I predict that Kathleen will win.
[Jessica] Tonight, on Murder, She Wrote.
The police found Bud's body in my robe.
We're absolutely clean on this. Now trust me.
We're also negotiating with Bud's grieving widow.
If she and her attorney agree to the bucks,
well, she gets first crack.
Hey, I'm talking dinner here. Maybe a chance to talk.
He must have gone from his room to mine, naked.
Surprised?
Nothing about politics surprises me.
I assume he had his own key.
-Jack, please! -[crowd chattering]
[cheerful orchestral music]
Mr. Speaker, the 23rd district
joins with the 18th and 33rd districts
in unanimous support for the candidate.
Mr. Speaker, the Union of Federated Office Workers
submit the name of the only candidate
that has the full support of the Upstate minorities.
A proven leader, and can deliver the votes.
If my opponent can't find a way
to pay back the $600,000 he owes from his last campaign,
then how can the voters expect him
to do anything about the federal budget?
Well, I certainly wish I had a millionaire spouse
like Mrs. Lane here.
Perhaps the fairness doctrine
would allow your husband to help repay my debts.
After all, we're from the same party.
Why does she have to take all these cheap shots
just because I've got a few bucks?
Oh, Jackson, ought to come out on the road with us more often.
You get used to it.
Drelinger has read that same bad joke
on the past four TV appearances.
"After all, we're from the same party,"
complete with the ha-ha-ha's.
The man's on the threshold of senility.
Well, the ha-ha-ha's must be working.
My man still leads Kathleen by ten points in the polls.
Kathleen is closing the gap, and you know it.
Better get your old boy some new ad libs, Butterfield.
Yeah, and some fresh 3x5 cards.
In the few moments that we have left,
Mrs. Lane, this morning's Daily Post alleges
that you and Bud Johnson, your campaign manager,
were becoming--
well, how shall I put it-- involved.
I don't believe this.
Bud Johnson's only involvement with me is managing my campaign.
Anything beyond that, is merely malicious gossip.
So you're denying that the relationship is romantic?
Yes, my campaign director and I
were dancing together last night
in front of 1,000 voters
at the Italian-American block party.
The Post calls it a romance.
I call it the tarantella.
All right. She's on a roll now.
I'm gonna try and answer some of these calls.
The few hours my campaign allows me to sleep,
I sleep with my husband...
when he can get out on the stump with me.
There have been persistent rumors.
Mr. Hall, I don't want to talk about rumors.
It demeans both our professions.
But five years ago
when you were Mayor of your hometown,
stories persisted that you had an affair with a married man.
Forgive me, Mr. Hall.
What should be put to bed in this campaign
is gossip, not me.
Well, I'm sorry.
I see that's all the time we have for Face The Issues .
I want to thank both candidates.
Thank you, Edmund.
And, I for one, am certainly willing
to overlook and forget
any of Mrs. Lane's past indiscretions.
This is Edmund Hall. Have a pleasant Sunday.
Cass? Bud.
Bud. Thank God.
-Sounds like trouble. -You bet.
-Harold just quit. -What?
We spent eight weeks wining and dining
the best speech writer in the country--
Man, that really leaves me hanging out to dry.
Well, I'm working on some alternatives.
-Good. Good. Keep on it.
Listen, Cass, uh, I just spoke with Gracie,
and she's gonna stay up at the farm
with the kids for a couple of weeks.
Bud, don't start. Okay?
Hey, I'm talking dinner.
You know, maybe a chance to talk.
Bud, you're a nice guy, but I'm talked out.
Now, what was, was. Now let it alone.
Kathleen, you were wonderful!
Oh, Bud was right. I should have known better.
I try to deal with issues,
and that muckraking gossip hound,
all he cares about is--
Somebody call me?
Oh, yes. You're supposed to be impartial.
You cut Kathleen off just when she was about to nail Drelinger.
It's a half-hour show.
I can't spill over into pro bowling highlights.
Edmund, other than the blow-dry and some makeup,
just what are your qualifications
to be a newsman?
She danced with the Mayor last night
and half the city council.
Is she fooling around with them, too?
Just be glad I'm focusing on your wife and not you.
The Post is sifting through your back taxes,
but did I bring it up?
If you're looking for old news, dig up Watergate.
I paid every penny back. It's on the record.
That's wonderful, Edmund.
You've just handed me the winning issue.
I'm going to appeal to every voter
who's ever been audited by the IRS.
Ah, it will be a landslide.
I'll say one thing, Kathleen.
You kiss a lot better than Arthur Drelinger.
Kate, if you don't mind, I want to get back to the house.
I want to look at those condominium estimates tonight.
Well, I wouldn't be very good company, anyway.
We will see you this weekend in, uh...
Bud. Help.
Where will this wandering caravan be on Saturday?
Let's see, Lacentra, and, uh...
Holiday Township and Forrest Heights.
Of course, that's just Saturday morning.
Listen, there's a glitch with Harold.
I've got to run and try to iron it out.
I'll see you back at the hotel, all right?
Well, I showed you the great capitals of Europe.
You can show me the motel capitals
of middle America.
[laughter]
You people have Hall on your payroll,
or does he just have a garbage fetish?
Guy is just doing his job.
Anyway, Kathleen can't overcome Drelinger's lead.
A bright girl like you--
top 10% of her class at Pendleton--
You of all people should be able to do the arithmetic.
Oh, what adds up in this voter profile
is that you're falling way behind
among working women and blacks.
When our guy clobbers Kathleen,
and he will,
we're gonna be taking on some extra staffers
for the main event.
Does that mean that you'll be looking
for a highly visible and bright, working, black female?
What do you think Kathleen took you on for, sweetheart?
I can't imagine.
Well, Butterfield.
How do you score the debate?
On balance, I'd say you came off best.
[chuckles]
Did you ever think of going into politics?
Uh, look.
This is strictly on background, but somebody fed that story
to the post about Kathleen and Bud Johnson.
The Drelinger camp would never smear an opponent.
Look, Kathleen Lane is news.
Right now the only story I've got
besides those rumors about her love life,
is how she's closing the gap on Drelinger.
If you guys have got something,
and you give it to me instead of The Post ,
well, all I can say is,
my sources are always confidential.
Well, we don't deal in dirty tricks.
It smacks of bad sportsmanship. But we are doing some research.
If something newsworthy does turn up,
you might get a call.
Just make sure I get it first.
If any headline material does turn up,
and I'm not saying it will,
it would come from some anonymous source.
Understood?
Perfectly.
Fletcher, J.B, Mrs.
I'm sorry.
The computer does not recognize you.
When do you say you made this alleged reservation?
I made it last night in Chicago, but--
You should have a confirmation number.
Every reservation has a confirmation number.
Yes, well, I told you, I didn't make it personally.
-It was arranged-- -Jessica?
Kathleen, thank heavens.
You look absolutely wonderful!
Well, so do you.
I'll look a lot better
after I've checked in and gotten into a hot tub,
if they can find a tub for me to climb into.
Is there a problem?
Well, they seem to have lost the reservation
that you made for me.
Good Lord, I told Bud to make that personally.
Excuse me, uh... Preston?
There seems to be some sort of mix-up.
I would very much appreciate it
if you could arrange to put Mrs. Fletcher
in a room as close to mine as possible.
Of course, if there's anything available.
And you are?
It's been almost four months, and I'm still Mrs. Anonymous.
Well, I thought you were coming up in the polls.
Oh, I am. But this is only the primary.
The fact is, if it isn't a presidential election,
the public interest is on a par with Saturday night wrestling.
Frankly, if it wasn't for all of the money
that Jackson's poured into my candidacy,
I'd still be a total nobody instead of a relative unknown.
That sounds awfully cynical.
I hadn't realized
what a big fishbowl I'd be living in.
The press has been having a field day
digging into my personal life.
Not just mine, but Jackson's, too.
Anything for a story.
And the less it has to do with the issues, the better.
Speaking of the issues, I was delighted
when you asked me to come here speak for you.
You know, your program on environmental cleanup
is something that I can really get behind.
I have another little problem.
My head writer quit on me this morning.
And this Friday,
I'm making my most important address
to the state party leaders right here in the capital.
And it isn't enough that I find a writer
who understands my position on the issues,
I need somebody who knows me,
who won't just be putting words into my mouth.
Oh, no.
Oh, please, Jess.
Kathleen, if you give me a good,
juicy murder and a few suspects
my imagination will swing into high gear.
But speechifying?
I'm not sure that I could write on a soapbox.
But that's exactly why I need you.
You can write so movingly.
You won't make me sound like an oracle on Mount Olympus.
This morning, I tried to ad lib a speech
and almost guaranteed
a group of foreign war veterans maternity leave.
Sure, you're laughing, but I'm desperate.
Unless you pick up an oar and start to paddle
I'm afraid I'm going to have to jump this ship.
Well, we can't have that. All right.
I'll climb on board for a week's worth of
"My Fellow Citizens."
[intercom buzzing]
Yes, Ruth?
A man for you on line one.
This is Edmund Hall.
Are you interested in a story
that will bury one of the candidates?
Who is this?
Call me a "highly placed source."
Is that you, Butterfield?
If you're not interested, i'll take it to The Post .
Okay. Let's say I'm interested.
The 11:00 bus for Cleveland is now boarding at gate ten.
[phone ringing]
Hall.
Open the phone book.
What?
The phone book-- find your station's number.
What is this, some kind of joke?
I don't think Kathleen Lane will be laughing.
Now who is this?
[dial tone]
Bud, see what you think of this piece so far.
Good. It's good.
Though you might want to soft pedal
this reference to day care for working mothers.
But in a speech Kathleen gave last week,
she came out for day care.
Yeah, well, that was at a day care center.
The speech you're working on
is for a couple hundred ladies at a country club,
and they already have day care.
They call her the maid.
[laughs]
How does Kathleen feel about day care?
I mean, really feel?
Beats me. I never asked her.
Hi, guys.
Just left Kathleen at the senior citizens' center.
And did she come out for long life?
Yeah, that's our position.
Anne, when's Kathleen getting back?
Late.
While she was at the center the state party chairman called.
He wanted to see her.
She said she was gonna drive
one of the staff cars out to his house.
Maybe he's gonna drop the other shoe
and come out for her.
Yeah, and maybe he's gonna drop
the other show on her and come out for Drelinger.
Bologna?
No comment.
Here now with the 11:00 news, Edmund Hall.
Good evening.
In the headlines, this campaign exclusive.
A highly-placed source close to the senate primary
has made available to this reporter
photographs of married candidate Kathleen Lane
seen here with her also married
30-year-old campaign director, Bud Johnson
at her vacation retreat at Lake St. Catherine.
According to campaign insiders,
her husband was out of the country on business
at the time.
This morning's Daily Post alleged...
Mrs. Fletcher.
Did you see Channel 8?
Yellow journalism in living color.
Have you seen Bud? He's not in his room.
No, and Kathleen's not in her room either.
Great! Where are those two?
[sirens wailing]
Okay, okay, get back, get back.
All right, everybody, all right. Stand back of the barricade.
Cass, what's going on?
Oh, Kathleen, he must have fallen from the balcony.
Mrs. Lane, you have any idea why Mr. Johnson killed himself?
No.
Did you see the 11:00 news tonight?
No, but my associate, Cass Malone,
told me about those ridiculous photographs.
The way I see it,
if he saw those photographs on the news,
he knew he had finished your chances.
Lieutenant, we weren't lovers.
No?
Then how come he jumped from your balcony?
Well, that's impossible.
Recognize this, Mrs. Lane?
Yes, that's mine. Where did you get it?
Where did you see it last?
I guess I took it off when I showered.
Lieutenant, where did you find that bracelet?
In the pocket of the robe the victim was wearing.
Now, every guest gets a robe.
They're all the same, but yours is missing.
Now, I don't know what the victim was wearing
when he left the balcony,
but when he landed, he was wearing your robe.
Now, Mrs. Lane, you care to tell us what's going on?
Lieutenant, Mrs. Lane wasn't here.
She's just returned.
Uh-huh.
[phone rings]
Penthouse.
Excuse me, Mrs. Lane. It's your husband.
Take it in the bedroom.
Lieutenant, we found something across the hall
in the victim's room.
Right.
No, I didn't see the news, either.
Some supposedly flirtatious photographs
of Bud and me alone out at the lake.
As I understand,
some reporter called me to give me a description.
Look, honey--
I don't want to sound cold,
but you can't let Bud's death stop your campaign.
Jack, the police found Bud's body in my robe.
What the hell does that mean?
I don't know.
Traffic's light. I'll be there in an hour.
What's your room number?
1811. No, wait.
The management gave me another room.
Check with the desk.
Oh, and Jackson, please, drive safely.
The victim's pants. The victim's room key.
Something I can do for you, Mrs. Fletcher?
Oh, one of your men said I'd find you here.
Lieutenant, I think you should have a word
with your fingerprint man.
What's he turned up?
Nothing.
Well, what I mean is, he didn't find any prints
on the door handle leading to the balcony.
So?
Well, a man doesn't go out on a balcony to end it all
and wipe his prints off the handle first.
No, I won't give a statement to the paper
until the facts are sorted out.
Mrs. Lane, we just got these on loan
from Channel 8.
It doesn't take a detective to figure out
who stands to gain from this, Lieutenant.
So you and Johnson weren't at the lake together?
-We were there. -What are you saying?
Are you saying these are doctored, faked?
Those pictures are really perfectly innocent.
Look, ma'am,
now we figured he fell between 10:45
and that news broadcast.
Maybe even just after these pictures were aired.
Where were you tonight?
Me?
Well, I...
Kathleen, weren't you out meeting
the state party chairman at his house?
Mrs. Fletcher, you said that you were her speechwriter.
Are you also her spokesperson?
Lieutenant, I did go out there.
Actually, I didn't meet with him.
The message I got must have been fouled up.
I arrived there about 10:30.
I rang the doorbell, nobody answered.
So I climbed back into my car, waited about a half an hour,
and then I drove back into town.
Did anybody see you?
Yes, I told you. The parking valet.
When I pulled up outside,
Bud's body had just been discovered.
Well, who's to say that
you didn't return to the hotel earlier?
I'm to say.
The hotel has my new room number.
Kathleen, shall I go with you?
Oh, no, Jess, I'll be all right.
Jackson's driving in.
These letters and numbers mean anything to anybody?
"A.D. 53 / K.L. 46."
They seem to be a poll of some sort.
-Nan? -That's right.
They're preliminary figures
from a survey conducted this afternoon.
Did you give this to Mrs. Lane or the victim?
No, what I mean is,
they were phoned in to me at 10:00.
And I brought them right over, but Kathleen wasn't back yet.
At least, nobody answered when I knocked.
So I slipped them under the door.
Oh, how odd.
That nobody answered?
Maybe somebody didn't want to be disturbed.
I was wondering how they got onto this table.
Sure, Bud and I went for a swim.
It was totally innocent.
Kathleen, we've always leveled with each other.
I'm only going to ask you once...
Jack, I swear, I--
Please, let me finish. It's no secret.
Bud gave his hotel room keys to every woman... but his wife.
Jack, we weren't having an affair.
I promise you.
That's all I wanted to hear.
Those photographs of Bud and I hugging--
I had just beat him at ping-pong.
He actually started to pout.
I just felt sorry for him.
What was the score?
Twenty-one to three.
You always have to win, don't you?
I'm not so sure I'm going to win this one.
You've done nothing wrong.
Tomorrow you'll call a press conference
and deny everything.
Let's go to bed and get some sleep, huh?
-Quiet please! -Quiet please.
Quiet.
You'll all have a chance. She has a statement to make.
Ladies and gentlemen,
I am prepared to make a statement.
Please.
Thank you.
Bud and I were co-workers, and yes, friends.
But it never went any further than that.
I just wish that he were alive now
to personally refute those charges
and those misleading photographs.
Mrs. Lane, are you going to stay in the race?
My supporters and my husband want me to stay and fight.
I'm sure that's what Bud would have wanted too.
But most important, I want to carry on.
And no amount of press pillory can make me back out.
Mr. Lane, is it true
that you were out of the country
on the weekend that Bud Johnson and your wife
spent the day at your summer cottage?
I was away on business in the Bahamas.
But Kathleen told me that they intended to work there.
Ms. Brown, I have total confidence
in my wife's fidelity.
Score one for the home team.
Thank you.
I would just like to add, my wife started out a dark horse
some 20 points behind Drelinger.
Now she's closed to only seven points behind.
I predict that Kathleen will win come primary day.
Mrs. Lane,
who do you think took those pictures?
Who do you think has the most to gain?
Are you implying Drelinger's people are behind it?
You said that, Harry. I didn't.
Mr. Hall, suppose you tell us
and your colleagues just how you got those pictures.
There are shield laws in this state,
and I'm prepared to go to jail to protect my sources.
Mrs. Lane, first the police said
it was suicide.
Now the word from headquarters is a loud and clear
"no comment." Would you care to comment?
You know as much as I do, Mr. Hall.
You told the police that you were away from the hotel
when Bud Johnson died.
That's true.
Then, if you weren't there to let him into your room,
I assume he had his own key.
Jack, please!
Yeah, it's murder, and yeah, I think she did it.
But proving it...
I'm not so sure about that.
Meanwhile, she's being convicted
on the front page of every newspaper in the state.
Hey, she's news. Nobody asked her to run.
You sure you don't want some coffee, Mrs. Fletcher?
It looks lousy, but--
Oh, no, no, no, thank you. Lieutenant--
The thing is,
this case has a lot of loose ends.
The DA's the kind of a guy who likes his packages
wrapped up nice and neat.
You know what I mean?
What you mean, is that this case
may never come to trial.
You could say that.
While Kathleen Lane tries to run for office
with this cloud of suspicion hanging over her head.
Well, it's better than being tried and convicted.
Have you considered
that somebody else may have killed Mr. Johnson
and framed Mrs. Lane for the express purpose
of destroying her candidacy?
It's crossed my mind.
Well, next time it starts crossing, lieutenant,
please stop it halfway and give it some attention.
I have known this woman for 17 years,
and believe me, she is incapable of deceit or subterfuge.
And she's also incapable of committing murder.
Sure, she's a friend. I understand.
Oh. It's much more than that.
She's innocent.
And she's not gonna spend the rest of her life,
political or not,
with people whispering behind her back
that she's a killer.
Not if I have anything to say about it.
Excuse me.
Thank you.
Oh, Mrs. Fletcher!
Edmund Hall, Channel 8.
Yes, news at 6:00 and 11:00.
I'm sure your broadcast tonight will be quite lively,
since you managed to provoke Jackson Lane
into a near brawl.
How are you planning to lead off?
With a hook or a jab?
If you're in town Sunday, tune in Face The Issues.
That's my foray into public service.
And news at 6:00 and 11:00 isn't?
Well, my Sunday show's not hard news.
We have on scholars, intellectuals.
That's nice. Excuse me, Mr. Hall.
Look,
if you happen to have a new book out,
I'd love to have you on the show--
unless you're opposed to tooting your own horn.
Oh, I don't mind selling books, Mr. Hall.
You could even say a few words about Kathleen Lane.
The longtime friend angle always intrigues the electorate.
Something personal that she might have mentioned to me,
like the identity of that doctor
that she was supposed to be seeing
while she was the Mayor?
Well, the public loves a peek
into a candidate's personal file.
No, at times,
it seems that's all they are interested in.
Look, Mr. Hall, I might--
just might-- consider chatting with you
about my latest novel and other matters
if you will tell me who gave you those photographs.
You're quite a horse trader, Mrs. Fletcher.
But the truth is, I don't know.
Oh!
That's why you claimed confidential source
and shield laws, etcetera.
Well, I could hardly tell the truth.
I'm supposed to gather news,
not have it left for me in bus station lockers
by persons unknown.
Unknown?
Doesn't the name Arthur Drelinger spring to mind?
All right, I'll level with you.
C.W. Butterfield, Drelinger's campaign manager
has been beating around the bush.
Said he might have something newsworthy about Kathleen Lane.
But I can't swear it was the photos.
So do I count you in for Face The Issues ?
I will think about it.
Well, don't think too long.
We're also negotiating with Bud's grieving widow.
If she and her attorney agree to the bucks,
well, she gets first crack, naturally.
I'll wait to hear from you.
I just can't believe that somebody would murder Bud
just to win an election.
Even more disturbing is the fact that
they have gone to considerable trouble to smear you.
You know what I don't understand is,
if Bud's clothes were in his room,
and he was found dead in my bathrobe,
he must have gone from his room to mine, naked.
No, I think it's more likely that he was lured into your room,
killed, and then put into your robe.
Then the murderer took Bud's clothes back to his room,
using the key that I saw lieutenant Gowans
take out of Bud's trousers pocket.
Kathleen, I can't say that this has any connection
with Bud's death,
but Edmund Hall has been trying to pump me about you
and that mysterious doctor.
Hall is a nothing more than a peeping Tom with a hand mic.
Kathleen...
is there something that you haven't told me about?
Anything at all?
No, of course not.
Did you talk to the party chairman
about the meeting that you were supposed to have at his house?
Yes, he said he never called me.
Nan Wynn was the one who told me he called.
So someone called Nan Wynn
claiming to be the party chairman,
luring you away from the hotel.
Kathleen, where is Nan?
I don't know.
I've been trying to reach her all day.
Where are you going?
What about my speech?
Well, the speech can wait.
Kathleen, I think it's high time that somebody had a chat
with the source of your troubles.
The issue in this campaign, friends and neighbors,
is a simple one.
Moral integrity, honesty, a respect for justice
and a love for the American way of life.
C.W., there's something wrong here.
What is it now, Arthur?
Shouldn't that be "issues," not "issue"?
I mean, here I am, reading off this
laundry list of cliches.
"Simple... honesty... respect for justice"
are slogans, Arthur.
Ideas.
You want to say "issues," fine,
say "issues."
Just try to make it sound sincere.
While you're at it don't blink your eyes so much.
It makes you look shifty-eyed.
Well, if these lights weren't so bright.
Leo, how's my makeup? I feel like I'm sweating.
Excuse me, sir?
Yeah?
Lieutenant Gowans, he's outside.
Well, I already told him we didn't slip
those photos to Channel 8.
You want me to have him wait?
Outside, in the chief's anteroom.
Oh, that's a terrific idea.
No, bring him inside!
Okay! Outside everybody!
Five minutes. You're doing fine.
You're doing fine.
-C.W., -Yeah.
if we did have anything to do
with those photographs Hall got a hold of,
I don't want to know about it.
Is that clear?
Chief, we're absolutely clean on this.
Now trust me.
Gentlemen.
Lieutenant! So good to see you.
Dreadful business, this thing with Johnson.
My heart goes out to that poor woman.
Yeah, I just heard on the radio
that a new poll from The Daily Post
says Mrs. Lane just fell 12 points behind you.
Well, you can't say you're surprised.
Surprised?
Nothing about politics surprises me.
If the lady self-destructs, well, that's her lookout.
I only get involved if she got a little help.
I'm not quite sure
I understand that remark, Lieutenant.
Well, let me just make it very clear to you, sir.
Were you and Mr. Butterfield here
between 10:00 and 11:00 Monday night
when Johnson died?
I think I resent that question.
Chief, the lieutenant's just doing his job.
And obviously, neither one of us has anything to hide.
The fact is, Mr. Drelinger was at the Onyx Lodge
from 8:00 till 11:00.
He was receiving the Man of the Year award.
And of course, I was there.
Eleven, huh?
I heard it was 10:30 when you two left.
I thought it was later than that.
We were in my car at 11:00,
driving Mr. Drelinger to his hotel.
We stayed in your hotel room till after 12:00.
Wasn't that correct, Arthur?
Yes. Absolutely correct.
Well, thank you.
If I need anything else, Mr. Butterfield,
I'll let you know.
Of course. Trust me.
-Mrs. Fletcher. -Lieutenant.
That speech you made, kind of got to me,
so I decided to work on those loose ends.
-And? -Nothing, zip, zero.
Look, if you can do any better, please, be my guest.
Mrs. Fletcher, what a surprise.
I know you must be very busy,
but I wonder if you could spare me just a few moments?
Arthur, Jessica Fletcher.
Kathleen Lane's new writer.
The mystery novelist. Yes, yes, of course.
Mrs. Fletcher, this is indeed a pleasure.
Are you here with a message from Kathleen?
Now, if she's ready to bow out--
"Bow out"? Oh, no, nothing like that.
I just wanted to satisfy my curiosity
about one or two small things.
Such as?
Well, for starters, those photographs
that someone gave to Edmund Hall of Kathleen and Bud Johnson.
We had nothing to do with that.
Really?
I can't imagine why anyone
would want to sneak around with a telephoto lens camera
trying to shoot something--
well, shall we say "compromising"--
and then slip it to Edmund Hall,
unless they were deliberately trying to smear Kathleen Lane.
Mrs. Fletcher, I couldn't agree with you more.
That kind of backstairs journalism
is an insult to the people we serve.
C.W., make a note.
We want a strong, public statement
condemning that sort of sleazy journalism.
My goodness!
No wonder you have so many
strong supporters, Mr. Drelinger.
I may be confused,
but someone told me that you had a file on Kathleen Lane
and that you were working up something
to release to the press.
Who told you that?
That is a damn lie.
Mrs. Fletcher, the only file we have on Kathleen Lane
is her position on the issues.
And between you, me, and the doorpost,
we're not that far apart on a lot of things.
No, Mrs. Fletcher.
If there's one thing Arthur Drelinger can't abide,
it's dirty tricks.
Arthur, here's the documented printout
of our new phone survey.
Kathleen Lane is officially...
dead.
I swear, Mrs. Fletcher, I was not a spy for Drelinger.
Yes, but according to Cass Malone,
you delivered the message to Kathleen
to visit the party chairman,
which left her without an alibi.
I only took the message.
The man said he was an aide to the party chairman.
I thought you believed
in Kathleen's stand on the issues.
What I believe in are numbers.
The substantial salary numbers
that Drelinger's campaign offered me,
and the ugly numbers
that Kathleen is suddenly trailing by in the polls.
Well, it just seems to me that if you beat the body politic
over the head long enough with these polls,
they tend to become a self-fulfilling prophecy.
Self-fulfilling or not,
Kathleen is dead in the water.
Take a look at the month-to-month curve
on these numbers.
Kathleen starts out 20 points back.
Then she closes it to 15.
Then 12, then ten, then five.
And this past week--
the photos, Bud's death--
It's back to 12 in two days.
You mean, Kathleen was within five points of Drelinger?
The day Bud was murdered, yes.
But the figures that you passed under the door
were 53 to 46.
That's seven points.
That was a mistake.
I told you and lieutenant Gowans and no one else.
What's the big deal? Anybody can make a mistake.
Oh, dear.
Mrs. Fletcher! What's going on?
Is she throwing in the towel?
I honestly don't know.
Well, she's called a press conference.
She's trailing Drelinger by 12 points now.
What else could it be?
Well, maybe she's decided to hang in and fight it out.
But if she has decided to withdraw,
I think you can take some of the responsibility.
Oh, give me a break, Mrs. Fletcher!
I don't make the news, I just report it.
Really?
It doesn't seem as simple as that to me.
Whatever you report, becomes the news.
You seem to decide what is news
and what is important and what isn't.
I mean, somehow you seem to mix up
importance with sensationalism.
Let me explain something to you.
The political beat puts people to sleep.
It's dry, it's boring.
They want to see Dallas, Knots Landing...
So you give them soap operas,
but what about the issues?
What have we got, two, three minutes of airtime per story?
We've got to grab them.
Now, what are we gonna give them, dry statistics?
Charts, graphs?
You seem to have a very low opinion of your viewers.
One thing I know about the public, Mrs. Fletcher,
they have a very short attention span.
If Kathleen Lane folds, she's yesterday's newspaper.
In a month, they won't even remember her name.
Well, thank you for the lesson in political science, Mr. Hall.
Thank you.
Oh, Kathleen...
Jessica.
Thank you so much for trying to lend a hand.
Then it's true?
I can't convince her to carry on.
Jessica, how can I?
I've learned the hard way that a candidate
is worth two angles to the media.
When I was 20 points behind in the polls,
they tried to build me up
with those heartrending stories about the gutsy underdog.
But after molding you into "David versus Goliath",
they wanted a new angle for the morning edition.
That's the idea.
And when I closed the gap, they started to tear me down.
No, my attempt at public service has cost me my dignity,
my privacy, and my sanity.
And it could have cost me my marriage.
I'm sorry, Jessica. It just isn't worth it.
Kathleen?
The Lynch party is trampling the lawn.
We're still suing Hall and Channel 8?
No, we're not, darling.
We're just gonna get on with the rest of our lives.
I'd better go out there
and give them the hanging they came for.
Jackson, could I have a moment with you?
Kathleen!
I'll be right along.
Yes, what is it, Jessica? Something wrong?
Well, I'm afraid so.
I think I know who took those photos
of Kathleen and Bud and leaked them to Channel 8.
You do?
It was the same person that lured Kathleen
away from the hotel the night that Bud died.
Well, if it's someone on Drelinger's staff,
then we've got to stop her from withdrawing.
Oh, I'm afraid it's a little late for that.
Please! Please, I have a statement.
If the candidate's character
becomes the issue of the campaign,
and the bedroom becomes the ballot box,
then the candidate can no longer speak on the vital ideas
and programs which should be addressed.
Although my husband
and some tireless volunteers and staff workers
pleaded with me to remain in the race...
I am announcing my withdrawal.
[reporters clamoring]
I hope to speak out
on some of the issues from time to time
and that the party will still look for the best man,
or woman...
and not give the nomination to Arthur Drelinger by default.
What a gutsy lady she is, huh?
You know what I'm going to do?
I'm going to take her away for a while,
for a few months.
We always talked a lot about spending time in France.
But it really tears me up, though,
that she'll never get a chance to show what she could do.
On the contrary, you must be enormously relieved.
Relieved that somebody like Drelinger smeared my wife,
and forced her to withdraw?
Oh, Jackson, I'm sorry,
but Kathleen's most dangerous opponent
in this campaign wasn't Drelinger.
It was you.
Me?
After spending $1 million to launch her campaign?
Yes, I imagine
there probably was a time when you thought
the election might help your business deals.
But then the sharks started to circle.
I don't know what you're talking about.
I'm talking about the media spotlight
that sudden-- suddenly began to pry
into your personal and business life.
Everybody knew about your tax problems.
But you thought that was all behind you.
But because of Kathleen, you became news again.
The press began to dig
to see what dirt they could come up with.
Oh, that's ridiculous!
I don't think so.
You knew that you couldn't take that kind of scrutiny,
so you decided that Kathleen had to drop out of the race.
I think it was you who took those photographs
of Kathleen and Bud Johnson.
I was out of the country!
Well, that shouldn't be hard to check.
They keep very good records these days.
Lieutenant...
you can't take this woman's wild charges seriously.
Perhaps you'd like to show us your passport, Mr. Lane.
Oh...
all right.
Maybe I wasn't in the Bahamas.
That doesn't prove I took the pictures.
I think that you called Edmund Hall, disguising your voice.
I think you also left that phone message,
luring Kathleen on that wild-goose chase
to the chairman's house in the suburbs.
The next thing I know,
you'll be accusing me of killing Bud Johnson!
For God's sake, I was here--
40 miles away from the city!
Oh, you may have given that impression
when you called on your car phone.
But you were there, all right, Jackson--
in Kathleen's suite.
That's a lie!
Nan slipped the poll results
under the door at around 10:00 o'clock.
Fifty-three to 46. Seven points apart.
Those are those numbers you shouted at the reporters
at the news conference the very next morning.
My wife started out a dark horse
some 20 points behind Drelinger.
Now she's closed to only seven points behind.
Care for an instant replay, courtesy of Channel 8?
Well, that's what it was-- seven points.
That was a mistake. It was actually five points.
Nan was already making the correction
and typing up the release,
about the time you threw Bud Johnson off the balcony.
The only way you'd have gotten seven points
would have been if you'd have been in that room,
and seen the figures she'd slipped under the door.
Bud found out that I wasn't in the Bahamas that weekend.
Once the photographs made the news,
he'd start to put it together.
And then...
A.D. 53 / K.L. 46
...the solution came to me,
Bud's suicide.
It would finally put an end to Kathleen's campaign.
I got-- I got Kathleen out, and I slipped into her suite.
I phoned Bud's room.
And I told him Kathleen was back
and wanted to see him.
I was-- I was cornered.
[stutters] I had to do something.
I brought the hammer from home.
So you removed his clothes,
dressed him in Kathleen's robe...
And then you threw him off the balcony.
Jessica,
the people I dealt with in those days,
the people I deal with now,
I didn't get where I am by being a choir boy.
And they were getting awfully nervous
about those rumors.
It wasn't jail.
I was looking--
I was looking at... much worse.
And I couldn't think of what else to do!
And now, I'm going to step out of the goldfish bowl,
and, once again, become Mrs. Jackson Lane,
the devoted wife
of a wonderful, loving husband.