

I started having fun.

Like an anaesthetist, I observed
the gradual disappearance of his mind.

The eye condition
had afflicted him, too.

It made it easy.

With little tricks, I administered
his aesthetic at will.

He was touchingly helpless.

I was ashamed to think
I could drive this lad to death.

The spider's on the move.

Into the net!

- Please!
- The glasses? - No.

- What else?
- You know.

- I know nothing.
- You do know.

- What if someone comes?
- Nobody will.

- Please!
- What? - The glasses.

And now...

Tell me exactly what you want.

I can't do that.

I'll count to 3. Then, I'm off.

One,

two,

- We must be patient. He probably knows.
- Knows what?

If he hasn't noticed, we'll be sitting
here till tomorrow morning.

- What's that?
- Car key ring.

Found it beside the body.
The killer must have dropped it.

He'll be back for it to erase
all dangerous evidence.

Found anything yet, pals?

Don't ask me to do
what you're incapable of.

If you ask me: I wouldn't
run around with the killer.

I'd arrest him. Yes.

You must excuse him.

Ford? So you think
the killer drives a Ford?

Yes, I think so.

I also have a Ford trailer but drive
a Thunderbird. Now what?

There you go.

Don't get upset, Curt.

I know you found the body.

Am I the killer?

If you don't know, Curt,
I can't help you either.

Finally, I was on my way home.

The varied country life had almost
made me forget my hatred of Dr Manning.

Yet, I owed my beloved Lohengrin
the life of the Magistrate.

I decided to break
his sick gaze once and for all.

This time, I wouldn't say no,

to grant him the intoxication
of his own demise.

He should ponder my beloved's death
in prison.

After that act of hatred, however,
I meant to kill my inner spider.

I'd noticed that sex can only bring
confusion and unhappiness.

Poor little Peter

had to repeat the school year as result
of our frequent mushroom gathering.

Awkward as he was, he'd confessed
it all to Uncle Gustav.

That's when Uncle Gustav sent me home.

Game over... for my rest.

Well, I left, and many a confused eye
watched me go.

Hello miss. This was delivered for you.

"Dearest! I have the honour to ask for
your hand. R Sostlov"

Allow me to elaborate.

Gladly.

I don't expect you to be faithful.

Just let me pamper you for a few years.

How nice that sounds: pampering.

Once you tire of me, you'll have enough
jewellery to open a shop with.

May I buy from you then?

- You want to buy me?
- If necessary.

I don't want to live without you.

- Really?
- Yes.

Of course, I can't ask you to love me.

The thought I can be bought
doesn't bother you?

Not in the least.

Interesting.

What you said about marital fidelity
caught my attention, too.

Allowing you to cheat might stop you
from going through with it.

Be warned about me.

I've started seducing early on.
I'm rotten to the bone.

If we hurry, we could be married within
half an hour. The captain can do it.

- Won't it confound them?
- About what?

- The age gap.
- That's what makes it enticing.

- Won't everyone think I'm cheating on
you? - Nobody'll blame you.

If I'm faithful after all
it'll be even more interesting.

- So you'll become my wife?
- Yes.

Yes, I married him and
I'll make him happy.

Faithfully guided, draw near,

to where the blessing of love
shall preserve you!

Triumphant courage, the reward of love,

joins you in faith
as the happiest of couples!

It's as if I'm redeemed.
My life has meaning again.

Rudolf is archaeologist. He travels a lot
and I accompany him.

Being married is bliss.

Look, kid, what I found.

- Like it?
- Yes.

Oops.

I love driving through
the desert wind by myself.

Am I still the same Lu?

Where have the bad dreams gone?

Rudolf loves me.
What about the spider?

The spider is dead.
I'm happy.

The world's most beautiful pitcher.
Will you dig up something even nicer?

- Even nicer?
- Something big, amazing.

- Even bigger?
- Yes.

Yes. Rudolf digs up everything for me.

Whatever I want.

Big jugs, small jugs.

Cars, furs and diamonds.

And the stars from the sky, if I asked.

He's a real husband.

We live in California now.

Rudolf has a house in Beverly Hills.
It's beautiful here.

The heat dilutes the blood, wearies your
energy and lashes your senses.

You get the choice: to love to death
or to die of boredom.

Or both.

I've been restless lately.

I don't know what's wrong with me.

Could I be homesick for Europe?

Or is it my futile efforts
to forget my Lohengrin,

and the overwhelming desire,
to see him again?

Yesterday I consulted a psychiatrist.

He advised to write my memoirs.

I've started already.

The result is, I get hugely upset.

That's not the desired effect.

His eye's full of sweetness, as though
among muses who seek to embrace him.

Pamper me, Rudolf.

- What, pamper you?
- Yes, you promised.

But of course, my little one.

What is it you want?

An Apollo.

But a real one.

Oh, little one.

The beautiful statue.

Took me so long to find her.
Don't you remember?

- Madam. - Yes.
- Mr de Lorm wants to speak to you.

De Lorm? Never heard of him.
Maybe he wants my husband.

No, he asked for you personally.

- Take him to the garden. I'm coming.
- Yes, ma'am.

You were pleased when I gave it to you.

You must have cheated on me
with him.

I'm so sorry. I didn't mean it.

- Peter! - Lu!
- Stay where you are.

Why are you in Beverly Hills?

I've been here for two years.
But I didn't find you earlier.

- What are you doing here?
- Writing for Warner Bros.

You call yourself de Lorm now?

You need a name in the movies.

You can't be called just anything.

That's what a boy looks like
who betrayed me for of a school report.

No no no!
Never again, Peter.

It's over.

Good morning, said the spider.

I felt it all over my body,
that beautiful spider.

Peter!

Lu, sweetheart.

Look, Apollo is whole again.

Lu?

Where are you?

I didn't think I'd see you again.

- I knew I would.
- You did?

Lovers have immeasurable powers.
I love you, Lu. I can't help it.

- Like back then?
- More.

- Do you remember our forest?
- Yep. I dwell on it.

- Ah. You write screenplays.
- No, I mean it.

- Are you a good writer?
- Well...

Good enough for now.

What are you writing? Love stories?
Action? Corny stuff?

Or even blue movies?

Not even close.

Cowboy movies.

- Where are you taking us?
- Maybe to the woods.

- There's a beautiful palm forest.
- Not for us, Peter.

- I'm...
- I know. You're married.

- He could be your dad, they say.
- I don't mind.

- Me neither.
- How nice of you.

- That you're married, I mean.
- Most gracious.

I love you, Lu. I can't consider
your husband's feelings.

But I can.

Out, please.

I exit on the left and re-enter on the
right. No getting rid of me that easily.

- What do you want?
- You know.

- I know nothing.
- Yes, you do.

- What if someone comes?
- Nobody will.

First, tell me exactly what you want.

One - two...

Three.

- I didn't want that many details.
- But I did.

- So, Peter Dehne really became de Lorm.
- Yep.

And Lu stayed Lu.

What do you mean?

That's what I feel.

You must never leave me.

I have to leave you.

Why did you come
if you're leaving again?

If we always knew what we do and why,

we'd be deprived of a sweet weakness.

Do you enjoy torturing me?

Yes.

Why are you driving so fast?

To get home, for a change.

Curt, how do you spell that,
with C or with K?

- Curt with C.
- De Lorm killed himself.

That's his business.

- Why did he?
- Haven't got a clue.

Might have been lovesick.

Might have been because
he killed Lu Sostlov.

Why would he?

Unrequited love, jealousy.
Call it what you like.

- Unless he was murdered himself.
- Who'd kill the pale lad?

Oh, you know. Steininger, for instance.
For jealousy, too.

Or to eliminate accomplices.

- Lu could have been killed
by two people. - How come?

They didn't like to think, Lu cheated
on them with a third party.

A third party? And who would that be?

Look it up in her memoirs.
You'll find his initials.

- Which are?
- Yours, dear.

By rights, you should arrest me.

By rights, yes.

But your rosin doesn't match
what's in the hair of the deceased.

Nobody wants me give an arrest warrant.

I'm unconsolable.

But my alibi isn't airtight.

And what about
the broken keyring pendant?

And the initials?

If I think carefully,
I should be the killer.

Call me when you're sure.

By the way:

You were going to search the house,
for something. Here, the keys.

9 June. We received an invitation
to Dr Steininger's,

an exhibition of his pictures
in his villa.

The women of Beverly Hills whisper
when they utter his name.

He's a strange one, they say.

I'm curious.

He must have loved her,
the number of times he painted her.

- Why does he always paint her
without face? - He's a snob. Conceited.

Perhaps, he only loves her body?

Yes. He can't even remember
the face.

Nonsense. She must have been gorgeous.

All those pictures without a face?
How banal.

No, dear. It's a statement.

Yes, Steininger is somebody.
He's a man.

Look who's here: the Sostlovs.

- Indeed. Mr and Mrs Sostlov.
- She keeps getting more beautiful.

Once again, we were
centre of attention.

Our age gap remains a hot topic
in Hollywood.

It's assumed I cheat on him,
but nobody knows for sure.

Many can't handle it.

That could be you.

- Maybe in the past.
- No. Present tense.

She's bound to cheat.

I'm not so sure.
Nobody's proved any infidelity.

How much older is he?

Supposedly, he is ancient.
He excavates the ancient world.

- Look how she walks.
- Exciting!

- Does she really love him?
- Like a father, maybe.

Certainly, a strange relationship.

You know my wife?

Oh yes.

- From the pictures. - Did you hear
that? - From these pictures?

- Impossible!
- But, of course. The puzzle is solved.

- Striking similarity.
- Unmistakable.

- She's his model.
- Her body, at least.

The master captured it inimitably.

I've never met Steininger.

But it's flattering to be mistaken
for his model.

Why didn't you tell me?

- If she's his model, she's also
his mistress. - Here comes Steininger.

Today's the first time I see the artist.

How are you,
Examining Magistrate Dr Manning?

How should I be?

I paint your body that I never
laid eyes on, but your face,

that I have seen,
I'm unable to paint.

- When did you start to paint?
- You know.

Years ago, I fell in love with a girl.
I've painted ever since.

- You're quite talented.
- I had a quite the model.

Such modesty, Examining Magistrate?

Please erase the examining magistrate
from your memory.

I'm Steininger now.

Is the girl on the pictures
a real person?

- Yes.
- You must have loved her, didn't you?

I love her still.

Between us, who is she?
Would you tell me?

I haven't seen her for a long time.
She must have changed.

You should find a suitable model
for the face.

Yes.

Yes, I should, Professor.

Hollywood had its sensation.

I was suddenly mistress and model
of the famous painter.

He'd changed to his advantage
and I found it hard to hate him.

- Why are you here?
- To find out who that man is.

It's obvious.
Lohengrin.

Are you jealous?

Silly boy.

- I'd like to know who he really is.
- Cesare Giovanni, artiste.

- He performs in a night club.
- An artiste? Weird.

I'd have taken him for an opera singer.

Anyway, you're the girl.

How tasteless.

- You think it's Swendka? - Yes. He's on
your conscience. - You're wrong.

Overjoyed about his young lover,
he must have gone crazy.

I couldn't prove anything,
so he was released from custody.

Luckily, he drove his car
into a tree and died. For you.

Is that true?

- I hoped to see you again, to say...
- ...that Swendka...

That, too. But mainly,
to tell you I love you.

That's why you paint me?

I could love the world again.

My beloved hadn't died in desperation.

He'd died with an image of me
in his heart.

- Lu?
- Yes.

Let me paint your face.

But of course, great master.

My face you may paint.

Oh, you're still here?

Why make me suffer this way?

I can't bear it.

Maybe...
because I'm so happy.

- Give me a hand?
- Yes.

- How old are you?
- 17.

You lying slut. You're only 13.

I can love the world again.
My Lohengrin died happily.

You'd do anything for your beloved,
wouldn't you?

You'd lie, you'd kill, you'd love.

Anything. Beautiful witch.

I was assaulted by a man.
He did harm me, Magistrate.

Forget Dr Manning. Let me to paint you.

Today's the first time I see the artist.

The spider's on the move.

I'm afraid of my knowing eyes,

the questioning mouth.

Could I be a witch?

I paint your body that I never
laid eyes on, but your face

that I have seen,
I'm unable to paint.

- Did you sleep with him?
- Yes.

Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes
yes, yes.

It's impossible.

Simply impossible, damn it.
And I don't know why!

Her lungs were waterlogged.

I'd say she was strangled,

if her neck had shown
the slightest marks.

I stagger between my two lovers,

from embrace to embrace.

- Well, Little One. Overdoing it yet?
- Nope.

I think you are.

Come, rest.

No, I'm not overdoing it.

I've never felt better in my life.

Well, maybe once, when I had one lover
only, whom I loved with all my heart.

But that's over.

Now I love playing tennis with my 3 men
at Professor Pusch's place.

My husband doesn't suspect my lovers,

and my two lovers don't suspect
each other - which makes me tingle.

Something unexpected happened today.

Professor Pusch said, there are tribes
who celebrate female nudity

as the absolute ideal of beauty.

Upon hearing the word "nude",
my men smiled at me in a benevolent way.

Rudolf smiled.

And Steininger smiled.

And Peter grinned like a rabbit.

Within seconds, the gents realised
they were all smiling.

The bomb had gone off.

The gents knew about each other,

the knights felt dishonoured,

hurt in their honour
and broken in their pride.

The roosters raised their combs
and crowed for a fight.

There are no more secrets now.

Shame about the nice game.

Now, the heroes are playing at duelling.

I'm afraid, Rudolf will run
poor Peter to death.

Why can't men coexist peacefully?

I didn't mind your husband's smile,

but that of your pleasure boy
I mind very much.

I'll shoot the smile right off
his beautiful jaw.

But he's only a plaything of mine.

- So you don't love him?
- No.

So you won't care if I kill him.

They'll hang you for it.

You're saying that to save him.

I told you, what I need him for.

Okay. I'll come up with a way
for you to prove

that you don't love him.

Do as you please.

He was jealous like Othello,

and he devised a devilish plan
to humiliate Peter.

Smile, Mr de Lorm,
lower your head!

Change your glasses.

Lower your head.
Pretend you're vanquished.

Yes. Great. Excellent.

Pretend you're expecting the death blow
from your beloved woman.

Stay still!

I'll call this picture...

The Adulterers.

But, that's impossible.

I'm hallucinating.

I'm beginning to be afraid of my men.

Of my spouse who pampers me,

of the slave that I toy with,

and of the lord who owns me.

I want to swap them for a single lover,

who is everything to me.

Against one who doesn't threat
with murder or suicide,

one who just loves me, instead.

I'm longing.

Could my dream come true?

Today I met C.G. at a barbecue party
in Malibu.

I pretended not to notice
how his eyes devoured me.

Madam, may I present Mr Curt Gerst?

Mrs Lu Sostlov.

I kept my eyes nicely lowered.

Madam is nun by profession?

A professional nun?
Just you wait, my dear!

Wait till we're my dinner partners,

and the chatty little nun
places her bare toes on your instep.

Then we'll see how pale you'll turn

I think, you're the man I'm looking for.

You just don't know it yet.

Next week, you're dining with us.

Then, I'll give you exactly 2 days
to surrender.

- How are you, Mrs Sostlov?
- Good, thanks.

- Coming to the party?
- Perhaps, if we don't run late.

We'll discuss the weather and politics,

whilst gazing into each other's eyes.

- A drink, mister?
- Yep.

Stop! One more.

- Hello, Mrs Sostlov.
- Hello.

- How's your husband?
- Good, thank you. He may still come.

I won't think of anything else but

how to break your eyes.

Would you like a drink?

Gladly.

I'll be faithful,

once you're mine.

You'll become my lover, playmate,

tyrant and slave, all in one.

Just like my first lover.

Your clubs, sir.

The others are waiting.

- Want me to take this?
- Uh-huh.

We're playing golf.
Are you coming?

No.

- Another time, perhaps?
- Perhaps.

I haven't decided whether or not
to cheat one last time,

so I can control my nerves better.

So I don't throw my arms
around you just yet,

but devour your slowly,
like a cat eats a mouse.

If I do that, it's because I love you.

You'll have to fall so hard for me
the first time,

you'll never let go of me again.

Another seven days and 23 hours.

That's where the memoirs end.
Damn, not another word about me.

Not a word about...

So, did you find
what you were looking for in the house?

I didn't go in.

I did.
Here's what you were after.

Mr C. G. playing golf on the beach,
shot by the deceased.

The movie was so well hidden,
I don't think you'd have found it.

I was surprised she still photographed
you before your deed.

- My deed?
- Kissed her, loved her,

- perhaps killed her. Only you know, Curt.
- Rubbish. I did neither.

No, of course not.

You only saw her once, at the party in
Malibu, so you claimed, several times.

I don't believe a word you say,
no offence.

I don't care what you believe.

Bid deal. I ran into her when she filmed
on the beach.

There was water in her lungs.

If it was so harmless,
why didn't you mention it?

- Or were you embarrassed to be caught
cooing? - What nonsense!

- It would have looked worse for me.
- Quite right. It does, too.

All right. Stop the movie.
I know what's on it.

No way. The he best is still to come.

"I love you."
"I love you, too."

"I don't love you, either."
"Never question me."

Now she'll take off her shoes
and run enticingly into the sea.

She sure was an expert in the high art
of lovemaking, the coquette witch.

Quite the erotic enigma .

Don't speak of her like that.

- Even in death, I'm in love with her.
- Me too.

- Fuels the anger to find the culprit.
- True, that.

Look. She shot this for the prosecutor,
unwittingly.

You're insane!

Are you still claiming
you didn't kill her?

Yes.

Then, what about this?
I found this note in her purse.

"Thursday, 10 a.m., C. G."

Today's Thursday, and the babe
was murdered at 10.

- Let's get it done. But first, let me
dash home. - No.

You can't dash home.

- There's one possibility.
- Which one?

If "C. G." didn't mean Curt Gerst.

- Who then?
- Cesare Giovanni.

After your beach rendezvous,
she must have gone to Las Vegas.

These shots are
on the same roll of film.

If you'd admitted there was a film this
morning, we'd have found him earlier.

- Was she murdered in Las Vegas?
- No, siree.

She was killed in one of the bungalows
near you, as I assumed.

The Tiddy Sisters?
What's their connection to Lu Sostlov?

None. But they own a bungalow
within the circle.

They have a partner
who lives there secretly.

I've just learned,
his name is Cesare Giovanni.

- Same initials: C. G.
- What else?

Lu Sostlov watched the show
3 times last week.

She came for handsome Cesare, who, since
yesterday, is back in Hollywood,

alone, in the Tiddy bungalow.
The sisters stayed in Vegas for a film.

That's him: C. G. number 2.

But, he's... he's the artist
whom Steininger painted.

Correct. She saw him first
in his pictures.

She must have been so smitten with him,
she did everything to locate him.

What was so irresistible about him?

This.

Maybe, also the fact he had 2 women,
a novelty for her.

They say, Cesare is enthralled
by both sisters equally.

Apparently,
they used perform as trapeze act.

However, exhaustive, private use
by the cute sisters

diminished his powers to such a degree,

they had to convert their act
into this saver dance routine.

He merely needs to look beautiful.
Oh, well.

Our sensual heroine couldn't pass up
such acute sex appeal.

So, you think the C. G. of her memoirs
could be him?

Could be. However, it'd be painful.
For you.

The way she describes the party
in Malibu, it could only be you.

Cesare must be the man with whom
she wanted to cheat once more,

the better to devour you,
"like a cat eats a mouse".

He looks as if he wants to undress her
with his eyes.

No need for jealousy.

These 2 had a lot more reason
to be jealous.

Heaven's above, Curt!
That look. The motive. Come on!

- Where to? - To arrest the Tiddys.
- I thought it was Cesare.

Like you, he had no reason.
But, the Tiddy Sisters.

Crystal clear motive: jealousy.

- They drove in from Vegas this morning?
- Yes.

They must have found out
Cesare and Lu had a date at 10.

I conclude, they must have started out
during the night,

and raced home to give little Lu
a warm reception.

Those vipers were convinced,
our worker bee meant to snare their man.

Little did they know, Lu only wanted
Cesare's favours for a few hours.

And so, the tragedy ran its course.

The 2 were grimly determined
to eliminate the rival.

It's been proven: the Tiddys transported
the body in Cesare's cello case

to the hills, and the rosin in Lu's hair
doesn't match yours. You're acquitted.

- Thanks.
- Assuming, we catch the Tiddys.

So?
Caught the killer?

The Tiddy Sisters.

This was my easiest case.

Admit it, the memoirs were confusing.

I'd still like to keep them.
As souvenir.

You have every reason
to be in a good mood, Curt.

Or would you rather be the killer?

Maybe.

Please, may I have your autograph?

Really?

Thanks.

Come on. Up you go.

English subs for KG
by Tim Cooper