Matlock (1986–1995): Season 9, Episode 4 - The Tabloid - full transcript
So you knew full well
when this issue of the
National Informer went to press
that this photo of my client would
be featured on the front page?
Of course, I approve of
everything that goes to press.
- Did you bother to verify it?
- Yes.
Our staff talked to the
doorman at the hotel
who confirmed that Reverend
Masters was indeed there
on the day in
question with a woman.
We have just heard my
client testify, under oath,
that he was not with
a woman on that day.
How do you explain
that, Mr. Buckley?
Well, the hotel records
show that he had two entrees
and two drinks
for lunch that day.
And how does he explain that?
He was hungry
and he was thirsty.
Now answer my question, please.
He's a married man and his
TV ministry is worth millions.
Why, he's not about to
admit he's an adulterer.
That, sir, is a lie!
And you know that it's a lie, and
God Almighty knows that it's a lie.
And I know for a fact that you will
burn in hell for this for all eternity.
- Seeing is believing, reverend.
- That's enough.
The plaintiff is
instructed to sit down
and warned to refrain
from any further outbursts.
Actually, Mr. Buckley,
seeing is not believing.
Not anymore.
Not when
computer-generated dinosaurs
can interact on-screen
with flesh-and-blood actors,
when objects can be added
to or deleted from photographs
with the greatest
of digitalized ease.
No, nowadays, photos
are all too easily faked.
- Aren't they?
- That photo is not a fake.
Then where'd it come from?
That is privileged information.
But it is someone who,
like your staff photographers,
spends his days lurking in the
bushes outside the homes of celebrities
or sneaking into
popular watering holes
just so he can catch famous
people on film doing something,
anything that might be construed
as titillating, right, Mr. Buckley?
Even as we speak.
Yes.
- This is perfect.
- Yes, this'll be good for you here.
- Thank you.
- Enjoy your meal.
Ms. Carol Davis.
- Thank you.
- It's brilliant.
I guess it's time for
me to toast all of you.
Oh, are you all right?
- Help her up.
- Here we are.
Oh, are you okay?
Hey, hey!
Who are you? Stop it.
- Make him stop it.
- Hey, what's going on here?
Hey, somebody stop this guy.
- Stop that man.
MAîTRE D': Sir...
Since the defendant
is unwilling to name
or locate the person who
allegedly took this picture,
the testimony of only one
other person is relevant here:
that of this mysterious woman.
Now, it wasn't easy, but
we managed to locate her.
Please call Ms. Heather
Hartley to the stand.
The State calls Heather Hartley.
Is this you in this
picture, Ms. Hartley?
Yes, it is.
So, you were with my
client, Wesley Masters,
at the Crown Regent
Hotel on September 28th?
No, I was not.
- You weren't?
- I wasn't anywhere near
the Crown Regent Hotel that day.
I was up in Charleston
visiting friends.
Well, maybe somebody
got their dates mixed up.
Maybe this picture was
taken on some other day.
- Impossible.
- Why do you say that?
Because I've never so
much as met Wesley Masters,
let alone had lunch with
him or drinks with him,
or anything else with him.
The God's honest truth.
- Praise the Lord.
- All right, that's enough.
Settle down.
I don't love nobody
Don't nobody love me
Oh, yes, I'm looking for that
bully That bully of the town
Lord, I'm looking for
that bully Of the town
Oh, yes, I'm looking for that
bully That bully can't be found
Lord, I'm looking for
that bully Of the town
I don't love nobody
Don't nobody love me
All they want is my money... - Ben?
- What?
- Ben?
- What?
- Ben!
- What?
I'm gonna sue
their lousy, sadistic,
mendacious little hind
ends right into the ground.
- Is that you?
- Yes, it's me.
But they were implying that I
was drunk at the time, and I wasn't.
You sure look drunk.
I lost my footing
and lost my balance.
Is that a wine
glass in your hand?
I was about to make a toast.
Oh, Carol Davis is
running for the Senate.
This is Cliff Lewis, attorney at
law, Jerri Stone, investigator.
Running for Senate?
Well, you can't run for Senate if
everyone thinks you're smashed.
I wasn't smashed.
Well...
Can I speak to Mr. Ross
Buckley, the editor? Ben Matlock.
Have a seat. I'll let
him know you're here.
Mr. Buckley a friend of yours?
Oh, no, no.
Mine, neither.
Remember that story
they did on the man
who was having a love affair
with an alien from another planet?
No, I must have missed that one.
That was me.
How do these people think
they can make up stuff like that
and get away with it?
They didn't make it up.
I am sexually
involved with an alien.
Yes, and I was quite happy to
share my story with their reporter.
But I wasn't happy when I saw it
in print. They made fun of me, of us.
I'm gonna sue.
Could you just get me in now?
How about it?
A retraction?
Why on earth would
we print a retraction?
You're implying my client
was drunk. She wasn't.
She slipped and fell as she
was about to make a toast.
The wine steward told me
that three bottles of chardonnay
were brought to her table that day,
and at least two other restaurant
employees saw her drinking.
The wine was for her friends.
She had a couple of sips.
Not according to this picture.
You're misrepresenting
the facts and you know it.
Mr. Matlock,
I realize the $6 million
judgment we got hit with last week
may make us seem like easy
prey, but I assure you, it was a fluke.
We haven't lost a
case in, what, 12 years?
Now, if your client wants to
sue, well, that's her prerogative.
But you and I both know
she hasn't got a
leg to stand on. Heh.
No pun intended.
Okay, then we sue.
Well, Carol, suing's one
thing and winning's another.
I was not drunk when that picture
was taken, and that's the truth.
Isn't that the whole
purpose of our legal system?
- To discern the truth?
- Well, yeah.
Sue, then. What
are you afraid of?
Well, the problem is, the burden
of proof doesn't lie with them.
It lies with us.
We would have to prove
beyond a shadow of doubt
that you were stone-cold sober
that day, and we can't do that.
So I'm just supposed to
roll over and play dead?
- Well, it's a...
- Hand me that phone before you go,
- would you, please?
- Yeah.
- Thanks, anyway, Ben.
- Hm.
The number for the
National Informer, please.
I think you should not only
pay for my pain and suffering,
but Leetauk's as well.
Who's Leetauk?
His alien lover.
Ahem. Mr. Parsons, I really think
we're wasting each other's time here.
- Leetauk is really upset.
- Oh.
Well, you tell her that if
I ever get to her planet,
I'll make it up to her, okay?
Mr. Buckley, Carol
Davis is on line one.
- What do I tell her?
- I'll take that.
Hello?
Mr. Buckley, I'd like to
come in and talk to you today.
I'm afraid my schedule's
all filled up, Ms. Davis.
I can come in after
your last appointment.
All right, 7.
Oh, I'll chill some wine.
How about a nice chardonnay?
Mr. Buckley?
Mr. Buckley?
Ross, I got these
proof sheets back.
I'm not sure that
you're gonna...
I just thought if I could talk to him, I
could appeal to his nobler instincts.
You should have called me.
What difference
would that have made?
I could have told you he
didn't have any nobler instincts.
I just talked to Lieutenant Sturtz.
They found the murder weapon.
- What was it?
- It was this crystal trophy thing
that Ross Buckley
had in his office.
It was long and
sharp, like a dagger.
They found it in your garage.
Well, I didn't put it
there. I never even saw it.
- Any prints?
- No, no, no, just blood.
I'm being framed.
Let's not forget, as fond
as we all were of Ross,
his untimely death is news,
and news was his
and is our business.
John, I want a new
layout by 5 p.m. tomorrow.
A photo that Nate got of the
body, front page, enlarged,
so that it can be seen
easily from the checkout line.
Excuse me, Ben Matlock,
Carol Davis' lawyer.
This is Cliff Lewis.
Ms. Van Ness?
Yes, and we're rather busy here.
Oh, I expect, but since I
have you all here in one room,
how about I question
everybody at once, save time?
- Okay?
- Okay.
Okay, now, who knew that Carol Davis
had an appointment with Mr. Buckley
at 7:00 the night he died?
Well, I know that
both of you knew.
Mr. Buckley's secretary said
that you were with him in his office
when he was
talking with that man,
you know, who is having an "affair"
with that alien, when Carol called.
Yes.
Oh, I was there too.
Uh, Chet Sellers,
photographer extraordinaire.
Eh...
"Iowa housewife gives
birth to 50-pound baby"?
- What?
- It says so right here.
Is that all, Mr. Matlock?
Oh. Uh, did Mr. Buckley
have any enemies?
Of course. He ran a newspaper.
He had hundreds of enemies.
No, I mean around here.
We all got along famously.
- Sure.
- Absolutely.
How could a woman this
small have a baby that big?
- Let me see.
- Look.
Goodbye, Mr. Matlock.
Oh, yeah, goodbye.
Goodbye.
Can you just imagine the doctor?
"Congratulations, Mrs. Jones.
Beautiful baby boy,
50 pounds, 3 feet tall.
He'll be driving you
home from the hospital."
Oh, out of curiosity, who'll
be the next editor-in-chief?
I am.
Oh.
So you want me to follow him?
Oh, yeah, everywhere.
Find out where he goes,
who he hangs out with.
I think our readers
will be real interested.
So get lots of nice,
clear pictures, all right?
No problem, boss.
- Hi, John Nash?
- No, right there.
Oh, hi. I'm Jerri
Stone. I'm a writer.
I'm looking for a job. Your
job. Actually, your old job.
Well, things are kind of
hectic around here right now,
- I'll have to get back to you on these.
- Oh, I don't know.
There's a piece in there on Sergio
Franklin, the baseball player's ex-wife.
The real reason he divorced
her is she sleepwalks.
Whenever she does, she
dresses up in men's clothing,
speaks with an accent, and
says she's Henry Kissinger.
It's true.
What else you got?
Uh, that's a piece on the chairman
of the board of McEvoy Industries.
He likes to play with dolls.
- You're kidding.
- No.
All confirmed, ready to go to press.
You give me a job, they're yours.
Here you go, pages one through
16. Rest should be ready in an hour.
Linda Kirsch, meet
our newest reporter.
- Jerri...?
- Stone.
- Hi. What do you do?
- I'm an assistant editor.
Oh, that's what I'm gonna
do. Well, eventually. Ha, ha, ha.
All right, hotshot.
First assignment.
I want you to track down
the bum who fabricated this.
We paid good money to
a guy named Williamson.
His name turned out to
be as phony as that picture.
You got it. Can I...?
Get the guy who cost
us 6 million bucks, okay?
All right, Linda, just
give her the nickel tour.
Take her through
the basics, okay?
Sure thing, boss. Come on.
Police have Ross' office
cordoned off. We're short of space.
- You'll be without an office for a while.
- Oh, that's okay.
So, what was Ross like?
Well, he hired me.
He had good judgment.
He taught me everything
I know. He was brilliant.
He hit on me every once in
a while. He had good taste.
That's better. Right in there.
You know, what I really need is
more red. I need rosier cheeks.
- Oh, okay.
- They don't seem to come out there.
Reverend Masters, I'm Jerri
Stone with the National Informer.
And I'm trying to find out
who counterfeited this picture.
Heh, heh. Why, you people did.
Actually, the National Informer
thought it was the real McCoy
until Heather Hartley
took the stand.
I told them it was a
fake. They wouldn't listen.
And the good Lord
nailed them for it.
This was made by inserting a
picture of Heather into a photo
taken of you outside the hotel.
So my next question would be...
Do I remember
anyone taking my picture
outside the Crown Regent
Hotel last month? Yes, I do.
- You do?
- I know all four Gospels,
the Book of Psalms, and the Book
of Revelation by heart, young lady.
I have nothing if
not a good memory.
The photographer was plainly dressed,
balding, rather short, and overweight.
Why didn't you say
something before?
None of you asked.
- Here he comes.
- Hey, hey.
- Look over here. Smile.
- Hey, sir.
Come on, give us a smile.
- Come on, one more.
- Hey.
Ahem. Excuse me.
I'm looking for a guy who
likes to take pictures of people.
You know, without their consent.
He's short, fat, and going bald.
Sometimes goes by
the name of Williamson.
- Can't help you.
- No.
Never heard of him.
So where else do
you guys hang out?
- All over.
- Hey, there's Tony.
- Hey, Tony, Tony, Tony!
- Tony, Tony!
I've, uh, got what you need.
You do?
Yeah, how about a nice 8-by-10
of Donny Osmond in a Speedo?
No, thanks.
Hi, I'm Ben Matlock.
We sort of met outside Ross
Buckley's office the other day.
Yes, I remember.
I'm a lawyer, and I represent the
woman who's accused of murdering him.
- Carol Davis.
- Right.
- Could I...? Thanks.
- Oh, sure. Come in.
- You live here alone?
- Yes.
We don't believe
in cohabitation.
Oh, you mean you and...?
- Oh, sit down.
- Let me jump right to the point.
I understand that you
were in Mr. Buckley's office
at the time Carol called and
arranged to meet him that night.
Yes, I was.
I'll bet you anything
that she was framed.
I mean, whoever
actually killed Mr. Buckley
had to know that she was going
to his office at 7:00 that night.
No, thank you.
But where were you at that
time? Just as a matter of course.
I understand.
As it happens, I was having a
personal moment with my paramour.
Oh, you mean...?
Where were you sharing
this personal moment?
In her spaceship.
She beamed you up?
Don't be silly. That's
only in the movies.
They parked out front.
- The spaceship was parked out front?
- Right.
Well, Mr. Parsons, if
there was a spaceship
parked out in front of your
house at 7:00 in the evening,
don't you think your
neighbors would have seen it?
Oh, they did. They
see it all the time.
- How come they never said anything?
- The aliens make them forget.
They let me remember.
Oh.
Mr. Parsons, do you think maybe
your friend is outside watching us now?
Oh, no, she and the
others left hours ago.
Well, somebody sure is.
All right, cut it out.
I said, cut it out.
Can you see the caption now?
"Ben Matlock caught
in alien love triangle."
Funny. Funny. Uh-oh.
Hey, hey! Hey, that's private
property you're destroying there.
No!
You're trespassing,
so I guess we're even.
If this Wade Parsons had a gripe
against him, maybe he's the killer.
You have to have some grasp of
reality to frame somebody for murder,
- and this guy's...
- Maybe his alien did it.
Oh, hot dogs.
- Where you been?
- Working. Thanks for the dirt, Carol.
- I got the job like
that: - What job?
At the National Informer.
You went undercover?
Yeah, why not? That's what I do.
I was a cop. I've been at
drug busts. I've been shot at.
Believe me, the National
Informer's not a dangerous place.
Don't be so sure.
I wanted to look around, but
they've got me on assignment.
I wish you'd asked me.
I don't like you doing stuff
like that without talking to me.
- Why? Would you worry?
- Yeah.
Cliff?
- Cliff, what are you doing?
- Reading.
You're reading the
National Informer?
Not just looking at the trashy
pictures? Actually reading this garbage?
- Hot dog?
- Yeah, a couple.
Pig parts.
Says here some
brands of hot dogs
have as many as 40 different
types of pig parts in them.
Says so right here.
I had Neil set up a couple
sample pages in the new type style.
- Good.
- What's going on?
I'm just trying to give the
Informer a younger look, that's all.
Try to pull in some
of that MTV crowd.
Mrs. Van Ness can't
stand the MTV crowd.
Well, you know, she can now.
She and I have had a
lot of nice long talks lately.
I'll bet you have.
What's your problem, Linda?
What the hell do you
think my problem is?
This job was
supposed to be mine.
Mrs. Van Ness promised.
Well, I'm sorry. I guess
she changed her mind.
You changed her mind.
What did you tell her anyway?
That Ross and I were
sleeping together?
Of course not.
- Liar.
- Linda, settle down.
At least you've still got a job.
What goes around
comes around, John boy.
Just remember that.
Oh. Excuse me. I'm
sorry. Is this a bad time?
I was just wondering
about my car mileage.
Am I supposed to be
keeping track of that?
You got anything on
that photograph yet?
- Nothing solid, but I...
- Well, get on it.
We'll sweat the
small stuff later.
Right.
Bye.
Hello, Mr. Matlock.
Uh, Mr. Parsons.
- Won't you come in?
- Thank you.
This is my associate,
Cliff Lewis. Wade Parsons.
- Oh, nice to meet you.
- Nice to meet you.
I have some very exciting
news for you, Mr. Matlock.
I would have called, but the
authorities have tapped my phone.
You need to come
with me immediately.
- What for?
- One of the aliens has a crush on you.
She wants to meet you.
Oh. That's very nice.
Come on, Ben, the least you
could do is climb on the spaceship
and have a glass
of Tang with the girl.
How does she know about Ben?
She overheard our
conversation this morning.
They hear and see everything.
And she was very impressed by
your mental acuity and physical grace.
- His physical grace?
- Yes, my physical grace.
Actually, she finds
you very attractive.
Well, uh...
Well, tell her I'm sorry.
Maybe we can meet
in a couple of weeks.
Come on, Ben. How often
do you get an offer like this?
- Why don't you go?
- She's not wild about me.
She's wild about you.
Hey, Wade, what
does she look like?
Well, like all of them, she
pretty much defies description.
But I can tell you, she has
all the necessary attributes.
- She does?
- In spades.
Time's a-wasting, Mr. Matlock.
Oh, no, no, no, I'm
too busy right now
- to have a blind date with an alien.
- Ben.
Help! Help!
Down! Down!
Aah! Down! Stop it!
Go on! Get out of here!
Down, boy, down!
What's so funny?
Could you help me, please?
Not my dog.
He never bothers me because
I know all his commands.
Oh, yeah?
Well, could you please get
him off of me? Down, boy!
No way. Down.
Easy, boy.
Go home, Poochie.
You too.
"Go home, Poochie"?
Hi.
- Afternoon.
- Is this you?
- Yeah, my only claim to fame.
- Are you the guy that told the Informer
that the Reverend Masters
was with a girl that day?
No, I said he may have
been with a girl that day,
that he comes here a lot with all
kinds of people, on business, you know.
I guess they took
that to mean yes.
Did you get a good look at the guy
who took the picture of the Reverend?
I sure did. That's probably
why I can't remember
whether Reverend Masters
was with a girl or not.
I was too busy looking
at the photographer.
- Short, fat, balding guy, right?
- No, he was average height.
He had, like, bushy eyebrows,
a weird haircut, and a
great handlebar mustache.
That's why I was looking at him. You
just don't see many of those anymore.
Thanks.
One more, one more, one more!
- Come on.
- Come on.
- Big smile, big smile.
- Smile for us, come on.
Hi, how you doing? Can
I talk to you for a sec?
Sorry, gotta go.
Hey, wait a minute!
Hey, you know that guy that just
split? The one with the funny mustache?
- Yeah.
- You know his name?
Package for Leo Harmon.
I lied.
Well, would you
take a look at all this?
Hey, get out of here.
Oh, look, are you dummying
up yet another picture
- on your electronic paint box?
- What do you want?
Who paid you to forge that
picture of the Reverend Masters?
I didn't forge any picture.
You can talk to us, you can
talk to the cops. It's your call.
What makes you think
I work for somebody?
You sold that picture to
the Informer for peanuts.
So either you're
incredibly stupid,
or you knew you'd be getting some
real money from somebody else.
It was the Reverend
Masters, wasn't it?
That's why he tried to throw me off
with that "short, fat, bald guy" routine.
He didn't want me
to find you, did he?
Maybe it was the
Reverend, maybe it wasn't.
Well, a simple check of your bank
records and his ought to confirm that.
Of course there is a possibility
that Reverend Masters figured
out a way to cover his tracks
and then leave this guy
holding the bag, yeah.
Just in case someone
like us ever caught on.
Hmm...
- It wasn't just us.
- No?
Look, Ross Buckley and the
Reverend were in on it together.
Buckley made sure the Informer
printed the picture I rigged,
Masters sued, they cut
me a chunk of the 6 mill
and they split the
rest down the middle.
Ross Buckley
defrauded his own paper?
Somebody didn't like that.
I will miss your bright eyes
And sweet smile
For they say you are
taking The sunshine
That has brightened
our pathway A while
Come and sit by my
side If you love me
Do not hasten to bid me adieu
But remember the
Red River Valley
And the cowboy
Who loves you so true
I can't believe Ross Buckley
sold out his entire paper.
Just money. Of course, I
wouldn't give you three cents
for the whole kit and caboodle,
National Informer and all of them.
I don't believe a
word they print.
- You like pimento in your bologna?
- It's okay.
Not me. I like bologna
to taste like bologna.
You know what I like
summertime? Tomato sandwiches.
Just bread, mayonnaise,
and sliced tomato.
Mm-hm.
Come and sit by my
side If you love me
Do not hasten to bid me adieu
You sure like singing
those old songs.
But remember...
- Oh, yes, yes, I love the old songs.
- Me too.
They relax me, ease my mind.
- You need that in this business, yeah.
- Yeah.
Of course sometimes
when I'm working on a case,
and I'm, you know,
something comes to me.
That happens to me too.
- Yeah?
- Yeah.
Well, work and relax
at the same time.
Down in the valley Valley so low
Hang your head over
Hear the wind blow
Hear the wind blow,
love Hear the wind blow
Hang your head over
Hear the wind blow
Good.
You know, Carol
Davis didn't kill anybody.
Of course I don't think she's
gonna run for the Senate either.
If she does, I'm not
gonna vote for her.
- No?
- Scatterbrain.
Yeah, she is.
- Jumping from one thing to the next.
- Yeah.
So, what are you gonna do now?
After I finish picking this
pimento out of the bologna,
I'm gonna eat this sandwich.
Well, maybe I'll go
and see if I can find Cliff.
Why are you walking like that?
Oh.
Well, you know this Wade Parsons
that they wrote about in the Informer?
Guy with the alien girlfriend?
Well, he said that his
girlfriend has a girlfriend
who said she thinks I have
a certain physical grace.
And I was just checking
to see if I had any.
Well, I think you have a very nice
physical grace for a man your age.
Thank you.
Old Ross Buckley was in cahoots
with the good Reverend Masters, huh?
Yeah, Jerri's trying to
track the money now.
Well, I don't know
how it'll help us,
unless we find out that
Reverend Masters has all $6 million
and doesn't have a you-know
for the time of the murder.
Well, he does have an
alibi. I've already checked.
I wonder what this is.
Hm.
Look at that.
What are you doing here?
Oh, we were just in the neighborhood
and we thought we'd look around.
Any idea what this is?
No, I've never seen it before.
There on the floor.
No... Wait a minute.
That's Ross' watch. I was
with him when he bought it.
You mean the other person
in this picture's Ross Buckley?
Yeah.
What the hell would he be doing
having a drink with Wesley Masters?
- Where was this taken?
- I don't know.
Oh.
But I have a damn
good idea who took it.
Well, ha, ha, ha.
A little gardening, huh?
- Anything to keep my mind off of it.
- Yeah.
Who's that?
Photographer from
the National Informer.
I don't want him taking
my picture again, Ben.
He's not after you.
He's after me. Come on.
- Well, where are we going?
- Little walk down the block.
Take five minutes. There you go.
Now, I understand that you're a
high-school dropout, Mr. Sellers.
- That's right.
- Why'd you drop out?
Well, I wanted to
be a photographer
- and high school was a waste of time.
- Yeah.
But didn't your lack of education
and experience get in your way
- when you tried to find a job?
- For a while.
If the truth be told,
you were turned down by
every paper you applied to
except the National
Informer, weren't you?
- Well, that's right, yeah.
- Why'd the Informer want you?
Because they knew I was
good, and Ross could see that.
- Ross Buckley hired you?
- Yeah, that's right.
Well, he must have
really gone to bat for you.
- Yeah, he went to bat for me, all right.
- Yeah.
And you were loyal
to him, weren't you?
- You bet.
- Yeah.
You were so loyal
that earlier this year,
when another tabloid
tried to hire you away,
you turned them down even though
they were gonna double your pay.
- That's right.
- Yeah.
And then your Mr. Buckley
cost your paper $6 million
because of that lawsuit.
- Yeah.
- Yeah.
What'd you do about it?
- What do you mean?
- Well, I know firsthand
how good you are at following
people around with a camera.
So maybe you started following
Reverend Masters around.
You know, a little revenge, catch
him with something that really hurt him.
No, I didn't do any of that.
Uh, you didn't
sneak out one night
and take this picture of him
having a drink with
somebody in his office?
No.
But both the new
editor-in-chief of the Informer
and his photo editor say
that this blemish right here...
See, Your Honor?
Blemish right there.
They both say that
every picture you take
with your long
200-millimeter lens
has this mark in the
lower left-hand quadrant.
Your lens is scratched.
So you must have taken it.
Somebody must've borrowed my
lens, because I didn't take that picture.
Yes, you did, and I know why.
Because the man having a drink
with Reverend Masters is Ross Buckley.
And that's when you first knew
that the two of them were sharing
$6 million and you got none of it.
No.
People who work for the Informer
have a way of taking two different
pictures and putting them together
to make it look like something's
happening when nothing is happening.
- Isn't that right?
- What do you mean?
Well, like that picture of
the Reverend and the girl.
That was a fake. That was
two pictures put together.
- Well, I didn't do that.
- I know.
That's my point.
You ever heard the expression
"honor among thieves"?
There is none.
You didn't take that one,
because you were passed over.
Mr. Buckley gave that
job to somebody else.
Maybe he thought you weren't
good enough or smart enough.
Six million dollars for
just a little bit of work.
And you didn't get any of
it. It went to another guy.
No loyalty to you.
So you printed up this picture
and you confronted
Mr. Buckley with it, didn't you?
- No, I didn't do that.
- I'm sure that he denied
that he and the good Reverend
were co-conspirators in a plot
to defraud the Informer of $6 million,
but you knew he was lying, didn't you?
- No, I didn't, all right?
- No honor among thieves.
The man to whom you had been
so loyal in destroying other people
didn't have enough faith
in you to give you the job
of stealing a little money from
the paper you both worked for.
He was just a scheming,
common criminal.
And unfair to you.
You must have felt
betrayed. Betrayed and mad.
Madder than hell. So
mad you tore up that picture
and grabbed that
crystal spike off the shelf
- and stabbed him to death.
- No, I didn't do any of that.
Then panic set in.
You picked up as many pieces
of the picture as you could find
and ran to your car.
And then you
remembered Carol Davis.
You drove your car to her house
and planted the murder
weapon in her garage, didn't you?
No, I didn't do that.
You didn't drive your
car to Carol Davis' house
- the night of the murder?
- No.
- You ever been to Carol Davis' house?
- No.
Okay, once, sort of. I parked across
the street from her house yesterday.
So you could watch Carol and me
- walk down the block?
- That's right.
Well, the reason she and
I walked down the block
is so her neighbors could get
a look at you and your little car.
See, I had prearranged so
that they could be peeping
out of their windows
when you passed by.
So once again,
were you at Carol Davis'
house the night of the murder?
You might as well answer, because
as soon as you get off the stand,
I'm gonna call one
of her neighbors.
And he's gonna
say yes, he saw you
and your van at her house
a little after 7 the
night of the murder.
He even wrote "wash me" in
the dust of your back window.
You were there trying to frame my
client for a crime you had committed.
No loyalty among thieves.
Mr. Sellers, Mr. Buckley,
the good reverend.
No loyalty among thieves.
Mr. Parsons?
Mr. Parsons?
- Oh, Mr. Matlock, hello.
- Hello.
I just stopped by to say hello.
Oh, hello.
Oh, well, you know that big case
I was working on, the Davis case?
Well, it's over and we won.
- Congratulations.
- Thank you.
And I thought that since I finally
have some time on my hands,
it might be nice if we could,
you know, kind of socialize.
Oh, you're too
late. They just left.
- They've gone?
- Yeah, she had to go back.
I'll never see her again.
I begged her to let me
remember her, and she did.
But,
now it hurts so much that I
wish she'd made me forget.
There, there, it's all right.
There will always
be another alien.
No, I'll never know
anyone like her again.
Farewell, my beloved.
Farewell forever.
when this issue of the
National Informer went to press
that this photo of my client would
be featured on the front page?
Of course, I approve of
everything that goes to press.
- Did you bother to verify it?
- Yes.
Our staff talked to the
doorman at the hotel
who confirmed that Reverend
Masters was indeed there
on the day in
question with a woman.
We have just heard my
client testify, under oath,
that he was not with
a woman on that day.
How do you explain
that, Mr. Buckley?
Well, the hotel records
show that he had two entrees
and two drinks
for lunch that day.
And how does he explain that?
He was hungry
and he was thirsty.
Now answer my question, please.
He's a married man and his
TV ministry is worth millions.
Why, he's not about to
admit he's an adulterer.
That, sir, is a lie!
And you know that it's a lie, and
God Almighty knows that it's a lie.
And I know for a fact that you will
burn in hell for this for all eternity.
- Seeing is believing, reverend.
- That's enough.
The plaintiff is
instructed to sit down
and warned to refrain
from any further outbursts.
Actually, Mr. Buckley,
seeing is not believing.
Not anymore.
Not when
computer-generated dinosaurs
can interact on-screen
with flesh-and-blood actors,
when objects can be added
to or deleted from photographs
with the greatest
of digitalized ease.
No, nowadays, photos
are all too easily faked.
- Aren't they?
- That photo is not a fake.
Then where'd it come from?
That is privileged information.
But it is someone who,
like your staff photographers,
spends his days lurking in the
bushes outside the homes of celebrities
or sneaking into
popular watering holes
just so he can catch famous
people on film doing something,
anything that might be construed
as titillating, right, Mr. Buckley?
Even as we speak.
Yes.
- This is perfect.
- Yes, this'll be good for you here.
- Thank you.
- Enjoy your meal.
Ms. Carol Davis.
- Thank you.
- It's brilliant.
I guess it's time for
me to toast all of you.
Oh, are you all right?
- Help her up.
- Here we are.
Oh, are you okay?
Hey, hey!
Who are you? Stop it.
- Make him stop it.
- Hey, what's going on here?
Hey, somebody stop this guy.
- Stop that man.
MAîTRE D': Sir...
Since the defendant
is unwilling to name
or locate the person who
allegedly took this picture,
the testimony of only one
other person is relevant here:
that of this mysterious woman.
Now, it wasn't easy, but
we managed to locate her.
Please call Ms. Heather
Hartley to the stand.
The State calls Heather Hartley.
Is this you in this
picture, Ms. Hartley?
Yes, it is.
So, you were with my
client, Wesley Masters,
at the Crown Regent
Hotel on September 28th?
No, I was not.
- You weren't?
- I wasn't anywhere near
the Crown Regent Hotel that day.
I was up in Charleston
visiting friends.
Well, maybe somebody
got their dates mixed up.
Maybe this picture was
taken on some other day.
- Impossible.
- Why do you say that?
Because I've never so
much as met Wesley Masters,
let alone had lunch with
him or drinks with him,
or anything else with him.
The God's honest truth.
- Praise the Lord.
- All right, that's enough.
Settle down.
I don't love nobody
Don't nobody love me
Oh, yes, I'm looking for that
bully That bully of the town
Lord, I'm looking for
that bully Of the town
Oh, yes, I'm looking for that
bully That bully can't be found
Lord, I'm looking for
that bully Of the town
I don't love nobody
Don't nobody love me
All they want is my money... - Ben?
- What?
- Ben?
- What?
- Ben!
- What?
I'm gonna sue
their lousy, sadistic,
mendacious little hind
ends right into the ground.
- Is that you?
- Yes, it's me.
But they were implying that I
was drunk at the time, and I wasn't.
You sure look drunk.
I lost my footing
and lost my balance.
Is that a wine
glass in your hand?
I was about to make a toast.
Oh, Carol Davis is
running for the Senate.
This is Cliff Lewis, attorney at
law, Jerri Stone, investigator.
Running for Senate?
Well, you can't run for Senate if
everyone thinks you're smashed.
I wasn't smashed.
Well...
Can I speak to Mr. Ross
Buckley, the editor? Ben Matlock.
Have a seat. I'll let
him know you're here.
Mr. Buckley a friend of yours?
Oh, no, no.
Mine, neither.
Remember that story
they did on the man
who was having a love affair
with an alien from another planet?
No, I must have missed that one.
That was me.
How do these people think
they can make up stuff like that
and get away with it?
They didn't make it up.
I am sexually
involved with an alien.
Yes, and I was quite happy to
share my story with their reporter.
But I wasn't happy when I saw it
in print. They made fun of me, of us.
I'm gonna sue.
Could you just get me in now?
How about it?
A retraction?
Why on earth would
we print a retraction?
You're implying my client
was drunk. She wasn't.
She slipped and fell as she
was about to make a toast.
The wine steward told me
that three bottles of chardonnay
were brought to her table that day,
and at least two other restaurant
employees saw her drinking.
The wine was for her friends.
She had a couple of sips.
Not according to this picture.
You're misrepresenting
the facts and you know it.
Mr. Matlock,
I realize the $6 million
judgment we got hit with last week
may make us seem like easy
prey, but I assure you, it was a fluke.
We haven't lost a
case in, what, 12 years?
Now, if your client wants to
sue, well, that's her prerogative.
But you and I both know
she hasn't got a
leg to stand on. Heh.
No pun intended.
Okay, then we sue.
Well, Carol, suing's one
thing and winning's another.
I was not drunk when that picture
was taken, and that's the truth.
Isn't that the whole
purpose of our legal system?
- To discern the truth?
- Well, yeah.
Sue, then. What
are you afraid of?
Well, the problem is, the burden
of proof doesn't lie with them.
It lies with us.
We would have to prove
beyond a shadow of doubt
that you were stone-cold sober
that day, and we can't do that.
So I'm just supposed to
roll over and play dead?
- Well, it's a...
- Hand me that phone before you go,
- would you, please?
- Yeah.
- Thanks, anyway, Ben.
- Hm.
The number for the
National Informer, please.
I think you should not only
pay for my pain and suffering,
but Leetauk's as well.
Who's Leetauk?
His alien lover.
Ahem. Mr. Parsons, I really think
we're wasting each other's time here.
- Leetauk is really upset.
- Oh.
Well, you tell her that if
I ever get to her planet,
I'll make it up to her, okay?
Mr. Buckley, Carol
Davis is on line one.
- What do I tell her?
- I'll take that.
Hello?
Mr. Buckley, I'd like to
come in and talk to you today.
I'm afraid my schedule's
all filled up, Ms. Davis.
I can come in after
your last appointment.
All right, 7.
Oh, I'll chill some wine.
How about a nice chardonnay?
Mr. Buckley?
Mr. Buckley?
Ross, I got these
proof sheets back.
I'm not sure that
you're gonna...
I just thought if I could talk to him, I
could appeal to his nobler instincts.
You should have called me.
What difference
would that have made?
I could have told you he
didn't have any nobler instincts.
I just talked to Lieutenant Sturtz.
They found the murder weapon.
- What was it?
- It was this crystal trophy thing
that Ross Buckley
had in his office.
It was long and
sharp, like a dagger.
They found it in your garage.
Well, I didn't put it
there. I never even saw it.
- Any prints?
- No, no, no, just blood.
I'm being framed.
Let's not forget, as fond
as we all were of Ross,
his untimely death is news,
and news was his
and is our business.
John, I want a new
layout by 5 p.m. tomorrow.
A photo that Nate got of the
body, front page, enlarged,
so that it can be seen
easily from the checkout line.
Excuse me, Ben Matlock,
Carol Davis' lawyer.
This is Cliff Lewis.
Ms. Van Ness?
Yes, and we're rather busy here.
Oh, I expect, but since I
have you all here in one room,
how about I question
everybody at once, save time?
- Okay?
- Okay.
Okay, now, who knew that Carol Davis
had an appointment with Mr. Buckley
at 7:00 the night he died?
Well, I know that
both of you knew.
Mr. Buckley's secretary said
that you were with him in his office
when he was
talking with that man,
you know, who is having an "affair"
with that alien, when Carol called.
Yes.
Oh, I was there too.
Uh, Chet Sellers,
photographer extraordinaire.
Eh...
"Iowa housewife gives
birth to 50-pound baby"?
- What?
- It says so right here.
Is that all, Mr. Matlock?
Oh. Uh, did Mr. Buckley
have any enemies?
Of course. He ran a newspaper.
He had hundreds of enemies.
No, I mean around here.
We all got along famously.
- Sure.
- Absolutely.
How could a woman this
small have a baby that big?
- Let me see.
- Look.
Goodbye, Mr. Matlock.
Oh, yeah, goodbye.
Goodbye.
Can you just imagine the doctor?
"Congratulations, Mrs. Jones.
Beautiful baby boy,
50 pounds, 3 feet tall.
He'll be driving you
home from the hospital."
Oh, out of curiosity, who'll
be the next editor-in-chief?
I am.
Oh.
So you want me to follow him?
Oh, yeah, everywhere.
Find out where he goes,
who he hangs out with.
I think our readers
will be real interested.
So get lots of nice,
clear pictures, all right?
No problem, boss.
- Hi, John Nash?
- No, right there.
Oh, hi. I'm Jerri
Stone. I'm a writer.
I'm looking for a job. Your
job. Actually, your old job.
Well, things are kind of
hectic around here right now,
- I'll have to get back to you on these.
- Oh, I don't know.
There's a piece in there on Sergio
Franklin, the baseball player's ex-wife.
The real reason he divorced
her is she sleepwalks.
Whenever she does, she
dresses up in men's clothing,
speaks with an accent, and
says she's Henry Kissinger.
It's true.
What else you got?
Uh, that's a piece on the chairman
of the board of McEvoy Industries.
He likes to play with dolls.
- You're kidding.
- No.
All confirmed, ready to go to press.
You give me a job, they're yours.
Here you go, pages one through
16. Rest should be ready in an hour.
Linda Kirsch, meet
our newest reporter.
- Jerri...?
- Stone.
- Hi. What do you do?
- I'm an assistant editor.
Oh, that's what I'm gonna
do. Well, eventually. Ha, ha, ha.
All right, hotshot.
First assignment.
I want you to track down
the bum who fabricated this.
We paid good money to
a guy named Williamson.
His name turned out to
be as phony as that picture.
You got it. Can I...?
Get the guy who cost
us 6 million bucks, okay?
All right, Linda, just
give her the nickel tour.
Take her through
the basics, okay?
Sure thing, boss. Come on.
Police have Ross' office
cordoned off. We're short of space.
- You'll be without an office for a while.
- Oh, that's okay.
So, what was Ross like?
Well, he hired me.
He had good judgment.
He taught me everything
I know. He was brilliant.
He hit on me every once in
a while. He had good taste.
That's better. Right in there.
You know, what I really need is
more red. I need rosier cheeks.
- Oh, okay.
- They don't seem to come out there.
Reverend Masters, I'm Jerri
Stone with the National Informer.
And I'm trying to find out
who counterfeited this picture.
Heh, heh. Why, you people did.
Actually, the National Informer
thought it was the real McCoy
until Heather Hartley
took the stand.
I told them it was a
fake. They wouldn't listen.
And the good Lord
nailed them for it.
This was made by inserting a
picture of Heather into a photo
taken of you outside the hotel.
So my next question would be...
Do I remember
anyone taking my picture
outside the Crown Regent
Hotel last month? Yes, I do.
- You do?
- I know all four Gospels,
the Book of Psalms, and the Book
of Revelation by heart, young lady.
I have nothing if
not a good memory.
The photographer was plainly dressed,
balding, rather short, and overweight.
Why didn't you say
something before?
None of you asked.
- Here he comes.
- Hey, hey.
- Look over here. Smile.
- Hey, sir.
Come on, give us a smile.
- Come on, one more.
- Hey.
Ahem. Excuse me.
I'm looking for a guy who
likes to take pictures of people.
You know, without their consent.
He's short, fat, and going bald.
Sometimes goes by
the name of Williamson.
- Can't help you.
- No.
Never heard of him.
So where else do
you guys hang out?
- All over.
- Hey, there's Tony.
- Hey, Tony, Tony, Tony!
- Tony, Tony!
I've, uh, got what you need.
You do?
Yeah, how about a nice 8-by-10
of Donny Osmond in a Speedo?
No, thanks.
Hi, I'm Ben Matlock.
We sort of met outside Ross
Buckley's office the other day.
Yes, I remember.
I'm a lawyer, and I represent the
woman who's accused of murdering him.
- Carol Davis.
- Right.
- Could I...? Thanks.
- Oh, sure. Come in.
- You live here alone?
- Yes.
We don't believe
in cohabitation.
Oh, you mean you and...?
- Oh, sit down.
- Let me jump right to the point.
I understand that you
were in Mr. Buckley's office
at the time Carol called and
arranged to meet him that night.
Yes, I was.
I'll bet you anything
that she was framed.
I mean, whoever
actually killed Mr. Buckley
had to know that she was going
to his office at 7:00 that night.
No, thank you.
But where were you at that
time? Just as a matter of course.
I understand.
As it happens, I was having a
personal moment with my paramour.
Oh, you mean...?
Where were you sharing
this personal moment?
In her spaceship.
She beamed you up?
Don't be silly. That's
only in the movies.
They parked out front.
- The spaceship was parked out front?
- Right.
Well, Mr. Parsons, if
there was a spaceship
parked out in front of your
house at 7:00 in the evening,
don't you think your
neighbors would have seen it?
Oh, they did. They
see it all the time.
- How come they never said anything?
- The aliens make them forget.
They let me remember.
Oh.
Mr. Parsons, do you think maybe
your friend is outside watching us now?
Oh, no, she and the
others left hours ago.
Well, somebody sure is.
All right, cut it out.
I said, cut it out.
Can you see the caption now?
"Ben Matlock caught
in alien love triangle."
Funny. Funny. Uh-oh.
Hey, hey! Hey, that's private
property you're destroying there.
No!
You're trespassing,
so I guess we're even.
If this Wade Parsons had a gripe
against him, maybe he's the killer.
You have to have some grasp of
reality to frame somebody for murder,
- and this guy's...
- Maybe his alien did it.
Oh, hot dogs.
- Where you been?
- Working. Thanks for the dirt, Carol.
- I got the job like
that: - What job?
At the National Informer.
You went undercover?
Yeah, why not? That's what I do.
I was a cop. I've been at
drug busts. I've been shot at.
Believe me, the National
Informer's not a dangerous place.
Don't be so sure.
I wanted to look around, but
they've got me on assignment.
I wish you'd asked me.
I don't like you doing stuff
like that without talking to me.
- Why? Would you worry?
- Yeah.
Cliff?
- Cliff, what are you doing?
- Reading.
You're reading the
National Informer?
Not just looking at the trashy
pictures? Actually reading this garbage?
- Hot dog?
- Yeah, a couple.
Pig parts.
Says here some
brands of hot dogs
have as many as 40 different
types of pig parts in them.
Says so right here.
I had Neil set up a couple
sample pages in the new type style.
- Good.
- What's going on?
I'm just trying to give the
Informer a younger look, that's all.
Try to pull in some
of that MTV crowd.
Mrs. Van Ness can't
stand the MTV crowd.
Well, you know, she can now.
She and I have had a
lot of nice long talks lately.
I'll bet you have.
What's your problem, Linda?
What the hell do you
think my problem is?
This job was
supposed to be mine.
Mrs. Van Ness promised.
Well, I'm sorry. I guess
she changed her mind.
You changed her mind.
What did you tell her anyway?
That Ross and I were
sleeping together?
Of course not.
- Liar.
- Linda, settle down.
At least you've still got a job.
What goes around
comes around, John boy.
Just remember that.
Oh. Excuse me. I'm
sorry. Is this a bad time?
I was just wondering
about my car mileage.
Am I supposed to be
keeping track of that?
You got anything on
that photograph yet?
- Nothing solid, but I...
- Well, get on it.
We'll sweat the
small stuff later.
Right.
Bye.
Hello, Mr. Matlock.
Uh, Mr. Parsons.
- Won't you come in?
- Thank you.
This is my associate,
Cliff Lewis. Wade Parsons.
- Oh, nice to meet you.
- Nice to meet you.
I have some very exciting
news for you, Mr. Matlock.
I would have called, but the
authorities have tapped my phone.
You need to come
with me immediately.
- What for?
- One of the aliens has a crush on you.
She wants to meet you.
Oh. That's very nice.
Come on, Ben, the least you
could do is climb on the spaceship
and have a glass
of Tang with the girl.
How does she know about Ben?
She overheard our
conversation this morning.
They hear and see everything.
And she was very impressed by
your mental acuity and physical grace.
- His physical grace?
- Yes, my physical grace.
Actually, she finds
you very attractive.
Well, uh...
Well, tell her I'm sorry.
Maybe we can meet
in a couple of weeks.
Come on, Ben. How often
do you get an offer like this?
- Why don't you go?
- She's not wild about me.
She's wild about you.
Hey, Wade, what
does she look like?
Well, like all of them, she
pretty much defies description.
But I can tell you, she has
all the necessary attributes.
- She does?
- In spades.
Time's a-wasting, Mr. Matlock.
Oh, no, no, no, I'm
too busy right now
- to have a blind date with an alien.
- Ben.
Help! Help!
Down! Down!
Aah! Down! Stop it!
Go on! Get out of here!
Down, boy, down!
What's so funny?
Could you help me, please?
Not my dog.
He never bothers me because
I know all his commands.
Oh, yeah?
Well, could you please get
him off of me? Down, boy!
No way. Down.
Easy, boy.
Go home, Poochie.
You too.
"Go home, Poochie"?
Hi.
- Afternoon.
- Is this you?
- Yeah, my only claim to fame.
- Are you the guy that told the Informer
that the Reverend Masters
was with a girl that day?
No, I said he may have
been with a girl that day,
that he comes here a lot with all
kinds of people, on business, you know.
I guess they took
that to mean yes.
Did you get a good look at the guy
who took the picture of the Reverend?
I sure did. That's probably
why I can't remember
whether Reverend Masters
was with a girl or not.
I was too busy looking
at the photographer.
- Short, fat, balding guy, right?
- No, he was average height.
He had, like, bushy eyebrows,
a weird haircut, and a
great handlebar mustache.
That's why I was looking at him. You
just don't see many of those anymore.
Thanks.
One more, one more, one more!
- Come on.
- Come on.
- Big smile, big smile.
- Smile for us, come on.
Hi, how you doing? Can
I talk to you for a sec?
Sorry, gotta go.
Hey, wait a minute!
Hey, you know that guy that just
split? The one with the funny mustache?
- Yeah.
- You know his name?
Package for Leo Harmon.
I lied.
Well, would you
take a look at all this?
Hey, get out of here.
Oh, look, are you dummying
up yet another picture
- on your electronic paint box?
- What do you want?
Who paid you to forge that
picture of the Reverend Masters?
I didn't forge any picture.
You can talk to us, you can
talk to the cops. It's your call.
What makes you think
I work for somebody?
You sold that picture to
the Informer for peanuts.
So either you're
incredibly stupid,
or you knew you'd be getting some
real money from somebody else.
It was the Reverend
Masters, wasn't it?
That's why he tried to throw me off
with that "short, fat, bald guy" routine.
He didn't want me
to find you, did he?
Maybe it was the
Reverend, maybe it wasn't.
Well, a simple check of your bank
records and his ought to confirm that.
Of course there is a possibility
that Reverend Masters figured
out a way to cover his tracks
and then leave this guy
holding the bag, yeah.
Just in case someone
like us ever caught on.
Hmm...
- It wasn't just us.
- No?
Look, Ross Buckley and the
Reverend were in on it together.
Buckley made sure the Informer
printed the picture I rigged,
Masters sued, they cut
me a chunk of the 6 mill
and they split the
rest down the middle.
Ross Buckley
defrauded his own paper?
Somebody didn't like that.
I will miss your bright eyes
And sweet smile
For they say you are
taking The sunshine
That has brightened
our pathway A while
Come and sit by my
side If you love me
Do not hasten to bid me adieu
But remember the
Red River Valley
And the cowboy
Who loves you so true
I can't believe Ross Buckley
sold out his entire paper.
Just money. Of course, I
wouldn't give you three cents
for the whole kit and caboodle,
National Informer and all of them.
I don't believe a
word they print.
- You like pimento in your bologna?
- It's okay.
Not me. I like bologna
to taste like bologna.
You know what I like
summertime? Tomato sandwiches.
Just bread, mayonnaise,
and sliced tomato.
Mm-hm.
Come and sit by my
side If you love me
Do not hasten to bid me adieu
You sure like singing
those old songs.
But remember...
- Oh, yes, yes, I love the old songs.
- Me too.
They relax me, ease my mind.
- You need that in this business, yeah.
- Yeah.
Of course sometimes
when I'm working on a case,
and I'm, you know,
something comes to me.
That happens to me too.
- Yeah?
- Yeah.
Well, work and relax
at the same time.
Down in the valley Valley so low
Hang your head over
Hear the wind blow
Hear the wind blow,
love Hear the wind blow
Hang your head over
Hear the wind blow
Good.
You know, Carol
Davis didn't kill anybody.
Of course I don't think she's
gonna run for the Senate either.
If she does, I'm not
gonna vote for her.
- No?
- Scatterbrain.
Yeah, she is.
- Jumping from one thing to the next.
- Yeah.
So, what are you gonna do now?
After I finish picking this
pimento out of the bologna,
I'm gonna eat this sandwich.
Well, maybe I'll go
and see if I can find Cliff.
Why are you walking like that?
Oh.
Well, you know this Wade Parsons
that they wrote about in the Informer?
Guy with the alien girlfriend?
Well, he said that his
girlfriend has a girlfriend
who said she thinks I have
a certain physical grace.
And I was just checking
to see if I had any.
Well, I think you have a very nice
physical grace for a man your age.
Thank you.
Old Ross Buckley was in cahoots
with the good Reverend Masters, huh?
Yeah, Jerri's trying to
track the money now.
Well, I don't know
how it'll help us,
unless we find out that
Reverend Masters has all $6 million
and doesn't have a you-know
for the time of the murder.
Well, he does have an
alibi. I've already checked.
I wonder what this is.
Hm.
Look at that.
What are you doing here?
Oh, we were just in the neighborhood
and we thought we'd look around.
Any idea what this is?
No, I've never seen it before.
There on the floor.
No... Wait a minute.
That's Ross' watch. I was
with him when he bought it.
You mean the other person
in this picture's Ross Buckley?
Yeah.
What the hell would he be doing
having a drink with Wesley Masters?
- Where was this taken?
- I don't know.
Oh.
But I have a damn
good idea who took it.
Well, ha, ha, ha.
A little gardening, huh?
- Anything to keep my mind off of it.
- Yeah.
Who's that?
Photographer from
the National Informer.
I don't want him taking
my picture again, Ben.
He's not after you.
He's after me. Come on.
- Well, where are we going?
- Little walk down the block.
Take five minutes. There you go.
Now, I understand that you're a
high-school dropout, Mr. Sellers.
- That's right.
- Why'd you drop out?
Well, I wanted to
be a photographer
- and high school was a waste of time.
- Yeah.
But didn't your lack of education
and experience get in your way
- when you tried to find a job?
- For a while.
If the truth be told,
you were turned down by
every paper you applied to
except the National
Informer, weren't you?
- Well, that's right, yeah.
- Why'd the Informer want you?
Because they knew I was
good, and Ross could see that.
- Ross Buckley hired you?
- Yeah, that's right.
Well, he must have
really gone to bat for you.
- Yeah, he went to bat for me, all right.
- Yeah.
And you were loyal
to him, weren't you?
- You bet.
- Yeah.
You were so loyal
that earlier this year,
when another tabloid
tried to hire you away,
you turned them down even though
they were gonna double your pay.
- That's right.
- Yeah.
And then your Mr. Buckley
cost your paper $6 million
because of that lawsuit.
- Yeah.
- Yeah.
What'd you do about it?
- What do you mean?
- Well, I know firsthand
how good you are at following
people around with a camera.
So maybe you started following
Reverend Masters around.
You know, a little revenge, catch
him with something that really hurt him.
No, I didn't do any of that.
Uh, you didn't
sneak out one night
and take this picture of him
having a drink with
somebody in his office?
No.
But both the new
editor-in-chief of the Informer
and his photo editor say
that this blemish right here...
See, Your Honor?
Blemish right there.
They both say that
every picture you take
with your long
200-millimeter lens
has this mark in the
lower left-hand quadrant.
Your lens is scratched.
So you must have taken it.
Somebody must've borrowed my
lens, because I didn't take that picture.
Yes, you did, and I know why.
Because the man having a drink
with Reverend Masters is Ross Buckley.
And that's when you first knew
that the two of them were sharing
$6 million and you got none of it.
No.
People who work for the Informer
have a way of taking two different
pictures and putting them together
to make it look like something's
happening when nothing is happening.
- Isn't that right?
- What do you mean?
Well, like that picture of
the Reverend and the girl.
That was a fake. That was
two pictures put together.
- Well, I didn't do that.
- I know.
That's my point.
You ever heard the expression
"honor among thieves"?
There is none.
You didn't take that one,
because you were passed over.
Mr. Buckley gave that
job to somebody else.
Maybe he thought you weren't
good enough or smart enough.
Six million dollars for
just a little bit of work.
And you didn't get any of
it. It went to another guy.
No loyalty to you.
So you printed up this picture
and you confronted
Mr. Buckley with it, didn't you?
- No, I didn't do that.
- I'm sure that he denied
that he and the good Reverend
were co-conspirators in a plot
to defraud the Informer of $6 million,
but you knew he was lying, didn't you?
- No, I didn't, all right?
- No honor among thieves.
The man to whom you had been
so loyal in destroying other people
didn't have enough faith
in you to give you the job
of stealing a little money from
the paper you both worked for.
He was just a scheming,
common criminal.
And unfair to you.
You must have felt
betrayed. Betrayed and mad.
Madder than hell. So
mad you tore up that picture
and grabbed that
crystal spike off the shelf
- and stabbed him to death.
- No, I didn't do any of that.
Then panic set in.
You picked up as many pieces
of the picture as you could find
and ran to your car.
And then you
remembered Carol Davis.
You drove your car to her house
and planted the murder
weapon in her garage, didn't you?
No, I didn't do that.
You didn't drive your
car to Carol Davis' house
- the night of the murder?
- No.
- You ever been to Carol Davis' house?
- No.
Okay, once, sort of. I parked across
the street from her house yesterday.
So you could watch Carol and me
- walk down the block?
- That's right.
Well, the reason she and
I walked down the block
is so her neighbors could get
a look at you and your little car.
See, I had prearranged so
that they could be peeping
out of their windows
when you passed by.
So once again,
were you at Carol Davis'
house the night of the murder?
You might as well answer, because
as soon as you get off the stand,
I'm gonna call one
of her neighbors.
And he's gonna
say yes, he saw you
and your van at her house
a little after 7 the
night of the murder.
He even wrote "wash me" in
the dust of your back window.
You were there trying to frame my
client for a crime you had committed.
No loyalty among thieves.
Mr. Sellers, Mr. Buckley,
the good reverend.
No loyalty among thieves.
Mr. Parsons?
Mr. Parsons?
- Oh, Mr. Matlock, hello.
- Hello.
I just stopped by to say hello.
Oh, hello.
Oh, well, you know that big case
I was working on, the Davis case?
Well, it's over and we won.
- Congratulations.
- Thank you.
And I thought that since I finally
have some time on my hands,
it might be nice if we could,
you know, kind of socialize.
Oh, you're too
late. They just left.
- They've gone?
- Yeah, she had to go back.
I'll never see her again.
I begged her to let me
remember her, and she did.
But,
now it hurts so much that I
wish she'd made me forget.
There, there, it's all right.
There will always
be another alien.
No, I'll never know
anyone like her again.
Farewell, my beloved.
Farewell forever.