All language subtitles for Murder.She.Wrote.S06E08.When.the.Fat.Lady.Sings.WEBRip.x264-ION10

Shootings in an alley, smuggled emeralds.

Sounds like a plot
straight out of Puccini.

Keep away from her!

[Jessica] Tonight on Murder, She Wrote.

If you ever again come near Maria,

I will kill you.

-If you had not tempted him.
-That's not true.

If he dies, you killed him!

The fact is, I'm being followed.

-Really?
-I've no idea who they are.

I see the look on your face
whenever he goes near Maria.

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

If she had found out about Maria,

it would have crushed her.

Pills in pocket.

Faraday, he tried to kill me.

[lively theme music playing]

-[siren wailing]
-[dramatic music playing]

[people chattering]

All right, folks, move back.

I got an ambulance coming in here.

Move back, move back. Come on, move back.

[siren wailing]

Oh, Rosanno!

The ambulance... the ambulance is here!

[Silvana crying]

[groaning]

[Teresa praying in Italian]

Rosanno.

No, no, no.

Sorry, ma'am, but I can't let you.

I'm his wife!

Yes, ma'am, but I still can't.

Get out of my way! Rosanno!

Teresa, we're going to the hospital.

Can we give you a ride?

[speaking Italian]

[siren wailing]

I told him no good would come of that gun.

Would he listen?

Silvana, you mustn't...

[loudly] He is in there dying!

No. You heard the doctor.
He has a very good chance.

It's your fault.

If you had not tempted him...

That's not true.

Do you think I don't have eyes to see?

-If he dies, you killed him!
-Silvana!

It is time to get down
on your knees and pray,

not make accusations.

Oh!

[beeping]

Lieutenant Birnbaum, how is he?

Not so good. It's a coronary.

The next few hours
are gonna be real dicey.

Okay, Mrs. Fletcher,

this is a real can of worms here.

I need straight answers.

From me? But--

Out there I got prima donnas,
hysterics, egomaniacs.

You, on the other hand,
seem reasonably calm and lucid.

So you're elected.

Well, where do you want me to start?

Chapter One.

Please, sit down.

And take your time.

My oldest daughter,

who I thought I'd married off
two years ago,

just moved back in with a baby

who gives new definition
to the word "colic".

I got all night.

-Odd, you know, it seems like a week ago,
-[light music playing]

but the truth is it really
only started this morning.

I was here in San Francisco
at the Bouchercon.

That's a mystery writers' convention.

And I was just finishing up breakfast,

when a waiter told me
that I had an urgent phone call.

Thank you.

Hello. This is Jessica Fletcher.

Of course, and I'm so delighted it is.

Well, thank you. Who is this?

What troubles me most
is the frightening thought

that you might have flitted
in and out of this fair city

without so much as a "How do you do?"

to an old and dear friend.

[chuckles] Who is this?

Oh, Jessica, you disappoint me.

I thought our former relationship,

however fleeting,
had deeper roots than this.

Incidentally, don't you think

that's a dreadful picture of the Mayor

on the front page of the paper?

[laughs]

Dennis! [laughs]

-[ducks quacking]
-There I was, dear heart,

in that wretched bus terminal,
totally humiliated,

being arrested for a theft
I hadn't even committed.

Yes, but if you had gone to
the police in the first place,

you never would have found
yourself in that position.

What, cooperate with the authorities?

In those days, unheard of.

However, thanks to you,

all that has now changed.

So you've been telling me.

On my honor, as a gentleman,

respectability has me
in its fiendish grasp.

Not only am I a salaried consultant

to several major casualty companies,

but I have even acquired
a Social Security Number.

My heavens.

Can knighthood be far behind?

Oh, scoff if you like,

but I am treading
a straight and narrow path

and actually enjoying it.

By the way, what are your plans?

And don't tell me you're leaving town.

Oh, this afternoon.

Wrong, dear heart. I have plans for you.

What do you think about Puccini?

-Well, I...
-I mean world-class Puccini.

Rosanno Bertolucci-type Puccini.

Bertolucci? Really? Oh, my.

Good, that's settled. They open tonight.

Meanwhile, I think you should
meet the great man in person.

Mrs. Fletcher,
what a privilege to meet you.

Thank you.

Dennis tells me you write books

about people who have died.

-Well, no. Not exactly.
-Very morbid.

You should write about
people full of life.

-Like me.
-Oh, yes. Of course.

And how about this man?

Opening night, sold out.

And the little children are going to get

almost $200,000.

The little children?

What little children?

The little ones without homes.

Dennis didn't tell you?

He is vice-chairman of the foundation

that is sponsoring tonight's benefit.

I'm just a small cog
in a very large wheel.

You see how modest he is?

No, he is, how you say,
a tower of strength.

Like Pisa, only not so bent over.

And the traffic was terrible.
It was noisy.

Ah, bellissima! Come, come.

-We have company.
-Oh.

You remember Dennis Stanton?

Delighted to see you again,
Signora Bertolucci.

And this is Mrs. Fletcher
from the state of Maine.

She writes books about dead people.

My wife Silvana, my aunt Teresa.

How nice to meet you.

How do you do?

-Buon giorno.
-Buon giorno.

Did you see this?

The wonderful Mr. Bergmann,
our monumental basso,

tells the press [hits newspaper]
he is the star of the show,

that the great tenor Bertolucci
has lost his voice.

No, no, cara mia,
I'm sure he did not mean...

Oh, he also said that
your precious protégé

sings like a thin-voiced crow
with none of the charm.

-What?
-Mmm.

Maybe now you will have
the impresario get rid of

this egotistical mountain of lard, eh?

How dare this man?

Maria is a beautiful girl with
a delicate voice of an angel.

Bergmann, this pompous, mediocre...

Rosanno, enough about that man.

Silvana, she buys you a nice jacket.

Here, try it on.

No, no, I don't... I don't want to.

Please, for me. It's very nice.

Oh, it is lovely, Signor Bertolucci.

Well, if you don't want it,

I'll gladly take it off your hands.

No, no. I'll try it on.

Um...

excuse me, Rosanno,

that nasty little bit of hardware

tucked onto your belt...

this? Oh, si.

A very good friend.

I'm not sure

how familiar you are
with American gun laws,

Signor Bertolucci,

but you do need a permit to
carry that around, you know.

Government officials telling us

how to conduct our lives.

When I was a boy in Napoli, Mrs. Fletcher,

I learned that
one takes care of one's self.

Are you saying that
you are in some sort of danger?

During our engagements
in Hong Kong and Japan,

just before we arrived here,

a very unpleasant gentleman
by the name of Faraday

was loitering around our company.

At first, I thought he was only interested

in pursuing the favors of our
young soprano, Maria Deschler.

But I began to realize
that he was also involved

with some very
unsavory-looking associates.

When I suggested he stay away,

he threatened my life.

That's when I buy this gun,

which, incidentally, I know how to use.

Quite well, in fact.

Let me get this straight.

The guy was carrying an unlicensed piece,

and he didn't care it was illegal?

No, he didn't.

And these so-called associates
of the victim, who were they?

Well, he didn't say.

Look, if you could let me continue.

Sure. Go on.

Thank you.

Well, Dennis Stanton picked me
up at my hotel this evening.

We arrived at the opera house
about an hour before curtain.

It was my first time backstage
at an opera house,

and believe me, it was a zoo.

[man singing]

[woman singing]

Forget the party, Maria.

We'll drive down to Carmel.

There's a little inn
overlooking the water.

I've already booked a room.

Oh, good.

Why don't you ask Veronica or Angelique?

What do I have in common
with chorus girls?

You and I, our souls, they're like one.

That wasn't my soul
you were grabbing at, Giorgio.

[gasps]

Barry, stop it. What if Rosanno comes in?

He'll rearrange that pretty face of yours.

He's a dirty old man. He doesn't worry me.

He's the reason I'm working here.

You can write your articles
for anybody you choose,

but for me this is a break,

and I am not going to screw it up.

Now, go. This way.

One day soon I'm gonna
have it out with that old man.

He chased Lou Faraday away,
but he's not gonna chase me.

Go on. Now.

I'll wait for you by that
little cafe down the street.

-Hmm?
-Okay.

We'll sneak out after the performance.

No, I have to go to the party.

Forget the party. [kisses]

I'll be waiting.

[people chattering]

Mr. Stanton!

I have just received
some distressing news, sir.

Distressing.

We are to be reviewed this evening

by a featherbrained nincompoop
named Hannah Atterbury.

Well, I...

An illiterate scribbler
who spent the first decade

of her so-called career writing
critiques for dinner theater.

May I...

Oh, my God, this is not her, is it?

Oh, no.

I'm Jessica Fletcher. I'm merely visiting.

Oh, good.

Well, you looked far
too intelligent to be a critic.

Oh, thank you!

I myself do not need the praise of

the ill-informed or ill-equipped
to feed my ego.

-[door breaks open]
-Away from her!

-Let go of me!
-You want me to kill you?

What are you, Mr. Faraday,
some kind of animal?

You don't tell me what to do, Bertolucci.

I warned you to keep away from her!

Let go of me!

[women screaming]

If he tries to return,
you call the police.

And if you ever again come near Maria,

I will kill you.

[crowd gasping]

Why?

Because you want her for yourself?

-[dramatic music playing]
-[grunting]

I mean what I say.

If you go near Maria again,
you're a dead man.

Okay, so Bertolucci catches
this guy Faraday, the victim,

with the young soprano.

Yes, Maria Deschler.

And he tells the guy

if he catches him near her again,

he's gonna kill him.

That's what he said, kill him?

Well, I think it was
only a figure of speech.

You think? What are you, a mind reader?

Lieutenant, would you
like me to continue or not?

Sure. Go on.

Well, whatever problems

the company may have been
having backstage,

they didn't affect the performance.

The production was brilliant,
except for Maria.

Howard Bergmann was right,

she obviously lacked experience.

Afterwards, Dennis and I went backstage

to congratulate Rosanno
and the rest of the cast.

Ah, Signora Bertolucci!

Brilliant production! I was enchanted.

And your husband was in fine voice.

Oh, thank you. He will be pleased.

Oh! Here he comes.

[Maria screaming]

-[suspenseful music playing]
-Maria!

Maria!

Maria! Maria!

Maria.

Lou Faraday.

I tried to fight him off.

Are you all right?

He's gone into the alley. Call the police!

[gun firing]

[gun firing]

[woman screaming]

Rosanno!

Silvana, be careful!

[grunts]

Pills in pocket. Pocket...

Faraday, he tried to kill me.

He called my name, and I shot him.

Back there, I...

I saw him.

-I saw him and I fired.
-Did you hit him?

[laughs weakly] Sure, I hit him.

What do you think? Take a look.

Dennis turned over the body,
and it was Mr. Faraday.

He'd been shot once in the chest.

Bertolucci admitted firing the shot?

Yes. In self-defense.

I heard two shots, Lieutenant.

So did everyone else.

Two shots, very close together.

And they sounded different,

as if fired from two different guns.

I finally had a word
with the cardiologist.

As suspected, Rosanno
had a severe heart attack.

His condition is serious.

Me, I hope he makes it.

I got loose ends
only Bertolucci can tie up.

Oh? Such as?

Well, for one thing,
a couple of hours ago,

Bertolucci threatens to kill this guy

if he goes after his girlfriend,
which the guy does.

Then, all of a sudden,

the guy ends up stiff in an alley,

and Bertolucci is trying
to cop to self-defense.

Now, you, Mr. Stanton,
and you, Mrs. Fletcher,

you hear two shots, which is very nice,

except what I need is someone
who actually saw Faraday

take a potshot at Bertolucci.

Lieutenant, is there something
that you're not telling us?

-You might say so.
-[phone ringing in distance]

A couple of minor inconsistencies.

Like, for example, the coroner's
preliminary indicates

that the victim was not standing
when he was shot,

but he was probably lying on his back.

And the gun Faraday was supposed
to have fired, guess what?

We didn't find any gun.

Not in his hand, not in the alley,

not in the next county.

But that doesn't make any sense.

And finally, and now it will make sense,

we checked Bertolucci's pistol and found

not one spent cartridge, but two.

The guy's story is so full of hot air

you could fly a balloon with it.

[Silvana] No.

I want to speak to my husband.

I'm sorry, Mrs. Bertolucci.

He doesn't want to see you.

He insists on speaking
to his aunt, Mrs. Mancini.

I am his wife!

There's nothing I can do.

-Excuse me.
-[Silvana speaking Italian]

Silvana, it's going to be all right.

Sit with me. Sit, please.

Doc, if he's well enough to talk,

he's gonna talk to me.

Not now.

He's barely conscious, Lieutenant.

He insisted on speaking to his aunt.

-He thinks he's dying.
-Is he?

Ask me in the morning.

[suspenseful music playing]

[knocking]

Good morning, Lieutenant.

Oh, I hope I'm not interrupting
your breakfast.

This you can interrupt anytime.

-Please.
-Thank you.

Dry toast, weak tea.

A year ago it would've
been a bagel, cream cheese,

maybe a little onion, nice piece of lox.

That was before my brother-in-law,

Irving the dietician, came along.

Two years out of medical school,

already he knows
what's good for everybody.

Because he hates food,
he thinks everybody should.

-You want a bite?
-Oh, no, no, no, thank you.

I just I ate at the hotel.

Whatever you had, don't tell me.

So, Mrs. Fletcher,
what are you doing here?

Maybe you remember
something else from last night?

Well, actually, yes.

I mean, a thought popped to mind.

It's been bothering me.

What happened to the windbreaker?

Ma'am?

Earlier in the evening,
when he first came backstage,

Mr. Faraday was wearing a gray
windbreaker over his sweater.

Now, when the body was found,
the windbreaker was missing.

Since it was such a chilly evening,

why wasn't he wearing it?

Ma'am, I really wouldn't know.

Now, about the bullet.

You said you thought that

it was fired from an acute angle.

Almost 45 degrees. Right into the heart.

Yeah, it must've happened
something like that.

Let me tell you how I got it figured.

Bertolucci chases this guy
Faraday down the alley,

waving a gun at him.

Faraday gets trapped,
turns, stumbles, falls over.

While on his back, unarmed,

Bertolucci rushes up, shoots him,

then fires another shot in the air,

then rushes back to the head of the alley.

Where he what?
Where he fakes a heart attack?

No. That was real enough.

Unexpected, maybe, but real.

The story about Faraday firing at him,

that was phony.

Yes, well,
it's an interesting speculation.

And I'm not about to bring it into court.

Not until I can beef it up.

The way I see it, only two people know

what really happened in that alley,

and they're not talking.

Bertolucci and his aunt Teresa.

Teresa?

After she came out of
he hospital room last night,

I pulled her aside.

I wanted to know what the guy told her.

Believe me, she was plenty
shook up, whatever it was.

But she just kept shaking her head.

And you think he might have
made some sort of confession?

Why not?

[phone ringing]

Birnbaum.

Yeah, she's here. Hang on.

Hello?

Jessica, your hotel told me
where to find you.

I haven't interrupted
anything crucial, have I?

[sighs] Hardly.

The Lieutenant and I
have gotten exactly nowhere.

Very well. Suppose I pitch in?

Oh, no. I couldn't ask you to...

Nonsense. At the very least,
you can use a chauffeur,

and I'm fairly well acquainted

with the ups and downs of the city.

Meet you at the opera house
in half an hour.

I'll see you there.

[engine turns over]

-[suspenseful music playing]
-[tires screeching]

[streetcar bell dings]

Good Lord, I'm being tailed.

Fancy that.

[singing in Italian]

[singer faltering]

Stop! Stop, stop!

Must we be subjected to this?

Mr. Bergmann, please.

Mr. Tortelli has been gracious
enough to offer his services...

[loudly] Services?

Yes, that's precisely what we need here.

Services to inter this hapless
and amateurish production!

Okay, everybody, that's it for now.

Break for lunch. Stay by.

I'm sorry, Mr. Tortelli. You were great.

But Mr. Bergmann,
he's a little temperamental.

Excuse me, Miss Deschler.

Oh, Mrs. Fletcher. How's Rosanno?

We haven't heard a thing
from the hospital.

Well, actually he's very much better.

In fact, the doctor told me
he woke up about an hour ago,

his vital signs are stable,
and he was demanding food.

Well, that's wonderful.

Didn't I tell you?

He has the constitution of a horse.

However, I doubt that he'll be
back on the stage any time soon.

You know, Mr. Bergmann was
right about one thing.

Without a very strong tenor,
this production can't go on.

Well,

maybe that's all for the best.

The atmosphere around here has been,

I don't know, tense.

Yes.

A couple of things bothered me,
Maria, about last night.

Perhaps you could clear them up.

I'm puzzled how Mr. Faraday

got back into your dressing room.

I mean, we all saw Rosanno throw him out

before the performance

and heard him order
the stage doorman to keep him out.

That's old crusty, Mrs. Fletcher.

Once the singing starts,

he plants himself in the wings to watch.

The Cuban army could
come through the door,

and he'd never know it.

Oh, I see.

And what about the windbreaker?

The what?

Well, earlier in the day,

Mr. Faraday was wearing
a gray windbreaker,

but not when we found the body.

I guess he must have changed his clothes.

He wasn't wearing it

when I found him
waiting in my dressing room.

Yes, that was very foolhardy of him,

particularly as Rosanno
had threatened him.

Nobody ever said Faraday was smart.

Yes. Well, Rosanno certainly
didn't try to hide his jealousy.

Rosanno Bertolucci is now,
and has always been, a friend.

Nothing more.

Will you excuse me?

I wouldn't put too much stock
in gossip, Mrs. Fletcher.

Backstage at the theater
is a lot like a small town.

People talk, but they don't
always get their facts straight.

-Jessica.
-Oh, there you are.

I was afraid you'd got stuck in traffic.

Oh, dear, no. Nothing so mundane.

The fact is, I'm being followed.

-Really?
-Yes.

I've no idea who they are,
but they're very funny.

They're so bad at it.

Well, dear heart, did you learn anything?

Not much.

Except Rosanno seems to be recovering

from his heart attack.

Which means, I suppose,

that Lieutenant Birnbaum
is over there questioning him.

Well, why don't I drop you off?

All right.

I'd offer to join you,

but just before I left home I had a call.

I have to go to Oakland
to meet a ferrety little man,

thoroughly unpleasant,

but he may know the whereabouts
of some missing securities.

Ridiculous. You are ridiculous.

The man was not lying down
when I shot him.

He was standing straight up
at the end of the alley.

About ten yards away, in the dark.

I did not measure the distance.

Also, Lieutenant, it was not possible

for there to be
two spent shells in my revolver.

I fired one time only.

Look, Mr. Bertolucci,

maybe you can steamroll
these people who work for you.

Me, I'm not impressed.

I already got you for carrying
a concealed weapon.

What was Faraday wearing

when you saw him
going down the fire escape?

I don't know.

I could not see him so clearly.

Last night, when you thought
you were dying,

you demanded to see this aunt
of yours, privately.

So what did you tell her?

That, Lieutenant,
is none of your business.

[dramatic music playing]

-Oh, Lieutenant.
-Hello, Mrs. Fletcher.

I understand that Rosanno
is feeling much better.

He is. I'm not.

He's sticking to his story.

And as far as what he told the aunt,

he's got no comment.

-Not to me, not to anybody.
-[streetcar bell dings]

Well, he may think he's above the law,

but he's gonna be
one surprised Italian salami

when the D.A. slaps him
with an indictment.

Lieutenant, excuse me,

but something occurred to me.

A thought about what might have
really happened in that alley.

Sounds fascinating. I can hardly wait.

-Well, now, suppose somebody else
-[police chatter over radio]

was waiting in that alley for Mr. Faraday.

Suppose somebody else shot him
and then shot at Rosanno

and tried to make Rosanno think
that it was Mr. Faraday

who had fired the shot.

Yeah. You know what that sounds like?

The plot of one of Bertolucci's operas.

Unbeknownst to Count Fettuccine,

the chambermaid was
hiding in the flower pot

disguised as a geranium.

All right, Lieutenant.

But what about the missing windbreaker?

Maybe it was removed
because it showed powder burns

from a shot fired at close range,

not ten yards away.

And maybe those shots sounded different

because one of them was a blank.

Now, I realize that
these are all theories, but--

Yes, Mrs. Fletcher, that they are,

and thanks for passing them along.

I hope you enjoy the balance of
your stay in San Francisco

and have a safe trip back to Vermont.

[whimsical music playing]

[dramatic music playing]

[gun cocking]

Put your hands in the air and don't move.

[sighing]

Over there, on the couch.

How do you do?

I'm Dennis Stanton. I live here.

Don't believe I caught your name.

Dixon. Special Agent Dixon.

And I have a few questions to ask you.

Agent Dixon.

He was a what?

Customs agent. Treasury agent.

Some sort of dreary
government functionary.

For the past several months,

he's been hot on the trail
of some emeralds,

which he thinks
were smuggled into the country

by way of the opera company.

When he saw my face
and matched it to his files...

Yes. Suddenly your past
caught up with you?

Ridiculous, of course.

I told him I'm a former thief,
not a former smuggler.

Didn't seem to make much difference.

He sent me on a fool's errand
to Oakland earlier,

while he and his minions
ransacked my apartment.

There are two of them
outside now in a black sedan,

waiting for me to lead them
to my treasure trove.

Are you sure? I hadn't noticed.

Oh, yes.

Subtlety is not one of
Agent Dixon's strong points.

They're also keeping an eagle eye

on everyone connected
with the opera company.

But so far it's only a tip.

I mean, they can't be sure
about those emeralds.

Well, they haven't yet searched for them.

That would only alert the people involved.

I wonder if Lieutenant Birnbaum

knows about the federal involvement.

I didn't ask,

and Agent Dixon didn't volunteer.

-Giorgio Russo sing my roles?
-[medical machines beeping]

Absurd! He's a boy. He's not ready.

Are you so sure?

Giorgio may not have your reputation,

but he has twice your voice.

-Oh, really?
-Of course.

And you would admit it

if you weren't so consumed with jealousy.

That is untrue.

Do you think I am blind?

I see the look on your face
whenever he goes near Maria.

It's not like that.

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

-Don't I?
-[phone ringing]

Yes?

Yes, Maria.

One moment.

Maria?

What is it?

Uh-huh. Yes, I understand.

No. I will take care of it.

Please, leave everything to me.

[sighs]

Silvana, I am very tired.

I would like to get some sleep.

Of course.

I am tired as well.

Well...

pleasant dreams, my husband.

I know I will sleep well tonight.

Nothing is troubling my conscience.

[door closes]

[suspenseful music playing]

[glass shattering]

Maria!

-[gun cocking]
-Freeze!

[gun cocking]

Sorry, Jessica.

No one gets to see Rosanno
except his lawyer.

Maybe if I spoke to Lieutenant Birnbaum.

He doesn't want
to talk to you, I'm afraid.

Oh, Dennis, this is absurd.

I mean, what was Rosanno doing there?

What was Maria doing there?

I ran into a friend on the force,

someone I've worked with off and on

over the past year or so.

Now, he says that
the body in the courtyard

is indeed young Barry Sanderson,
the journalist.

Whether he jumped voluntarily
or was pushed,

and if so by whom, is something
that is yet to be resolved.

And Maria?

It seems that she and Sanderson have had

a well-hidden romance
going for past few weeks,

ever since they met overseas.

It also seems that he is something more

than a freelance journalist.

Agent Dixon was not chasing
wild geese after all.

They discovered a dozen quality
emeralds in his pocket.

Now, Dixon believes

that Rosanno discovered
he was being double-crossed,

went to Sanderson's apartment,

and threw him over the balcony.

No.

My nephew is not a killer.

And he is not a thief or a smuggler.

Rosanno is guilty of only one crime,

the sin of being a devoted father.

Maria, she is Rosanno's daughter.

A lot of years ago, Rosanno had a romance

with a singer named Anna Martinelli.

She got herself pregnant.

I mean, even if he had known,
which he did not,

there was nothing he could do about it.

Rosanno was married to Silvana,

and even if they weren't Catholics,

he wouldn't hurt her. Now, just a moment.

You're saying that Rosanno didn't know

that Anna was pregnant?

He knew nothing about nothing.

Not until five months ago in London,

when Maria showed up
with a letter from her mama,

who had just died.

It was all in there, the whole story.

From her grave, Anna begged Rosanno

to give Maria a chance
to sing with the company.

Rosanno, he got a soft heart.

His own daughter, what was he going to do,

turn her away?

Of course, no one knew her real identity.

It must have seemed strange
to the others, though.

Rosanno suddenly hiring this unknown girl

of questionable ability.

Rosanno was the star.
What he wanted, he got.

And Silvana had no idea?

-Not even a hint?
-No.

They been married 30 years.

Thirty years,

and she couldn't give him a baby.

If she had found out about Maria,

oh, it would have crushed her.

You see now why I couldn't
tell that policeman.

So, what am I to do?

Sure, Rosanno's been hiding things,

but he's not a thief,
and he's not a killer.

Okay, Mrs. Fletcher, that was nice work,

getting the aunt to sing like that.

But you understand

it's not doing much for Bertolucci's case.

But I just can't believe
that Rosanno is guilty.

Well, you keep that thought, ma'am.

Maybe wishes do come true.

Oh, by the way, about that windbreaker.

We found it... stuffed
in the bottom of a garbage can

about a block from the alley

where the shooting took place.

With powder burns around the bullet holes?

You bet.

But if Bertolucci had
shot him from ten yards away,

they never would have been there.

-Bye, Mrs. Fletcher.
-Bye.

Take care of yourself.

Oh, dear.

Ah, Jessica, I recognize that look.

The solution has revealed itself.

Excellent.

Not so excellent.

I think I know the who,
the why, and the how.

But the problem is,

I'm not sure that I could prove it.

Really, Teresa, I'll... I'll be fine.

No, you listen to me.

You been through too much.
You got to rest.

Yes.

Now I see it.

The resemblance.

No, no, it's all right, Maria.

I was able to visit Rosanno this morning.

He told me everything.

Poor child.

You have no reason to be afraid of me.

Now I think of you as...

as my own daughter.

Okay, listen, you two,
you go ahead and talk.

I got to do some shopping.

I'll be back in a little while.

[sighs]

Oh, Silvana,

you're so kind and gracious.

It's just that Rosanno and I didn't know

how you were going to react.

Oh, how silly of you both.

Did you think I would be
so vindictive that...

that I would blame you?

Especially you, Maria,

for an act of God?

If so,

-[suspenseful music playing]
-you would have been right.

Are you crazy?

By your very existence
you bring shame upon me.

You, the fruit of my husband's
loins, while I...

I have been barren for 30 years.

You dishonored me!

For God's sakes.

No, please, don't!

You can't get away with it.

Someone's gonna hear the shot!

Do you think I care?

I would be happy to rot in a prison cell

or choke on the gas fumes

than to live in a world with you,

my husband's bastard daughter!

I'm not!

It's a lie! That letter was a forgery.

When I saw in the paper
that Anna Martinelli had died,

I just made it all up.

I knew Rosanno wouldn't refuse me.

I don't believe you.

It's true, I swear!

I had to get into the company.

My boyfriend, Lou Faraday,
he made me do it.

You talk crazy! Why would he do that?

Because of the emeralds.

We had to get the emeralds
into the country.

For God's sakes, don't shoot me!

Mrs. Fletcher! Lieutenant.

[laughing]

Gotta hand it to you, Mrs. Fletcher.

I figured you were nuts.

Oh, Lieutenant, how gracious of you.

What I mean is,

this whole case has been
a barrel of snakes from day one.

Opera singers, shootings in an alley,

smuggled emeralds,

fake suicides, illegitimate children.

Sounds like
a plot straight out of Puccini,

and I hate Puccini.

Well, Lieutenant, I must admit

that things were getting
more and more bizarre.

I was starting to have trouble
keeping track of who's who.

In fact, I'm still not quite sure

that I've got everything straight.

Okay, the smuggling.

Maria was in on that
little caper up to her high c's.

She and Lou Faraday
were a hot item in Europe.

He needed a cover to get
the emeralds into the country.

The opera seemed like a natural.

By the way, the Feds found the gems

in the false bottoms
of a couple of steamer trunks.

They figured the value around seven mil.

Oh!

I'm delighted we weren't
involved in anything penny ante.

And what about the journalist,
Barry Sanderson?

I mean, how did he fit in?

He was a dupe.

Maria used him
just like she used Bertolucci.

Listen for yourself.

The lady tells an interesting story.

-[dramatic music playing]
-[Maria] I knew where the emeralds were.

[sighs] I just hadn't had a chance
to get to them.

Lou Faraday called me twice,
but I was ducking him.

I already knew I wasn't
going to split them with him.

Why should I?

I'd taken all the chances, not him.

He got backstage into my dressing room,

and he said that if I double-crossed him,

he'd kill me.

I told him I was just being careful,

that I was still crazy about him.

That jerk.

He believed anything I told him.

But I knew I had to get rid of him.

I told him I'd meet him
in the alley during Act Three,

when everybody else would be
busy, but just then...

I told you to stay away from her!

Do you want me to kill you?

What are you, Mr. Faraday,
some kind of animal?

You don't tell me what to do, Bertolucci!

And that's when it came to me.

I could get rid of Lou

and have Rosanno take the blame for it.

It wasn't hard to get Rosanno's gun.

Everybody knew where he kept it.

Are you okay?

What's the big idea with the old man?

-Are you okay?
-You should just shut up!

When I got into the alley,
Lou was in a vicious mood.

[gun shot]

The shot left powder burns on his jacket,

so I had to get rid of it,

or it wouldn't fit the scenario
I'd already worked out.

It wasn't hard to get back
into my dressing room

without being seen.

I guess nobody heard the shot,

or they didn't pay much attention,

not in that neighborhood.

I called Barry at this
little cafe around the corner.

I told him I was in trouble,

that if he really loved me, he'd help me.

He told me he'd do anything.

After the performance,

he waited on the fire escape
for my scream.

When Rosanno looked out the window,

he thought he was seeing Lou Faraday.

[gun shot]

[gun shot]

[screams]

[suspenseful music intensifies]

[groans]

Is that it, Mrs. Fletcher?
Is it over with?

Have we finally got the whole story?

Oh, yes.

I mean, I think so.

Well, Mr. Faraday was killed

so that Maria wouldn't
have to split the loot,

and Mr. Sanderson was
killed to keep him quiet.

He was the only link to Maria.
Poor fellow.

He was doomed to die from the beginning.

Of course, Maria had to make it look

as if Rosanno had killed Mr. Sanderson,

which is why she lured Rosanno
from his hospital bed.

Obviously, she'd already
popped him over the head

and pushed him over the ledge
before Rosanno arrived.

Yes, and then messed up the room

to make it look
as if there'd been a struggle.

Stop. Enough.

Next you'll have a tenor jumping
out of a closet in a clown suit,

claiming he killed everybody

because his identical twin brother

ran off with Desdemona
to get a haircut in Seville.

[both laughing]

Look, do me a favor, go!
Forget murder, forget mayhem.

Enjoy a nice dinner.

Most of all, forget me.

[chuckles]

I'm really concerned
about that Lieutenant.

A first-rate psychiatrist

would have a field day with him.

Well, actually, I think that

he's suffering from a bad case
of culture shock.

-Jessica,
-[streetcar bell dings]

now that I have you alone,

there's something that has
been bothering me all day.

The trap you set for Maria was lovely,

but at the risk of seeming
appallingly ignorant,

how did you know she was the guilty party?

She had to be.

Backstage, when I asked her if Lou Faraday

was wearing the windbreaker
when he attacked her,

she said no.

She had to say no,

because she was forced to remove it

because of the powder burns.

So later, of course,
when the police discovered

the jacket with the powder burns,

obviously she had been lying.

Fascinating.

Oh, well.

-[slow music playing]
-Now, dear heart, I don't know about you,

but I think the Lieutenant made
an excellent suggestion.

If you're in the mood for Chinese,

I know this little cafe on Fremont Street

where they serve an absolutely
fabulous Szechuan beef.

[traditional Chinese music playing]

[lively theme music playing]