Give me the keys, or I will kill you. Now!
But I don't even drive. [gunshot]
Tonight on Murder, She Wrote...
was J.B. Fletcher kidnapped? Something like that?
And you were supposed to be covering him!
The real Jessica Fletcher reported her luggage
and her purse stolen at the airport.
But that's impossible!
If she did see something,
then she would be in great personal danger.
So how come you know so much about Nitrate tests?
It's my business to know!
This your aunt, Mr. Fletcher? No, sorry.
I've never seen this woman before in my whole life.
[cheerful orchestral music]
[knocking] What?
It's the maintenance man.
They sent me out to fix that bad pipe.
Pipe? No, no, no. Come back later.
No, I can't do that. I get off in half an hour.
They want it fixed now. Open up.
It may snow in the Sierras before the weekend.
Listen, if you don't let me in, there's gonna be a flood.
And it won't be in any mountains.
It'll be on the second floor.
Now, are you gonna open up?
Or do I use the passkey?
The keys, give me the keys.
I-I don't have the keys.
Give me the keys, or I will kill you. Now!
Uh, but I don't even drive.
[gunshot]
[siren wailing]
Freeze!
Excuse me, but--
-I said freeze, lady! -Officer, I'm sorry--
Now!
Okay, lady, real slow, on your feet...
and put your hands behind your head.
You've really done it this time, Michael.
[sighs]
I have a mind to put you on charges!
I was acting on your orders, Lancaster.
I bring in MI6's top man
to prevent a political assassination,
and the first thing you do is terminate the contact!
If you'd stop blowin' at me and listen a second,
you'd realize it wasn't me that terminated him!
Are you saying it was him?
That's right, him.
Our mysterious friend, the Cobra.
He must have had position in a room above me.
I went after him, but he got away across the roof.
-Did you see him? -No such bloody luck.
Damn!
A file as thick as your arm,
a dozen killings, and not even a description.
Who the hell is this fellow anyway?
A man who's very careful about loose ends.
Are you saying that the dead Bulgarian was a loose end?
Well, obviously there'd been some previous contact.
Then when I dropped into the scene,
and the Bulgarian panicked, the Cobra severed the link.
All right.
Assuming...
assuming that we can ascribe this fiasco to bad luck,
what in the name of Heaven
were you doing letting this Fletcher woman get involved?
Well, I didn't exactly plan it.
Just ran into her at the airport.
I've known her casually for a couple of years.
Yes. That business with our Embassy in Washington.
I thought she'd be good cover to get out of the airport,
so I offered her a lift to her hotel.
-You didn't tell her anything? -No, of course not.
But when you called me on the car phone
and told me about the meeting--
well, I, uh, I didn't have much choice, did I?
This is absolutely intolerable.
This woman's going to talk to the police.
She may even talk to the press.
She is going to compromise everything.
I'm not wet behind the bloody ears, Lancaster.
I've got Mrs. Fletcher covered.
Temporarily.
[phone ringing]
[indistinct chatter]
[clears throat] Excuse me, sergeant.
I wonder how much longer you want me to wait here.
I'm running a little late for an appointment.
So's the stiff from the alley.
But, look, I've already given you my statement,
and, uh, as I told you, I didn't actually see who fired the shot.
Have you learned who the poor man was?
What?
Oh, you figure we're slow or something?
You thought we wouldn't find out?
Ivanov Daki, Bulgarian trade attaché
at least that's the cover he was using.
-The cover? -Yeah. Speaking of cover,
-what's your real name? -I've already told you.
It's Jessica Fletcher. My I.D. is in my purse,
which iId like to have back, if you don't mind, Sergeant.
Okay, lady. Now the jukebox
just stopped playin', and you're out of quarters.
So what do you say we cut the crap
and get down to cases, huh?
We already checked,
and the real Jessica Fletcher reported her luggage
and her purse stolen at the airport.
But that's impossible.
And besides that, we got a telephone tip
from a concerned citizen
who saw you blow away the Bulgarian.
So spare me the horse pucky, huh?
Now, who are you, what's your nationality,
and who do you work for?
This is absurd.
My name is Jessica Fletcher, and I live in Cabot Cove, Maine.
Yeah, yeah, yeah, andIi'm the mayor of Pismo Beach.
Book her as a Jane Doe. Lock her up.
Wait!
Sergeant, I was supposed to meet
my nephew, Grady Fletcher.
He-he's an accountant here on business,
and he's staying at the Royal Imperial Hotel.
He'll vouch for me. [chuckles]
All right.
Let's review this situation
from the damage-control position.
In two day's time, Leonard Matoso arrives here
from Africa to give a speech at Berkeley.
Oh, yes.
A highly publicized, politically orchestrated event...
engineered to embarrass the entrenched regime in his own country.
Matoso is a can of petrol looking for a match.
The ruling party is afraid to touch him at home,
but if he's hit here, their hands are clean.
So they lay off the contract on the Bulgarians.
Or maybe his own people are willing to sacrifice
him to set the barn on fire. I mean, maybe they're the ones
with the connection to the Bulgarians.
Well, either way,
our sources in the Bulgarian Consulate...
indicate that the Cobra has accepted the contract...
for half a million.
And what do the Americans have to say?
As usual, they doubt our information.
Personally, I think they're terrified
to cancel Matoso at Berkeley.
Officially, of course, their answer is that
their security arrangements are adequate for the risk.
Now, we're outsiders here.
We have to play this very, very, very low key.
But if Matoso is terminated,
the Americans won't have to clean up the mess in Africa.
-We will. -Thanks to Hagarty,
we already have a mess to clean up.
What's that supposed to mean, boyo?
It means the Bulgarian contact with the Cobra is dead,
and our source in the Consulate may be compromised,
all because you've got a panicky trigger finger.
I think you must have a hearing problem, Travis.
I didn't terminate Ivanov.
Well... [chuckles]
we only have your word for that, don't we?
Which isn't exactly gilt-edged
since you bungled that business in Madrid last year.
And what about Mozambique?
It was Danny Frame,
one of our own men the Cobra killed,
and you were supposed to be covering him!
All right now. That's enough.
I'll have both of you on charges if you do not stop this now.
Thank you. Now if we can return to the problem.
My sources indicate that there was no money
on the dead Bulgarian when he was found.
There wasn't anything in the hotel room. I checked.
So the payoff had already been made.
Was it?
Then why was the Bulgarian hanging around,
if the money had already exchanged hands?
No. No, I don't buy that.
Well, what difference does it make now?
We've still got Matoso coming in the day after tomorrow.
I say we abort. Stop him before he leaves Africa.
That might be a bit dicey.
We have two days.
As long as the bait is dangling, let's play this thing out.
We may still have a chance to take the Cobra,
whoever he is.
[woman coughing]
[coughing continues] Hi.
Oh.
I feel like a rhinoceros crawled inside my head and died.
I can't handle this stuff the way I used to. Oh.
Wouldn't happen to have an aspirin on you, would you, honey?
Oh, I'm afraid the police confiscated my purse.
Pigs! [coughs]
What ya in for, honey?
Oh. Uh- uh, it's all a misunderstanding.
Yeah, I know what you mean. With me it was political.
Political?
Well, how was I to know he was the State Senator?
It wasn't me that hit him in the head with the beer bottle!
Sixteen stitches sounds like a lot,
but it was hardly more than a scratch.
-What's your name, honey? -Jessica.
Jessica Fletcher.
Mine's Veronica. You know, like Veronica Lake.
Matter of fact, when I was younger,
people used to notice the resemblance.
Oh. I have to go lay down for a while, Jessica.
Sorry to trouble you, Mr. Fletcher,
but this is important.
Oh, no problem, sir.
Grady! Oh, Grady,
I've never been so glad to see anyone in my life!
This your aunt, Mr. Fletcher?
No, sorry.
I have never seen this woman before in my whole life.
Grady, for Heaven's sakes.
Tell 'em who I am.
No. No way.
No way is this lady Jessica Fletcher.
Yeah, that's what I figured.
Grady. Grady!
[door closes, sighs]
So, that's the lady that stole
my aunt's purse and luggage, huh? [chuckles]
Yeah. Sure looks harmless, doesn't she?
Well, actually, I thought she looked kind of nice.
She even resembles my aunt. Well, superficially.
You know, you been around as long as I have,
you develop a sixth sense.
-Yeah. -I can always spot a killer by the eyes.
A killer?
Iced a commie in the alley with a cold gun.
Lucky we had a squad car a block away.
No. I mean, there must be some kind of mistake.
She couldn't-a commie?
We're kinda keeping this under wraps,
but we got her figured for some kind of enemy agent.
Anyhow, soon as you hear from your aunt,
you have her give us a call, huh?
A commie?
You want a chair? You might be more comfortable.
Excuse me. Are you Nash?
Yeah. What can I do for you?
Joe Santiago, Miami P.D.
oh, yeah, I heard the captain talking about you.
You're here on-what? Extradition or somethin'?
Yeah, I got a murder witness
decided to skip out to the Bay Area.
Somebody had to come here and twist his arm.
I had some vacation leave coming.
The department sprung for my plane ticket.
Yeah, tough duty, huh?
Well, anything you need, you just let me know, huh?
Thanks.
Actually, I was looking at this report you have here.
Oh. A foreigner hit in the alley. Sure.
Jane Doe arrest.
You know, Nash, it's kinda weird.
We had a murder about six months ago, same M.O. exactly.
Greek national, shot in an alley.
We got a description from a cab driver on a woman...
that sorta looks like this Jane Doe.
-No kidding? -Yeah.
We sent her prints to Washington and Interpol.
That'll take a week or more.
But you think there could be some connection?
I don't know. Probably nothing.
But, uh, maybe I could talk to her?
Sure. Why not?
I, uh, imagine, all things considered,
she's a bit upset?
Yeah, you could say that.
She'll probably never speak to me again.
But your identification,
or rather, your lack of it, you made that stick?
Yeah. Look, uh--uh--
it's all right. I told you you could call me Michael.
I went along with you on this for only one reason.
You said it was for her own safety.
And it is, Grady. I-- trust me.
Trust you? Well, nobody said anything about a murder charge!
Shh! Not here.
Look, I think I made a big mistake.
I mean, she was counting on me, and I let her down.
I think I ought to go back and tell the truth.
Oh, I can't let you do that.
You can't? What do you mean, you can't?
I hardly even know you. As a matter of fact,
I don't even know you at all,
except for what my Aunt Jess told me,
and all that sounds kind of weird.
Ah, all right, son.
I suppose you deserve some kind of an explanation.
It is a breach of security, but, uh...
I'll tell you this much.
A man was killed. Jessica was there.
What man? Where?
It doesn't matter what his name is. It's immaterial.
But he was...from the other side.
You mean...
I mean, there's an assassination in the works.
If it comes off, it could cause quite a stir in international circles.
Espionage? Oh, wow.
Jessica may be in danger, depending on what she saw.
That's why it's better if she stays in jail.
I-I never realized.
You mean, like there's-- there's national security that's involved?
[sighs] I've already told you too much.
Okay, count me in. What can I do to help?
Nothing.
Hey, if my Aunt Jess is in danger,
I'm not just sittin' around on my hands.
All right.
Go back to your hotel.
-Stay there. -Right.
If anyone comes nosing around asking about Jessica,
for any reason whatever,
I want you to call me at this number.
Right.
Wow.
About this Englishman you say you picked up at the airport-
well, actually, he picked me up.
Uh, well, what I mean to say is that-
Michael Hagarty? That's his name?
-Yes. -Now come on, lady.
We checked the British passport bureau.
They got no record of any Michael Hagarty.
Well, maybe I got the name wrong.
Uh, it wouldn't be the first time.
The first time you met him?
No, the first time that I got a name wrong.
Lieutenant, I have been held here for several hours,
and I haven't even been permitted to make a phone call.
About this car you were drivin',
leased to a Midstate Plumbing Supplies?
Only there ain't no Midstate Plumbing.
Look, I don't even know how to drive a car.
Look, a simple Nitrate test
will prove that I did not fire the gun.
So, you were wearing gloves.
Oh, for heaven's sakes, why don't you test the gloves?
So how come you know so much about Nitrate tests?
It's my business to know.
Wh-what I mean is that, um, I'm a mystery writer,
and, uh, I do a lot of research.
Is that why you stole the Fletcher woman's I.D.?
Lady, lady, lady, look. Who do you work for?
Maybe we can make a deal.
Will you two please listen to me?
I have tried to be as helpful as I know how,
and I have certainly been very patient
under the circumstances. But I know my rights,
and I insist on phoning my attorney.
We're not infringing on anybody's rights, lady.
Your attorney's here now. You're free to talk to him.
Michael, what have you done to me?
[southern accent] Michael? Why, no, ma'am.
Derek Dawson, of Peabody, Perkins & Proctor,
at your service.
And my professional advice is that you give
no statement to the police.
[normal voice] I suspect they wouldn't believe you anyway.
Well, they certainly don't.
And I'm sure I have you to thank for it.
Oh, I finally realized who reported my purse stolen,
and who the concerned citizen was who conveniently witnessed
me bumping off that poor man.
I don't know how you managed it, but you even got to Grady!
I suggest you keep your voice down.
You are entitled to confidentiality.
Keep my voice down?
Michael, I am so angry
I hardly know how to begin.
Now look, I haven't seen you for almost a year.
You turn up at the airport,
offer to drive me back to my hotel,
and then you leave me waiting in an alley.
Just a bit of bad luck, Jessica. Couldn't be helped.
Oh? Is that what you call it, bad luck?
Here I am, arrested for a murder that you committed,
and you call that bad luck?
But he might have killed you.
Well, does that give you the right to pin it on me?
Well, I would have killed him,
but the truth is,
somebody else fired the shot.
Somebody else? I didn't see anyone else.
Are you sure?
Nobody coming into the alley?
Nobody going into the hotel?
A face in a window? Think, Jessica, think.
Michael, for heaven's sakes, what's going on?
Tell me, please.
[sighs]
Well, we've, uh,
crossed trails with a political assassin.
We call him the Cobra,
but we haven't the foggiest idea
who he is or what he looks like.
And the man in the rumpled suit?
Ah, he was just his Iron Curtain contact.
He was there to pay him his fee.
I think he was liquidated to keep his mouth shut.
Oh, dear.
Now, the Cobra may think you saw him.
That's why I decided that you were safer in jail.
[southern accent] But it'll only be for a few more days.
A few more days?
Yes. I will be in touch.
You take good care of this lady.
I am holdin' you responsible.
Good day to you both.
Anything you want to order from room service?
[sighs]
Actually, yes, there-there is something.
Uh, there was a paperback book that you took away from me,
and, uh, well, I wasn't finished reading it.
Sure. Why not?
You're gonna have a lot of time
to catch up on your reading.
[bell ringing]
[knocking]
Can I help you?
I'm looking for Jessica Fletcher. Where is she?
She's not here at the moment.
Terrific. What about my appointment?
Appointment?
The interview... for the article I'm writing.
Are you her secretary?
No, I'm her nephew.
Well, then, where is she?
Detained.
Let me tell you.
I find this extremely annoying.
The lady agrees to do a personality profile
for The Chronicle, and then she stiffs me.
Oh, yeah, I remember. Aunt Jess did mention
an interview with The Chronicle.
That's me, Glenda Morrison.
Maybe you caught that series I did on the Afghanistan War.
No, I guess I missed that.
Well, what about the, uh,
feature I did on the assassination
of that Nicaraguan general?
I mean, all the wire services picked it up.
I didn't catch that one either.
Hey, don't you have newspapers in Cabot Cove?
Well, actually, I live in New York.
Look, have Mrs. Fletcher call me at uh...
at this number.
Not at the paper. I'm hardly ever there.
And tell her if she wants to plug her book,
she'd better clear some time,
like, uh, right away.
cause it's scheduled for the weekend edition.
Not much to go on, is there?
Body counts, damage reports, dates, places.
But the man himself? Nothing but a shadow.
Yes.
Cobra certainly knows how to cover his tracks.
But he's too bloody good.
It's almost as if he were working with inside information.
Yes.
He made a fool of me, you know.
Remember that business when I was station chief in Kenya?
He blew up a busload of police, didn't he?
Mmm.
I often wondered if that is the reason
they chose to exile me to California.
[both laugh]
Strange that he should turn up again on my patch.
Ah, well, another three months,
early retirement, my rose garden in Sussex.
And then he'll be somebody else's problem.
Has it occurred to you that our boat may have sprung a leak?
Michael, don't let your frustrations
force you to go looking for goblins under the bed.
Oh, by the way, um, Travis took a message for you.
A telephone call from some chap called Grady.
I think I'll get something to eat.
Can I get you anything?
No, thank you. I'm fine.
I've just been in touch with my source
in the Bulgarian Consulate.
It's his understanding that Ivanov Daki
definitely left the Consulate with the payoff.
According to the San Francisco police,
no money was found on the body.
Michael, however, is convinced
that the payment hadn't been made before Daki was terminated.
A puzzling contradiction,
if you believe Hagarty's version of what happened.
Travis, a word of advice.
I wouldn't go making accusations
unless I could find hard evidence to back them up.
Well, doesn't it strike you as strange
that the Fletcher woman just happened to be there?
The Fletcher woman, yes.
And I suppose that if she did see something,
then she would be in great personal danger.
[chuckles] But then, Hagarty's got that covered, hasn't he?
With the Fletcher woman in jail,
Hagarty seems to have himself well covered.
Well, you told me to contact you if, you know,
anything unusual happened at the hotel.
Uh, two, please.
But this Miss, uh, Morrison,
she said she was there for an interview?
No sauerkraut, please.
Yeah, well, that's what she said.
But think about it.
A hotshot foreign correspondent, travels a lot.
It's a perfect cover. I mean, she was right there
when some general in Nicaragua got blown away.
Ah. Maybe she's just a good reporter.
Mmm. Come here.
Sorry.
I phoned The Chronicle.
They said they'd never even heard of a Glenda Morrison.
Let me see the number she gave you.
Here.
[gunshot]
[tires squealing]
[spits]
[trolley bell ringing]
[chattering]
Detective Sergeant Nash? Yes.
I'm... Kevin Styles,
special atorney with the State Department.
State Department, huh? [chuckles]
I figured we'd be hearin' from you guys.
Well, this is strictly unofficial.
As a matter of fact, we really prefer to stay out of this.
As a matter of fact, uh,
we're not really having this meeting,
if you get my drift.
What are we telling the Bulgarians?
We're minimizing it.
The story is a simple armed robbery
that resulted in a homicide. Non-political.
Also non-believable.
Oh, Mr. Styles, Lieutenant Joe Santiago, Miami police.
He's here on a special assignment.
Ah, ah. Miami, one of my favorite cities.
Haven't we met somewhere?
I don't think so, no.
So are the Bulgarians buying this robbery-homicide story?
Strangely enough,
they're taking it at face value. As a matter of fact,
they haven't even filed an official protest.
Look, I'm just an observer on this thing,
but, uh... well, was he robbed?
No. No, not the way we got it.
You see, the Bulgarian only had a few bucks in his pocket,
and the arresting officer didn't find anything on the Jane Doe,
except for the stolen purse, which clinches it for me.
It was political.
You know, I'm sure I've run into you before.
Uh, were you by any chance at Yale?
Afraid not.
Paris? One of those diplomatic parties?
I was in Paris last year, yes.
Some liaison work with Interpol.
But I don't remember attending any parties,
and frankly, Mr. Styles,
if we had met, iI'd remember.
No matter. Uh, can you cut me a copy of the file on this?
No problem.
-And, uh, Sergeant Nash? -Mmm?
Don't release anything to the press
until you run it past me first, okay?
The press hasn't got a whiff of this.
At least, not yet.
[bell ringing]
I could have been killed back there.
I mean, it is just beginning to sink in.
Somebody tried to kill me!
Grady, I don't want you to take this personally,
but, uh, I don't think that shot was meant for you.
Oh, yeah, well, that's not a real comforting thought.
What if he tries again?
That's not a terribly comforting thought either.
Listen, son, think.
Could you have been followed?
Yeah, sure. I wasn't paying that much attention.
Oh, geez.
No, it's clear. It's clear.
I've been looking in the mirror.
Well, I think we better take you back to your hotel.
Hey, look. I might have been shot at,
but that doesn't mean I'm quitting.
No, no, it's all right, boyo. It's all right.
Did I suggest you were? No.
I think it's time that we bait another line
and see if we can get ourself a bite.
They're not gonna push me around.
Not this cookie.
I'm gonna give my congressman an earful.
You ought to try it, honey.
Nothing makes 'em sit up and take notice around here
like a letter from Washington.
Mrs. Fletcher.
I never thought the sound of my own name
would be such a relief. Am I being released?
Not likely, I'm afraid.
But I didn't shoot that man.
I mean, why won't anybody believe me?
-Oh, I believe you. -You do?
It was Michael Hagarty who killed him, wasn't it?
Who are you?
The name's not important,
but I'm with British counterintelligence.
And we're onto Hagarty.
And we know you two were working together.
But that's ridiculous.
Your loyalty's very touching, but I'm afraid misplaced.
Hagarty's left you holding the bag, Mrs. Fletcher.
Now, he may have promised to share that money with you,
but, um, don't hold your breath.
You'll never see a penny of it.
What money?
The half a million the Bulgarian was carrying.
But of course, he forgot to tell you.
He didn't tell me because we never discussed it.
And I am not working with him.
Look, you've made a big mistake by protecting him,
but if you're willing to give evidence against him,
we'll take this up with the police,
and you'll be out of this clean.
But I couldn't give evidence against Michael
even if I wanted to,
because I didn't see him do anything.
And I don't know anything about a half a million dollars.
And I have to wonder why a British intelligence agent
is wearing a patrolman's uniform...
and is coming sneaking back here to talk to me.
Maybe I should, uh, call Sergeant Nash and ask him about it.
[door closes] Gee, honey,
I had you figured for
shoplifting or maybe kiting checks.
But murder?
Jessica, I knew you had class.
Mrs. Fletcher?
[knocking]
Mrs. Fletcher?
[gasps]
Hey! Take it easy!
What the hell is going on?
Perhaps you could tell us, Miss Morrison.
That is your name, isn't it? Morrison?
[grunts] Huh?
Or perhaps not.
All I know is this guy calls me
and tells me his aunt is ready for my interview!
Next thing I know, I'm gettin' mugged!
A few hours ago, did you follow me?
Follow you? What's he talking about?
Look, lady, we know you don't work for The Chronicle.
So what's your game?
Well, I never actually said
I workedfor The Chronicle.
I'm just doing a piece for them.
You know, on--on a freelance basis!
Well, if you're such a hotshot foreign correspondent,
how come they never heard of you?
Well, maybe I exaggerated a little.
Hey, freelancing is a tough racket.
Who's gonna give you an interview
if they know you're working on spec?
Well, you lied to my aunt to get
the interview in the first place.
Why should we believe you now?
Because it's the truth.
Well, not exactly the truth.
What I really had in mind was a profile
on J.B. Fletcher for Rolling Stone,
but I figured she'd be more likely to go for it if...
I told her it was for The Chronicle.
Rolling Stone?Really?
Yeah.
He said he was with British intelligence,
but he could have been anybody.
From your description and his heavy-handed approach,
it sounds like our man Roger Travis.
-What'd you tell him? -Nothing.
I don't mind telling you, my girl,
I don't like Travis being here.
What did he want?
Michael, he thinks that you killed that man,
took the payoff money, and he's one of your people?
[chuckles]
This is not the time or the place
to hang out the company's dirty laundry, Jessica.
But there's something about the Cobra's M.O.
that smells even more like an inside job.
Are you telling me that he's merely paranoid?
Or maybe I am.
Or maybe somebody's just kicking dust in our eyes.
Michael, what did happen to that money?
I doubt if there was ever any cash.
A half a million would be too bulky.
No, it's more likely something less obvious, like a--
a Swiss account number, a claim check.
Well, whatever it was,
perhaps this man who calls himself the Cobra
already has it.
No. No, it doesn't cipher, Jessica.
And some of the funny things that have happened since
tell me he never got the money.
Which why I still think you're safer in jail.
What funny things?
Oh, nothing really.
Now look here, Michael.
You may thrive on these cloak-and-dagger shenanigans, but I don't.
And I have no intention of spending another moment locked up in here.
Now I insist that we go to Sergeant Nash and you tell him who I am,
and that this has all been a terrible misunderstanding.
Do I make myself clear?
Veronica, uh, do you still have any of those writing materials?
Sure, honey. Share and share alike.
You gonna write your congressman too?
Well, it's a way of passing the time.
[phone ringing]
[dog growling]
[softly] Stop. Sit. Sit!
Stop it. Stop it. Shh. Shh. [barks, growling]
[phone ringing]
Do you have a, uh, Jessica Fletcher registered?
J.B. Fletcher? 2308.
Is there a problem, lieutenant?
No. Strictly routine. Uh, she reported a theft.
-Here in the hotel? -No, at the airport.
Oh, good.
[growling]
[gun cocks]
Who are you?
Okay, nobody make any sudden moves.
Now, who are you?
My name is Grady Fletcher. This is my hotel room.
I mean, that's why I'm here.
Glenda Morrison.
I'm a member of the press.
And who are you?
Lieutenant Santiago.
Police business. Sorry about the gun,
but, uh, you did kind of startle me.
Okay. Okay, does someone want to tell me
what is going on here?
I mean, I know I am onto one hell of a story,
but I don't know what it is.
So what is it?
Was J.B. Fletcher kidnapped? Something like that?
No!
No, uh, nothing like that at all.
Mrs. Fletcher's luggage and purse were stolen. That's all.
Ah. And you expected to find it behind the mirror?
We've already arrested the thief.
Actually, we think Mrs. Fletcher
is involved in something else.
Uh, we were searching the room
to make sure she hadn't hidden anything here.
Like what?
That's confidential. Police business.
Oh.
Well, you wouldn't happen to have a search warrant
by any chance, would you?
I don't need one. I have the hotel's permission.
Well, I'm finished here.
Hope I didn't startle you too much.
Ha!
So, how come you've got a key to our suite?
Hey, a good reporter is supposed to be resourceful.
Okay, Grady. Is that your name, Grady?
What really happened to your aunt?
She's--well, actually, she's visiting friends.
Who? Where? What's her number?
I don't know. I mean, I don't remember.
Somebody grabbed her, right? She was kidnapped.
[phone ringing] No.
-Your phone's ringing. -I know that.
Maybe you ought to answer it.
-I'm going to. -It could be the kidnappers!
Look, I am telling you, there are no kidnappers.
Hello?
Grady?
What?
Honey, it's me, Donna.
Oh. Hi. How are you?
Is it Mrs. Fletcher?
Grady, who-who was that?
Is there someone there with you?
No! I-I mean, it's just the television.
It's her, right? Let me talk to her. Will you let go?
Grady, what is going on?
Who is that woman?
Come on. Come on. Come on.
Mrs. Fletcher, your nephew is terrific.
He really, really is. He's gonna tell you all I want is a story.
[gasps] Hello?
[dial tone] Grady?
Hello. Hello, Donna?
You know, for a mature woman, her voice is very young.
That was my fiancée!
Yeah, right.
Then you've actually met Senator Deauville?
Mr. Styles, ordinarily I don't like to drop names.
But quite frankly, I don't know what else to do.
The truth is that I'm acquainted
with a number of influential people in Washington.
Mrs. Fletcher, if indeed you are Jessica Fletcher,
this could turn out to be very embarrassing.
Well, if you think this is embarrassing for you, think how I feel.
Look, Mr. Styles, there's a simple way to deal with this.
Go to any bookstore, and my-my picture
is on the dustcover of all of my books.
I'll do that, immediately.
Oh, I'd be so grateful if you would.
In the meantime, is there anything you need?
Would you like some fruit, something to read?
Well, I hope I'm not going to be here.
Oh, I see you're a Zane Gray fan. So am I.
[Veronica coughing] Oh.
I don't think I've read this one.
Oh, please, Mr. Styles,
it's extremely important that I get this solved quickly.
Uh, yes, of course. I'll be in touch.
Thank you.
Rise and shine, Veronica.
Be back in 10 minutes to take you over to your arraignment.
Don't forget to comb your hair, honey.
[whispers] Pigs.
Veronica, could you make a phone call before your court appearance?
Sure.
Even if they don't let me, my lawyer could do it.
What do you need, Jessica?
I have to get a message to my nephew at the hotel.
It's terribly important.
You might even say it's a matter of life and death.
[clears throat]
Yes, Travis, what is it?
Sir, I've just interrogated the Fletcher woman.
What? Where, in jail?
Yes, sir.
Well, was that wise, Travis?
I had cover. And frankly, sir,
I think it vindicates my theory.
What theory was that, Travis?
I think Hagarty shot the Bulgarian and got away with the money.
Ah. Is that what the Fletcher woman told you?
No. She's still protecting him.
Well, damn it, man, it's just speculation.
Is it?
I think Hagarty set her up to take the fall,
confuse his trail while he gets away.
All right, Travis. Let's get this out into the open.
Tell Michael that I want to speak to him, will you?
I've been trying to contact him for over an hour.
He may already have slipped away.
Mr. Styles, back already? Oh, this is a relief.
Where is it, <rs. Fletcher?
Uh, where is what? Did you lose something?
I'm really rather pressed for time.
I want the stamp.
Oh, yes. The stamp on the postcard.
The one with the two heads printed on it.
-Very unusual. -Unique.
An error in the printing.
There are only three in existence.
And worth a great deal of money, I would guess.
Just a stab...
uh, probably... half a million dollars?
Mrs. Fletcher, hasn't your mother
ever told you that curiosity killed the cat?
It dawned on me that you weren't with the State Department,
that you were in business for yourself,
and a very nasty little business at that.
My compliments on your deductive powers.
I would like to know how you figured it out,
but as I said, I don't have the time.
Please don't force me to do something ugly.
-You wouldn't dare. -Oh, but I would.
Please don't bother to scream.
We have your nephew.
If I don't walk out of here now and with the stamp...
you're very persuasive, Mr. Styles.
Or course, that isn't your name.
But Mr. Cobra sounds so...theatrical.
Now.
It's in the toe of my shoe.
Now relax. Relax, boyo,
or the next sound you hear will be a .38 soft nose
crashin' through your brainpan.
[bell ringing]
Donna. Donna, I did try to call you back, honest.
Well, how did I know you were calling from someone else's house?
-There you are. -Thank you.
Mmm. Would you, uh, check the contents, Mrs. Fletcher,
and, uh, would you sign right here?
I'm--I'm really sorry that, uh, we got things mixed up.
Well, it wasn't entirely your fault, Sergeant Nash.
You mean, that funny-lookin' stamp
was the payoff to the hit man?
Well, I didn't spot it at first, but then I noticed...
that the cancellation marks hadn't run across it,
and that's when I got the hunch.
So I took the stamp off the postcard
and stuck another one on.
But how'd you know it was Styles?
I didn't. But when he came to see me
he seemed very interested in the book the Bulgarian
was carrying when he was shot.
And sure enough, after he left,
I found that the postcard was missing.
Which meant he knew about the stamp.
-Mm hmm. -Pretty slick.
Oh, hi, Grady. How's Donna?
Hmm? Oh, fine now, I think.
Boy, aunt Jess, I tell you,
women sure get some screwy ideas.
[laughs] Yes.
And why do they always start crying at the least little thing?
You know, I've always wondered about that myself.
I guess it's just something that you have to get used to.
Well, my girl, all's well that ends well.
-Yes. -My car's downstairs.
You've plenty of time to catch your plane.
Oh, you're very sweet,
but I hate to put you to all this trouble.
Trouble? Not a bit of it. But there is one thing.
I promised my chief I'd do him a favour, pick up some microfilm
from one of our undercover agents in Chinatown.
It won't take a minute. It's on our way.
Grady...
Call a cab.