All language subtitles for Murder.She.Wrote.S09E03.The.Mole.WEBRip.x264-ION10.

[Jessica] Tonight, on Murder, She Wrote.

People in this town refer
to him as Saint Max.

The philanthropist,
that Maxwell Hagen?

Your classic case of
more than meets the eye.

I want to know
where the leak is.

This game just got
more expensive.

Quiet, I have a gun.

I said let go!
Please!

There seems to be
someone else who looks like me.

Max Hagen is lying.

Mrs. Fletcher, it’s none
of your damn business.

Jess, you’re becoming almost
cynical enough

to survive in this town.

Killing a prominent novelist

is simply not an
acceptable option.

[phone ringing]

Yes?

Oh, hi.

Oh, God.

When?

How?

All right, all right,
how much time do I have?

Damn you, you promised

that there would be
no problems, no danger.

No, no, no,
you listen to me.

This game just got
more expensive.

I want 200,000
and protection.

Listen, I’m not interested,
just do it or you--

[door clicking]

[whispers] Someone’s here.

I’ll contact you.

Damn.

Jessica, besides
being unable to imagine

why you want to
make the protagonist

in your next novel
a newspaperman,

I don’t think mine are the
brains you want to be picking.

Sullivan, I don’t want to know
how you got those tickets.

Now why my kid digs
that kind of music,

but he really loved the show.

Anytime, pal.
I’ll call you next week.

You’re a hell
of a guy, hell of a guy.

He’s a real jerk.

He’s got more connections
than a tenement wall socket.

I do him
a couple of favors,

he feeds me some
information about City Hall.

Oh, fascinating.

Yeah, anyway,
what can I tell you?

It’s all getting
out of hand.

The editors are getting
younger and younger

and shallower and shallower.

Brynie, thank God,
I found you.

Speak of the devil.

Jessica Fletcher,
Jason Nerd.

Herd. Jason Herd.
Ma’am.

How do you do?

He’s my junior
managing editor.

Assistant managing editor.

Whatever.

Nice to meet you.

Brynie, I’ve got big problems
with your column.

No kidding.

Well, here for instance,

"Let me tell you
about the very rich,

they are different
from you and me."

What kind of a line is that?

The kind a guy
by the name of

F. Scott Fitzgerald wrote
on one of his bad days.

Have you heard of him,
by any chance?

Well, of course I have.

I just-- but then
there’s all this other stuff.

I mean, who is this George
S. Kaufman and Ben Hecht?

I don’t get it, Brynie.

And if I don’t get it,
neither will our readers.

Fix it.

I’ll need it on my desk
by 1:00 p.m. tomorrow.

Nice to meet you,
Mrs. Fleming.

And you, Mr. Herd.

Oh, I’m sorry, Brynie.

I know it isn’t funny to you.

I’m telling you,
it’s everywhere.

On past occasions, he would
have driven me to drink.

Toni.

Yes, Mr. Sullivan?

A dish of chocolate
mocha ice cream.

Of course.

Make it a double.

Jessica?

Oh, don’t tempt me.

Hey, hey, there, look.

Yeah, you got your typical
bland 14-year-old reporter

asking your typical
put-you-to-sleep-type

questions instead of nailing
coach Davis where he lives.

Like, what about his
former penchants

for nose candy
or compulsive gambling?

Both of which are rumored
to be rearing

their ugly heads again.

Or even more to the point,

how much does he have
on his boss Maxwell Hagen?

The philanthropist?
That Maxwell Hagen?

Your classic case of
more than meets the eye.

Now, that is a story
I would pay to write,

but try to find an
editor smart enough

or with guts
enough to print it.

Stupid idiot,
infantile moron.

Sure you want to use me
as a model?

Brynie, you’re it
and that’s final.

Nobody can do
what you do, nobody.

If it is, Jess, I don’t know
that I could do it anymore.

Look, I’ve got to work
on these idiot changes.

I’m not gonna be able to
meet you tomorrow morning.

Oh, well, that’s perfect.

I’ve got a million things
that I have to do

before I leave
for San Francisco.

Why don’t you make
your idiot changes,

and we’ll meet
for late lunch.

Illiterate business
major Dunsky.

[Max] Since I was
barely able to talk,

my mother rather relentlessly

impressed upon me
my social responsibility

toward others
less fortunate.

It stayed with me,
and therefore,

it is my pleasure
to present this check

for $1,000,000
to the Inner City Hospital.

-That it?
-That’ll do it.

See it gets in
tomorrow’s paper,

the picture and the quote.

Here’s the new blurb for
the Teaching Chair Endowment.

I still hate it.

Oh, Max. For God’s sakes,
I added heart, a little pathos.

It needs more warmth,
about another 25 degrees.

Funny, I looked
all over my desk

and couldn’t find
the Feldman contracts.

Sorry about that,
things were a little backed up.

I’ll have it to you
in a couple of days.

Tomorrow.

Max.

Nine am.

How is he tonight?

Got it?

It’s okay.

We’ve got a line on her.

You damn well better not
let her slip away again.

Understood.

Is it?

Are you sure you realize
what’s at stake for me?

For you?

Yes, sir, I do.

Excuse me.

You wanted to see me, Max?

As the Eagles suffer
another devastating defeat,

some people are saying
that team owner,

Max Hagen, may just be
too nice a guy,

too easygoing
for this business.

In other sports news...

You know better than
that now, don’t you, coach?

One more loss like last night,

you’d better update
your resume.

[man] Two hundred thousand
and witness protection?

What are you,
out of your mind?

Forget it.

Come on, you have any idea
what I had to do to convince

the Attorney General
to let me go a 100,000?

Hey, you guaranteed her,
you turned her,

and now she’s gone to ground.

How do I know
she had the merchandise

in the first place,
much less now?

Hell, for all I know,
Liz Foster doesn’t even exist.

I go back and blow this kind
of smoke at the boss

and I’m out of here.

Do I really want Hagen?

Does Second Avenue
have potholes?

I said no.
You worry about her.

Listen, you wanted
the heat taken off you,

so just make sure I get
what the lady has on Hagen

before he does her.

Capiche?

Helen.

[Helen on phone]
Yes, Mr. Paloma?

Get me the Attorney General.

No, Sir.

That’s flight 42
on the 24th,

returning to JFK
on the 8th.

Oh.

Yes, Mr. Garrity.

Yes, sir, you’re confirmed
for an aisle seat.

Yes, sir, that’s both ways.

Thank you, Mr. Garrity.

Sorry.

Trans-East Airlines,
how may I help you?

On the 12th?
Just a moment, please.

Have a nice flight.

Thank you.

Yes, sir.
We have space on...

Oh...

Oh, oh, miss Foster!

Miss Foster!
Miss Foster!

What are you doing?
Let go of me.

Quiet, I have a gun.

I said let go!
Please!

Somebody help me!

[Jessica] All right, now,
I want an explanation.

Maxwell Hagen?

You? You’re J. B. Fletcher.

Good Lord, I’m--

Mr. Hagen, I have been pushed
and bruised and shoved,

and I want to know why
and I want to know now.

I am terribly sorry,
Mrs. Fletcher.

There’s been
a dreadful mixup.

A mixup?

Well, that’s hardly
an explanation for what--

Please, let me
explain all this.

It was...

It was simply
a little surprise

that I’d prepared

for a dear friend on the
occasion of her birthday.

Mr. Hagen.

And apparently--

Mr. Hagen,
I don’t believe you.

Mrs. Fletcher, I assure you.

Won’t you at least
permit me to explain

while I give you
a lift back home?

[Jessica] Taxi.

Taxi.

Let me do her.

Robin, you’re absolutely
right to assume

that there are few things
in this life

that cannot be fixed.

But killing
a prominent novelist is--

But--

...is simply not an
acceptable option.

Not for the moment, at least.

Now, I want you to find
the Foster woman, and quickly.

And if your people
are not up to the job,

as they’ve thus far
indicated...

Sara, darling, I’m afraid

I’m in need of some
urgent damage control.

But, lieutenant,
you admitted that the car was registered

to Max Hagen enterprises.

I admit it.

The plate number
you gave me might have--

Oh, lieutenant.

Look, Mrs. Fletcher,

are you aware
that around this town

there are a lot of people
who refer to him as Saint Max?

I mean, do you realize
that he is a major contributor

to the police
Benevolent Association?

-Yes, lieutenant.
-Okay, Mrs. Fletcher.

Let’s suppose you’re right.

-Yes, let’s.
-Okay.

Let’s suppose
that it was Mr. Hagen, okay?

All right? Now, let me ask you,
what was so bad?

What was so bad?

I mean, in a limousine
they picked you up, right?

And then they just
let you go, right?

Lieutenant, that is the man
who abducted me.

Now, I’m not a crank.

I am a citizen
with a legitimate complaint.

Now, are you going to do
something about it

or do I have to go
to your superiors?

Mrs. Fletcher, wait.

Mrs. Fletcher...

in 11 days I retire.

Eleven days.

And I got me
a perfect record.

Twenty years, 20 years
I kept my nose clean.

No demerits, no waves,
no rocking boats, I just...

You got any idea
how hard that is to do?

Yes, I’m sure
it’s very difficult.

Lieutenant, what are you
trying to say to me?

What I’m trying to say, is
why couldn’t you claim

you got grabbed by somebody
who has at least been busted

for a few outstanding
parking tickets?

To say that I’m honored
to meet you, Mrs. Fletcher,

is a massive understatement.

Please, do have a seat.

Thank you.

But I’m afraid
the truth is

I’ve never seen you
before in my life,

except of course on the
dust jackets of your books.

Mr. Hagen,
that is simply not--

And by the way,
Murder at the Ridgetop

has got to be my favorite.

Jack Tremont is
one of the funniest,

most vivid characters
you’ve ever written.

Thank you, Mr. Hagen,
but I am not mistaken.

Oh, please, I know that.

I never for a moment
meant to imply

that I don’t believe

you’ve suffered a horrible
and frightening experience.

Yes, at your hands.

I wish I could put this
in more palatable terms,

Mrs. Fletcher,
but you’re wrong.

Mr. Hagen, you were wearing

a blue and white Seersucker
jacket and blue slacks.

There were three men with you,
and your car was gray,

and the car that I was forced
into was black.

Lieutenant Gelber,
the license number

that I gave you was registered
to Mr. Hagen, wasn’t it?

Well, it, yes, but--

I suppose someone could
have used one of my cars.

There, you see?

Oh, this is ridiculous.

Fred, I want you
to find out exactly

where every one of our vehicles
was this afternoon.

I tell you, Mrs. Fletcher,
it’s truly terrible

what our city has come to,

that a woman such as
yourself isn’t even

safe in broad daylight.

But even more
unfortunate is the fact

that it seems
there’s someone else who looks like me.

As if one weren’t
bad enough.

Lieutenant Gelber.

Right.

Mr. Hagen,
Mrs. Fletcher alleges that--

Alleges?

...that she was abducted
around 12:30 this afternoon.

Might I ask your
whereabouts at that time?

Of course.
Fred and I were in Boston.

Yeah, that’s right,
lieutenant.

We returned,
oh, not 15 minutes ago.

Our helicopter
landed us on the roof.

I’m sure you can verify

that with New York
air traffic control

and with our pilot,
whose name is...

Oh, that won’t be necessary.

Mr. Hagen, I am really
sorry for this whole thing.

Lieutenant, don’t give it
another thought,

nor you, Mrs. Fletcher.

Oh, and I’d be
terribly flattered

if you would reward me

with an autographed
copy of your next book.

And like I said, I’m sure
there’s a nice,

simple explanation
for this whole megillah.

Oh, there certainly is.

Max Hagen is lying.

That isn’t quite
what I had in mind.

Listen, Mrs. Fletcher,
do me a favor, will you?

You got any more complaints
about Mr. Hagen,

would you mind taking them to
someone else, anyone else?

You can count on it,
lieutenant.

Oh, no.

Mrs. Fletcher, we’d like you
to come with us, come on.

-That does not entitle you--
-Yes, it does, ma’am.

-Oh, come on, this is ridiculous.
-Ma’am, please.

Don’t make this anymore
difficult than it has to be.

I don’t understand
what’s going on here.

Let’s go.

All right, we'll serve him with a writ.

He’s being paid to judge,
not to avoid controversy.

And remind the senator
that he promised me

his endorsement for Governor

before I drop the charges
against his nephew.

Mrs. Fletcher,
I’m Louis Paloma.

I need to know everything
you know about Max Hagen.

Now, just a minute,
Mr. Paloma.

I’m sorry
for any inconvenience

we may have caused you.

Inconvenience?

Look, Mrs. Fletcher,
I don’t have much time.

Now, exactly what happened
between you and Max Hagen?

Well, at least
somebody believes me.

Now, Mr. Paloma,

what are you going to do
about my abduction?

Do you have any idea why these
men may have picked you up?

None, except they must have
mistaken me for someone else.

We know that, Mrs. Fletcher.

Think, why you?

Why that particular location?

I told you, Mr. Paloma,
I have no idea.

Now, I want to ask you--

All right. I want you
to drop this matter.

I don’t want
you going to the police

and I don’t want you
complicating things

any more than
you already have.

More than I--

Now, if anything
occurs to you,

anything at all,
that might shed some light on

why you were abducted,

I want you to call me
anytime, day or night.

Now, if you’ll excuse me.

No, I will not.

I will not excuse you
for having me

grabbed off the street
like a common criminal.

And since you obviously have

some sort of
professional interest in

Mr. Hagen’s activities,

I certainly won’t excuse you

for not telling me
what it’s all about.

Mrs. Fletcher, it’s none
of your damn business.

Maybe it isn’t, Mr. Paloma,

but if Mr. Hagen
and his people

find the woman
they were really after,

she may not be
as lucky as I was.

I sincerely hope you’re making
that your business.

[woman] And to make up
in some small way

for what we are sure was
a terribly upsetting experience,

Mr. Hagen has asked
that I present you

with this check
for your favorite charity.

Twenty five thousand dollars?

And of course he’s placed
no conditions on it.

Conditions?

Oh, no, absolutely none.

Except the tacit ones.

That I shall agree to drop

my complaint
and ignore his lies,

neither of which
I’m prepared to do.

Yes?

[man on phone]
Mr. Sullivan down here.

Oh, please
have him come up.

I’m sorry you feel
this way, Mrs. Fletcher.

Tell me, miss Lloyd,
do you really believe

that Maxwell Hagen
is the solid,

unimpeachable pillar of
society that he claims to be?

Yes, absolutely.

Well, then I don’t suppose
you have any idea

why a federal prosecutor

might be interested
in the woman

that I was mistaken for,
or Mr. Hagen.

No, I don’t.

Miss Lloyd.

Hello, Mr. Sullivan.

I guess I don’t have to ask
what she was doing here.

I just hope
you weren’t buying

what Hagen
had her peddling.

There was no sale.

Good.

Okay, now go get
yourself all horsed up.

Why?

We’re going to a party.

Oh, a party?
I am exhausted--

Jess, Jess, Jess,
I got us an invite

to a little press reception
for the New York Eagles.

You mean the basketball team
that Maxwell Hagen owns?

You got it, kiddo.

And our host is none
other than himself.

Now, I figure we play
our cards right,

you can get
another shot at him.

The old indicator tells me
that there’s a story lurking

somewhere in this
whole comedy of errors,

denials,
and out-and-out lies.

This Mr. Paloma, he certainly
seems to be very driven.

That’s our Louie.

Pure political animal,
ruthless and desperate

to make a run for Albany.

And bringing down someone
as prominent as Max Hagen,

that could give Mr. Paloma
a high enough profile

to attract
campaign contributions?

Jess, you’re becoming
almost cynical enough

to survive in this town.

Oh, heaven help me.

Okay, we got Paloma,
we got Hagen,

and we got
a mysterious woman.

Wait a minute.

Three separate elements,
but somehow they connect.

This is what
it’s all about.

This is what
what’s all about?

Well, this is my
airline ticket.

They put it in
someone else’s folder.

[woman on phone]
Grand Palace hotel.

Yes.

Could you connect me
with miss Foster’s room, please?

Bingo.

And that’s the lady
I’d like to interview for the record.

I’m afraid
she’s not registered.

She isn’t?
Are you quite sure?

Certain, ma’am.

Well, thank you.

Well, that’s the
Grand Palace hotel,

but she’s not registered there.

Damn.

Maybe she hasn’t
checked in yet.

You’re reading my mind.

Gelber, what’s going on?

Oh, Sullivan, Mrs. Fletcher.

Murder.

Look, you’ll have
to excuse me.

I really can’t talk
with you just now.

Okay, use that one.

Someone will know
who the hell she is.

Right.

Pardon me, lieutenant.

You don’t know
the victim’s name?

-Mrs. Fletcher.
-Gelber.

Talk to the woman,
be a mensch.

She’s a Jane Doe, no ID.

They found her
in the elevator. Why?

Because unless
I’m very much mistaken,

her name is Liz Foster.

Jess, you can’t
beat up on yourself.

I mean, suppose
you had discovered

the ticket mix-up earlier.

Who knows that you could have
even found the woman,

must less warned her
that she might be in trouble?

Lieutenant,
like Mrs. Fletcher said,

nobody named Foster
is registered here,

and so far nobody
on the staff has ever seen her.

All right, well, run it past
some of the guests.

Maybe she was
visiting someone.

Right.

Look, I’d love to kick this
around with you sometime

when I got nothing else
in my mind.

Like 11 days from now.

Come on, Gelber.

Mrs. Fletcher was grabbed
by Hagen’s people

because she was given
the wrong ticket folder.

They thought
she was Liz Foster, and--

Mr. Sullivan,
a woman whose name

we don’t know gets
herself mugged and killed

in a hotel elevator.

The perp strangles her
with some kind of a strong cord,

grabs her handbag,
and splits, period.

If that indicates even
a remote connection

with Max Hagen
with somebody named Liz Foster

with this lady’s claim
that she was abducted,

then I’m in the wrong business.

Lieutenant, what would
you say if I were to tell you

that federal prosecutor
Louie Paloma was conducting

an investigation of
Mr. Hagen’s activities

with special interest
in Liz Foster?

Why don’t you give
Louie a call?

I got a feeling you two might
find a lot to talk about.

[Max] And in the hope
that your attention

hasn’t already wandered to all
that food and booze,

I just want to add
one more thing.

This is the year
the New York Eagles

are going all the way!

You’ve got it.

And you know why?

Because I hate losing.

What do you say,
Mr. Hagen?

Brynie and Mrs. Fletcher,
how lovely to see you again.

Mr. Hagen, it appears
the unfortunate woman

your people mistook me for
was just found murdered.

I believe her name
was Liz Foster.

Well, forgive me, but I...

Foster?
Washington.

Fred, am I imagining this
or wasn’t there a young woman

down there who worked
for us by that name?

It’s possible.

I’ll check it out.

Please do.

It’s ghastly enough
when anyone is murdered,

but if it’s one
of our people, I...

Now, are you sure that
it was this Foster woman?

Oh, it’s the police
who aren’t sure, Mr. Hagen.

I see.

Well, Mrs. Fletcher, Brynie,

I hope you’ll excuse me,

but as host of this
intimate little evening,

it’s expected
that I court the room.

Now that is a piece of work.

[Louis] Look, this hasn’t been
one of my favorite days,

and I don’t have the time,

the energy, or the patience
for this, okay?

Okay, so answer me
one question.

The last time I did that,
you cost me an election.

And I got me
a Pulitzer, go figure.

Anyway, this one’s
on the house.

Are you investigating
Max Hagen?

No, and I have zero interest
in your theories

about this
Foster woman’s death.

Then it was Liz Foster?

Yes. Now get out.

Not so fast, Mr. Paloma.

Now, Liz Foster
was a living breathing person.

It’s bad enough that the police
don’t seem to care, but you?

You’re an officer
of the US government.

All right, all right.

I’m sorry
she was killed, okay?

No, but it’s a beginning.

Listen, Mrs. Fletcher,
dozens of people

are murdered
every day in this town,

but they are just
not my concern.

[Brynie] And I think
I know why, pal.

You nail yourself
some lower level Mark Gunsel,

and it still leaves
the organization

doing business as usual.

You grab yourself
a couple of headlines,

but nothing that sticks
to the voters’ ribs.

Sullivan, you’ve been inhaling
too much Irish whiskey.

Not for two years, 18 days,
and about six minutes.

A slam dunk, that’s what
you’re after, aren’t you?

You got your eye
on the big score,

and that’s Max Hagen.

That’s it. Sullivan,
you should’ve hung it up

a long time ago.
Now get out of here.

Wait a minute.

Liz Foster was working
for you, wasn’t she?

As some kind of an informant?

It all makes sense.

My being brought down here
for questioning,

your anxiety over
any information

I might have
that could lead to her.

She’s right, isn’t she, Louie?

Sullivan, you print
a word of this

and three years of work
goes down the pipe,

and Max Hagen continues
doing business as usual.

Spare me, Louie.

And here’s where it’s at.

You give us, and nobody else,
the whole nine yards,

every bit of it,

and I don’t run the story
till it’s over.

Now, you got a problem
with that, pal?

[Jessica] Starting
from the beginning, Mr. Paloma,

how did Liz Foster
get involved

with your operation
in the first place?

Liz Foster was part of
Hagen’s staff in Washington,

but I had her brought in
four months ago by a mole

I’ve got planted
in Hagen’s organization.

To develop evidence
you can use against Max Hagen.

Yesterday, she notified us
that she had the goods,

enough to put Hagen away
for several lifetimes.

But they were onto her.

She demanded we double
the 100,000 I promised her.

So I put my job on the line
with the Attorney General

and I give her
what she wanted.

I’m supposed to meet her
at the UN this morning,

but she doesn’t show.

And then that’s when

I get wind of your
difficulties with Hagen.

Then after we talked,

she got in touch
with you again.

We met in Central Park,
I gave her the cash,

she gave me the computer disk

that supposedly contained
the information that we needed.

Supposedly?

Everything on there is
meaningless, total gibberish.

This mole,
anyone I might know?

It’s a nice try, Sullivan.

So now the 200,000 is gone,
Liz Foster is dead,

our case against Max Hagen
is on the critical list,

and my tail is on the line.

We understand
each other, Sullivan?

In return for an exclusive,

you’re not to print
a word of this

until I’m ready
to move on Max Hagen.

Or until you get yourself
thrown out on your butt,

whichever comes first.

Hey, either way,
I got me a great story.

Sullivan, you’re such a...

Such a what?

Mrs. Fletcher,
I’m sure you regard me

as some sort of
heartless bureaucrat,

but there are other
priorities at issue here.

I can’t help but wonder

if Liz Foster
would have seen it that way.

A classic case of
blind ambition.

It’s finally put
Louie in the soup

right up to his
buttoned down...

What?

What do you got, Jess?

Brynie, suppose Liz Foster
wasn’t murdered

by one of Max Hagen’s men.

You’re thinking
Hagen did it himself?

Well, what if somebody knew

that she was carrying
the 200,000 in cash?

Well, hey, how about
if she had real computer disks

and actual dirt on Hagen?

That somebody could have
killed her for them.

Or for both the money
and the disks.

Okay, but then
why kill her in elevator?

Maybe that isn’t
where she was killed.

Sara, darling, I swear
I had nothing to do

with that woman’s death.

Yes, I wanted
to talk to her.

Yes, I was unhappy
that she was apparently

violating the loyalty

that I expect
from my colleagues,

the loyalty
that they expect of me.

But murder?

Look at me, Sara.

Can you honestly say
you’re looking at someone

who could do such a thing
or order it done?

Because if you can,
I’ll accept your resignation.

Hell, I’ll welcome it.

Damn you, Max.

Thank you, darling.

I need your talents
now more than ever.

I wish that wasn’t
all you needed.

It’s been
a difficult time, Sara.

Perhaps afterwards.

Well, according to my sources,
the police have found nothing

that ties
the Foster woman to you.

What about the computer disks?

Apparently,
they weren’t on her body.

They may still be
wherever she was staying,

but so far we don’t have
a clue about where it was.

Well, we damn well better
find them before the police do!

Now, I want to know
where the leak is, and who it is!

And I want it shut off!

[Gelber] Okay, Mrs. Fletcher,
I’m not really arguing.

You were right all along,
but there’s no way

I’m gonna bother Mr. Hagen

about this any more
than I already have,

so don’t think about asking.

Fine, lieutenant.

Now, you were going
to show me her belongings.

Right.

Bag lady found them in
a dumpster a couple of blocks

away from the hotel,
typical mugger’s MO.

The only fingerprints
were the victim’s

and the bag lady’s,

and she was fast asleep in
Grand Central Station

at the time of the murder.

The reason nobody
remembered her at the hotel.

Probably.

I’ve seen this jacket
somewhere before.

In the window of
Saks Fifth Avenue.

Now this is part of a suit.

It has a matching skirt.

Yeah?

Lieutenant Gelber,
I saw the photo

that your men
took of Liz Foster.

Wasn’t she wearing
a dark green dress

when she was killed?

Yeah. So what?

I don’t even know why I agreed
to meet you here, Sullivan.

Maybe because Max Hagen
wants to know what I know.

That it?

I work for Max Hagen,
he doesn’t own me.

You better go easy
on that stuff, clouds the mind.

Playing in that shark tank
with Hagen,

got to keep
all your synapses firing.

What did you want
to talk to me about?

I’m a reporter,
you’re Hagen’s press person.

Seems like a fit to me.

So, you ever meet
this Liz Foster?

-No.
-Me neither.

She was in a rubber bag

when the introductions
went around.

The police photos
weren’t very flattering.

Not a pretty way to go.

I’m sorry about
what happened.

What do you want from me?

A story, what else?

You’ve got to be kidding.

Okay.

You know a federal prosecutor
named Louis Paloma?

I know of him. Why?

Oh, I thought
maybe you met him

somewhere or another,
you know, socially.

What’s Paloma
got to do with Max?

Well, if you don’t know,
it’s not for me to say,

but my instincts tell me

you are gonna meet him soon.

I want the story
when it breaks,

and if you’re as clean
as you say you are,

I know how to treat a lady.

In print, anyway.

Now, what do you say,
we got a deal?

I’m scared, Brynie.

That’s a start.

[man] Housekeeping?

Bring up any unclaimed
dry cleaning to the front desk.

Hello, front desk.

No, no, Mrs. Allen,
don’t you worry,

we’ll send one of the staff

to ride in the elevator
with you.

I’ll take care of it
immediately.

We’re getting a lot of that.

That’s Liz Foster’s skirt.

This is the only
unclaimed piece, Sir.

It matches her suit jacket.

Room 1411.

Registered as Mrs. Phillips.

She checked out this morning.

Are you quite sure?

Express checkout.

You just drop your key
and your room folder in there.

So nobody would have noticed
that it was actually

the killer who checked her out?

You know,
I think it’s possible

that she was killed
in that room.

Really?

Looking for this,
Mrs. Fletcher?

And why shouldn’t
I be angry?

You just up and walk out of
my office without a word,

then I have to follow you
to find out

where in the hell
you’re going.

Lieutenant, if I had told you
where I was going,

would you have taken it

any more seriously
than you have

anything else
that I’ve said?

Well, probably not.

Here, one of my men
brought it in

as you were leaving,

found it in the trash can
near the dumpster.

Well, it certainly could be
the murder weapon.

Unfortunately,
now that we know

where Liz Foster was staying,

and where she was
probably murdered,

it looks as
if the housecleaning staff

has ensured
that we’re not gonna learn anything else.

Not necessarily.

Let’s see what forensics
can come up with.

[Brynie] Look, they’ll call
when they’ve got something.

But meanwhile,
that poor girl’s killer

could get away,
even leave the country.

[phone ringing]

Hello?
Yes, lieutenant.

And what did they find?

Now, let me put it
this way, Mrs. Fletcher.

If my aunt Florence,

the cleanliness nut,
could afford it,

I would tell her to stay
at the Grand Palace hotel.

And they didn’t find anything.

-Right.
-We’re talking bupkes,

not a single sign
that the victim

was ever in room 1411.

I mean, not even a hair
or a traceable cloth fiber,

which puts us back
somewhere west of square one.

Maybe not, lieutenant.

I’m listening.

Look, we know
the place is spotless,

but the killer doesn’t.

Wait a minute.

Wait a minute, say it again.

Look, lieutenant.

I’ll call you back in
a little while.

Brynie, am I correct in
remembering

that Mr. Paloma said
he has someone planted in

Mr. Hagen’s organization?

Yeah, a mole. Why?

That’s it.

-That’s what?
-Come on.

Where are we going?

What do you got?

Out, Mrs. Fletcher, now.

I promise I’ll leave
if you’ll just give me a moment.

Believe me,
I don’t want to interfere,

but I felt I should

at least try and repay
your generosity.

Well, it’s just that you were
so kind to share

all that information
with Brynie and me,

I mean about
your investigation of Mr. Hagen,

that I thought
it was only fair

to tell you something
that I have just learned

about the police
and Liz Foster’s murder.

Okay, Helen.

Get on with it,
Mrs. Fletcher.

Thank you.

I nearly
had to twist his arm,

but lieutenant Gelber
finally admitted to me

that he is inches away
from finding

the actual place
where Liz Foster was murdered.

And that he is certain
that when he does,

forensics will find something,

some sort of clue
that will lead them to the killer.

So?

Well, it seemed to me
that if they also find

those computer disks,

they’ll be in a position
to prosecute Mr. Hagen.

And while I really don’t know
how these things work,

it occurred to me
that it might become

rather dangerous
for your mole.

[Gelber] Freeze, mister.

I’m placing you under arrest

for the murder
of Elizabeth Foster.

You have the right
to remain silent,

you have the right
to an attorney--

I am an attorney, officer.

I know the routine.

I thought you’d come back
here, Mr. Chandler,

to make sure
you hadn’t overlooked

some telltale
piece of evidence,

but I never thought
that you were ruthless enough

to endanger the lives
of hundreds of people

by setting the place on fire.

It’s called doing
what’s necessary, Mrs. Fletcher.

Why?

For God’s sake, Fred.

I mean, we go back what,
ten years?

Try underpaid, overworked,
and hung out to dry.

You think about how many times

I begged you
to bring me back in,

warning you that they were
this close to being onto me,

from my ending up at the
bottom of the east river.

Every time, it was the same.

Just give us another
couple of weeks, Freddy,

and we’ll have Hagen
by his earlobes.

[Jessica] So when
miss Foster panicked,

you decided to take advantage
of the situation.

It was perfect.

$200,000 in cash
and computer disks

worth millions to Mr. Hagen.

Or the governorship to Louie.

You lied to me,
Mrs. Fletcher.

I didn’t feel
that I had any choice.

I mean, would you have
voluntarily told me

the identity of your mole?

Wait a minute.

You mean she...

I had no way of knowing
it was you, Mr. Chandler,

but assuming
that miss Foster wasn’t killed

by a mugger or Mr. Paloma,

it made sense
that the only other person

who could have known

that she had the disks
and the $200,000

was his mole.

So, you let her con you
into smoking me out?

You got that right, pal.

If Jessica hadn’t done
a number on Louie,

he wouldn’t have called
to warn you.

I love it.

Hey, you know, Lou,

the fact
that she also flimflammed

you into blowing
your case against Hagen

damn near makes up
for my getting caught.

But not quite.

You were in the hotel room
when Liz Foster returned

from her meeting
with Mr. Paloma?

Phony disks were my idea.

[Jessica] You’d made up
your mind to kill her

and the only question
that remained was how?

[Chandler] I had built up
a relationship with Liz.

Mr. Chandler.

So, Paloma bought it?

200,000 in old bills.

And we’ve got the disks
that Max Hagen will pay

through the eyeballs for.

After we’re in Europe.

Oh, sweetheart.

You know, my big mistake

was not blackmailing
Hagen right away.

I would have been safely
in Buenos Aires right now.

No, Mr. Chandler,
your big mistake

was murdering Liz Foster.

Sullivan,
about that exclusive...

I’m prepared to fill you
in on any details,

open my files up to you
that’s worth anything.

As a matter of fact,
I have some free time

first thing in the morning.

Well, thanks Louie, but this
one’s kind of writing itself.

My lead is going to be how
lieutenant Artie Gelber

cracked a murder case
ten days before his retirement,

and found in the killer’s
possession evidence

that’s gonna allow
the New York DA

to put Max Hagen away
for almost 200 years.

Yeah, Mr. Paloma,
can you believe he was just carrying

those computer disks
around in his pocket?

[Brynie] But don’t sweat it, Louie.

After the DA
is finished with Hagen,

you can go after him
in the federal courts.

It might even get you
nominated for dogcatcher.

Elected? I don’t know.

Oh, Brynie, you frightened me
half to death.

Jump in, Jess,
we’re gonna celebrate

while I take you
to the airport.

Ta-da!

Oh, you didn’t.

Ice cream!

They must have really
liked your story

on Hagen and Liz Foster?

Liked? Try loved.

It’s Julian that's paying
for this Sherman tank.

Mmm.

Mocha chocolate.

The best.

Yeah.