Murder, She Wrote (1984–1996): Season 11, Episode 15 - Twice Dead - full transcript

According to a spokesman, Suffolk
Air Flight 17, bound for Montauk,

crashed into Long Island
Sound shortly after takeoff.

There were no survivors.

Among the passengers, Nobel Prize-winning
biophysicist, Dr. Max Franklin.

A PhD at 15,
brilliant, unpredictable.

Franklin is believed to be working on a
breakthrough cancer drug known as L-214.

Early in his career, Franklin
worked in the European...

Liz, it's Jessica.

Oh, my God, Jessica. It's
just too awful to comprehend.

Look, why don't we postpone
our meeting this afternoon?

Thanks, but if it's all the same,
let's go ahead with it anyway.



I need something to
take my mind off of it

and it's probably gonna
be pretty quiet around here.

Well, then I will
see you at 1:00. Bye.

From the scene, Nobel
Prize-winner Max Franklin,

dead at the age of 53.

Mr. Gable. Will
Dr. Franklin's death

impact the research on the
anti-cancer drug he was developing?

The one bright spot in this
horrible tragedy, Mr. Gable,

is that Dr. Franklin had
completed work on his vaccine,

code name L-214, only hours
before his tragic accident.

So you're also saying
that Dr. Franklin's death

will have little or no negative
effect on your new stock offering?

Well, perhaps our underwriter,
Richard Ellston, should answer that.

Uh, there'll be no
effect whatever.



The issue is almost fully subscribed
already. The market knows good value.

Hmm. Thank you all.

You're sure everything is okay?

My God, Richard, don't you
think I'd tell you if it wasn't?

Richard, I plan to issue bi-weekly
press reports during the trial period.

No one's gonna forget what Biomec
has on its hands with the L-214.

Max mentioned that he and
Fredrick had had some differences.

Ms. White, this came for you.

Thank you, Jim.

That's putting it mildly.

Besides which, Dr. Fredrick
Grundberg stands to make more money

than he ever dreamed
of off Max's work.

Will you excuse me a minute,
Jessica? Yeah. Of course.

Oh, I'm sorry.

My fault, ma'am.

All I'm asking is a few
days to run the enzyme

screens and x-ray
diffractions Max wanted.

I mean, what's the harm in that?

I'll tell you the harm.

We run those tests, even
internally, under tight security,

and it will immediately be public
knowledge that we've got problems, doubts.

Well, Fredrick, that is hardly
my concern. It wasn't Max's either.

Stuart, you ran backup
on the early tests.

Did you find any of these alleged
"glitches" that got Max all worked up?

No, I didn't. There you go.

Look, whatever it was
Max was worried about,

it will show up in
the clinical trials.

With all respect, Dr. Grundberg,
that is not necessarily the case.

The possible side
effects that Max was

concerned with on bone
marrow and the pituitary,

they might not
show up for years.

Liz and Stuart,

I promise you L-214 won't go on the market
if it is in any way defective, all right?

Well, there's some
good news at least.

Ted Hartley called this morning.
He likes my first two chapters.

And so he should.

I mean, you have managed to
put microbiology into layman's terms

and make it dramatic besides.

I mean, it's starting to
read like a first-rate mystery.

Well, thanks to your notes.

I've marked up
chapters three and four.

There are a couple of points that
I'd like to talk to you about later.

I, uh... I have to go through
Max's townhouse in Manhattan.

You know, clean up some
papers and things, but, Jessica, I...

I just don't know
if I can face it.

And it won't be any easier
next week or next month.

I suppose.

You know, I'm just beginning to realize
how much of my motivation came from Max,

how I had this need
to prove myself to him.

Not so. I don't think Max felt
you needed to prove anything.

Jessica, Liz.

David.

Face it, Liz. I think that was
Max's problem. He couldn't let go.

David, you...
Jessica, I'm sorry.

She was so smart to
finally end it with him.

He never really gave
a damn about her.

Never? I happen to know that
you're wrong about that, David.

Now you're saying Max
switched the cultures?

It looks the same and it's
labeled "L-214 group B culture,"

but all it is, is
common measles virus.

I've turned the lab inside out.

He must've taken the petrie dish with
him, the one with the real L-214 culture.

And now it's at the bottom
of Long Island Sound.

There's no way we can
start the clinical trials now.

We haven't got a sufficient
supply of the serum.

So you grow some more cultures,
right? Isn't that the way they do it?

Yeah. It'll take months at best.

If Ellston or the street gets
wind of this, all this will be gone.

It gets worse.

I checked Max's computer, he
wiped out all his files on L-214.

Plus what we had on our network.

All right, David, I want you to get started
immediately replacing those cultures.

We'll just have to do the best we
can to replicate Max's documentation.

And in the meantime,
Walter, I want you to go...

Excuse me, Fredrick, but
I'm not sure I'm your man.

That's nonsense.

And since Max was having
doubts about the efficacy of...

David! You're very close to a
breakthrough on your malarial synthesis.

We've never turned you down
on staff, equipment or facilities.

Are you willing to throw
all that away over an issue

which at best is
highly questionable?

Search Max's townhouse. There's a chance
he may have taken the stuff home with him

and that it was not all
lost in that plane crash.

I'll get back to you on that.

Are you telling me that Max took
all the cultures down with him?

Why didn't you
tell me this before?

Rich, I only just found
out about it myself.

Give Fredrick a little credit. He's
doing his best to keep a lid on it.

And keep it from me.

Can you blame him? If you pull
the plug on the stock offerings,

that's, what? Five million in
stock options Fredrick'll never see.

Are you sure that
that's the whole truth?

That Dr. Franklin
took the L-214 cultures

because he didn't feel he
was being paid enough?

That's it.

Look, he was a brilliant,
unpredictable crank.

And now, not that I haven't
been enjoying the extra money,

but when the
dust settles on this,

the fact that Fredrick
kept you out of the loop

will mean another rip in his
golden parachute, won't it?

Priscilla, the first thing I look
for in executive management

is the aptitude for knowing
exactly where one wants to land.

A gift you seem to
have in abundance.

I have others.

I rather suspect it.

Now remember, I want to hear
from you if there's even a glimmer

that this stuff isn't what
it's cracked up to be.

I won't let you down, Richard.

What are you, the only guy on the street?
- Hey, lady, I'm walking here!

Nobody has any
consideration anymore!

Max?

Max!

"1Z76."

Artie, I believe that cabbie
can lead me to Max Franklin.

"1Z76." Got it, Jessica.
I'll put it right into work.

If it is Franklin, what do
you think his game is?

The old
running-from-the-wife dodge?

Rizzoli!

No, he's not married.

Just keep this in mind, he may
not be too thrilled to see you.

Yeah, Rizzoli, run
this taxicab tag.

Time and location he picked up and
dropped off his fares in the last hour.

And fast, too, okay?

I'm gonna put you on the speaker
phone, Jessica, do you mind?

Listen, I was gonna call you.

Do you know a good
portrait photographer?

Oh, you mean for your grandson?

Nah. I was elected to my high
school hall of fame over in Brooklyn,

and Doris wants me to have a
nice picture. But not too pricey.

Well, there is a photographer over
on West 49th Street, near Broadway.

O'Gorman, I think his name is.

He does head shots for actors.

O'Gorman. That's perfect.

Listen, I'll let you know
as soon as I hear anything

about your friend
in the taxicab.

If you're right and it's him,
it ought to be quite a story.

Good afternoon. May I help you?

Well, maybe you can.

I was supposed to meet a gentleman
here. He's one of your guests.

He's a sales representative
from our Albany office.

Well, I had his name written on a memo
someplace and I seem to have mislaid it.

You're welcome
to call your office.

Well, I already did.

But the person who gave it to
me is on a plane to Memphis.

Now, I met this man once...

Ma'am, we've got 250 rooms, and I
just cannot remember all of our guests.

Well, he must've checked
in about an hour ago.

He would've been medium height,

about fifty-ish, you
know, salt and pepper hair.

Uh... Wait a minute,
wait a minute,

I think I might have your man.

How about Daniel Weldon,
does that ring a bell?

That's it! Daniel Weldon!
Oh, thank you so much!

You're very welcome. The
house phones are right over there.

Oh, fine.

Front desk. May I
help you, please?

Max? I'm sorry, Jess.

Who is he?

It's no coincidence he's here.

I think his name is Pell. He was
at Biomec yesterday morning.

He seems to know
Dr. Fredrick Grundberg.

That's interesting. I was returning
to my room a few minutes ago

and I saw him
letting himself in.

We need to go someplace
where we can talk.

Max, that has to be the
understatement of the decade.

Jessica, this, I suspect, is
mainly what Mr. Pell was after.

The cultures for
the L-214 vaccine.

You know, I first spotted Pell two
weeks ago, when I was up in Boston.

Anyway, I was on my way to
Montauk to hole up for a few days,

but seeing him following me, I
decided not to take that plane.

So he inadvertently
saved your life.

You could say that.

When I heard about the crash,
and I was supposed to be dead,

I figured, "Okay, I'll
take advantage of it."

I know it's been a cruel
thing to do to my friends, but...

Well, Liz has taken
it particularly hard.

She'll get over it.

Here it is. "Walter Pell
Investigative Services."

Figures. He's liable
to look for me here.

Look, Jessica, please don't
tell anyone you've seen me.

That includes your police
friend that helped you find me.

If you insist.

I promise I'll explain
it all in a day or two.

Another eight or ten
hours is really all I need.

That and my journal, which I
must retrieve from my townhouse.

Max, wait. Are you sure it's a good
idea for you to go back to your own place?

I mean, it's possible that
whoever Pell is working for

may have decided to do something
else besides just keeping an eye on you.

Walter Pell has known for at
least two hours that you're alive,

but there's been nothing
about it on the news.

You're right. But I must get
my hands on those notes.

Well, give me the key.
I'll get your journal for you.

And put you at risk?
Forget it. No way.

Listen, worst case, if they stop
me, I'll simply make something up.

Besides, if you really
need it, you have no choice.

It's in my study, second
drawer on my desk, a red cover.

I will contact you.

Oh, while you're there, you
think you could feed Harry?

Harry, your cat? Of
course. Take care, Max.

Jess, that's what
this is all about.

Try to get it through
your head, Liz.

If I don't grow the damned cultures,
they're gonna find someone else to do it.

Maybe this way I can find
the answers Max was after.

How're you holding up?

Fair.

Listen, I apologize for
being such a drag yesterday.

It's okay. You were right.

I mean, about Max obsessing
over things and people.

Whoa.

Well, I loved him, but I
guess I just outgrew it

and I didn't have the
heart to walk out on him

these past few weeks
when he needed me so badly.

Listen, I could probably knock
off in about 45 minutes or so...

She's busy, David.

And in view of the gravity of
our situation, the time factor,

I hardly think Fredrick would
approve of you quitting that early.

Catch you some other time.

Oh, ever the little
opportunist, aren't we?

Stuart, I don't know
what you're talking about.

In politics, I think they
refer to it as "spin."

Not that I care what sort of impression
you want to create about you and Max...

Stuart, that is
so unbelievably...

Oh, what? Tacky? Vulgar?

Okay, but you
might consider this.

I've just heard on the news

that they've recovered the wreckage
of that commuter plane in Jamaica Bay

and so far they've
only found five bodies.

The pilot, the co-pilot and
three female passengers.

I don't understand.

Oh, I'm not sure I do,

but there has been a great
deal of frantic whispering

between Fredrick and Priscilla.

A six-unit complex on the
Westside was threatened today

when an unexplained
explosion and fire

ripped through the apartment
of Nobelist Max Franklin,

victim of Tuesday's
tragic air crash.

So, you never got inside?

No, it was on fire
when I got there.

And then the Fletcher
woman showed up.

I doubt if it was a social call.

Max had to have sent
her to get something.

But no trace of him?

Not yet, but soon.

I got into the basement of her
building into the phone circuits.

Put a tape recorder on her line.

He'll call her
and I'll nail him.

A few hours tops, and we'll have
all your files and cultures back.

So what're you
doing in my office?

Well, I called you a couple
of times, but you were out.

I got curious. I noticed you crossed
out your meetings for the past two hours.

My appointments cancelled. I
heard about the fire on my car radio.

Yeah, I can buy that.

Good. Now, we still have
our loose cannon out there.

I suggest you defuse him fast.

Thank heaven this survived.

Well, luckily I knew the Fire
Captain and he found it for me.

You're probably right,
that it'll turn out to be arson.

The question is who? And why?

Well, the "who" seems
obvious, that Pell character.

And why? To destroy anything
there that might be useful to me

or potentially
damaging to Biomec.

Or because someone
now really wants you dead.

You know, Max,
I'd feel a lot better

going to the police and putting
you into protective custody.

Oh, thanks, Jess, but
that'd take too much time.

Besides, I'm holed up
where no one'll ever find me.

I'll be in touch in a
few hours. I promise.

Okay.

He looked fine, Liz. He
was harried, of course, but...

Oh, excuse me.

Yes?

Really?

Thank you, Captain Barnhart.

The Fire Captain.

It was a fire bomb. Accidentally
triggered by Max's cat.

Somebody was trying to kill Max?

It certainly looks that way.

Which means that whoever
it was still wants him dead.

Jessica, we have to
reach him, let him know.

Didn't he tell you anything
about where he'd be?

Maybe he did.

If we can find out what was on the
piece that he tore out of that page.

Max?

Max, it's Jessica and Liz.

Oh, my God, Max!

Looks like he was
clocked with this.

Your basic weapon
of opportunity.

Bag it. Forensics,
ASAP. Yes, sir.

First time around he gets everyone
thinking he's dead, and now the real thing.

Probably a lesson
in there someplace,

if I had the time and
a poetic inclination.

Artie, that ashtray, that would
indicate that it wasn't premeditated.

But obviously somebody
was trying to kill him.

The booby-trap in the house,

that I can accept,
but, Jessica, face it,

this neighborhood, they got
more junkies per square block

than they got cockroaches.

Ms. White, you said that
you and the victim were close?

Yes, we had been.
For several years.

Ah, till when?

I'd broken it off with
him a few weeks ago.

I mean, I still cared
about him, but, well...

Max really lived for his work.

Right. Well, like
I said, Jessica,

some crackhead who's also dumb
enough to smoke Conquest Unfiltereds.

We found this butt in the
corridor, near the door.

Okay. He gets the victim to
open up to give him a handout,

the guy spots the
laptop computer,

which he can turn into
ready cash for his next fix,

and bingo, we got the eighth, no, the
ninth murder this month with the same MO.

Oh, yeah, and that
missing petrie dish,

I don't figure
that for a biggie.

Our perp probably just grabbed
it along with the computer.

Mmm-hmm. And the journal?

Well, maybe Franklin was
done with it and dumped it.

Artie... Oh. I've gotta
get to the photographer.

Listen, I'll call you both
about your statements.

Does my hair look okay?

Perfect. Artie, what
I wanted to say is,

that a private investigator
was surveilling Max's activities.

It might interest you to know that he
smoked the same brand of cigarette as that.

It might. Guy got a name?

Oh, come on! I'm
not 12 years old.

What the hell was a Nobel
Prize-winning scientist doing

holed up in a crummy
rental pretending he's dead?

The police think it might've
been a romantic liaison.

My own theory is that he may have been
in touch with a rival pharmaceutical house

and that he was meeting
there clandestinely at that place.

Whatever the problem
was, Richard, it's gone away.

And you're sure Walter
Pell didn't make it happen?

How do you know about Pell?

Just answer the
question, Fredrick.

I'm already getting anxious calls from
brokerage houses handling the stock.

If it turns out you
had him killed...

Oh, for God's sake! Do you
really think I'm that crazy?

You're damned straight, I do.

Now, what else haven't you
been telling me, Fredrick?

Nothing, Richard. I swear.

Mrs. Fletcher, get
out of my life, okay?

Thanks to you, I spent four hours
being questioned by the police.

Mr. Pell, as an
ex-police officer

you know that I wouldn't
have been doing my civic duty

had I withheld information
from Lieutenant Gelber.

How'd you know I was a cop?

I have some friends in the NYPD.

Okay. You got maybe 30 seconds.

That was your cigarette butt.

After you met up with Franklin and gave
him his book, I followed him downtown.

He went into the
apartment building,

I waited a few minutes,
then went inside.

His door was open,
Franklin was dead. Time's up.

One more question.

Why did Mr. Fredrick Grundberg
have you following him?

That's his business.

Thank you, Mr. Pell.

I wasn't sure that was
who you were working for.

Dr. Grundberg swore
us all to secrecy, Jessica,

about Max's concerns over
the effectiveness of L-214,

and he promised that he would carry
out all the tests that Max had started.

On top of that, I guess,

I just didn't think that the vaccine
was all that relevant to Max's murder.

Thank you for forcing us to air
our soiled laundry, Mrs. Fletcher.

Well, I seem to have gored
more than my share of oxen today.

It started out to be in the interest of
finding out who killed Max Franklin,

but now that I know what
he was so concerned about,

it may well be in the
public interest as well.

At a cost of God knows
how many millions of dollars,

and the loss of a
potential wonder drug.

Or a potential killer.

Jessica, Ms. White.

Liz, good luck in there.

This, uh, Dr. Fredrick
Grundberg is a real sweetheart.

I may never take a pill again

without wondering what's
gonna happen to me in 10 years.

Your statements. Oh, yeah.

You are one lucky lady, Jessica.

Someone rigged that
bomb with a tripwire.

It could have been
you who tripped it.

Oh, poor Harry.

Who?

Oh, Max's cat.

Excuse me, Lieutenant.

We found this in a trash barrel

a few blocks from the place
that Franklin was murdered.

That's Max's laptop.

It certainly looks like it.

Any prints?

Negative. I had
the nerds go over

and see if they could find
anything on the hard drive,

but somebody wiped it clean.

Well, there are ways of
retrieving deleted files.

They've got all the
software downstairs, ma'am.

They figure someone knew
how to permanently total the disk.

You bucking for
stripes, Rizzoli?

Sir?

That'll be all.

I know what you're gonna
say, Jessica. A pretty hip junkie.

Something like that, yes.

Well, this throws us right
back to Fredrick Grundberg,

Richard Ellston, several
thousand investors,

and everybody and
his brother at Biomec.

Maybe my next customer will
be able to throw some light on it.

Mr. Himes, your turn.

Liz, Jessica. What kind of
questions are they asking?

Just tell him the truth, Stuart.

They know about the cover-up?

All of it, Stuart.

Well, thank heaven.

Liz, you okay?

About as okay as you can be when
a man that you loved dies twice...

Liz, what is it?

I just realized

there's a chance I may have some
of the answers to this in my desk.

Right after the press conference,
I got a piece of inter-office mail.

Yes. I remember.

It was from Max.

I was so upset, I couldn't bear to
open it and see what was inside.

But later, I glanced at it.

It was a computer diskette and a note
from Max asking me to keep it safe for him.

I locked it away and
then there was the fire.

Whoa. With all that's been happening
I was afraid this may not be here.

Well, that wouldn't have
been terribly surprising.

All right, let's see
what we've got.

Statistics...

I was hoping that there'd
be a message of some sort.

It could be just that, Liz.

Might "SH" stand
for Stuart Himes?

Didn't you say he'd been
running tests for Max?

Hmm, you're right, Jessica.

Tests on L-214's possible
long-term effects on bone marrow.

Yes, back in July.

It's two versions
of Stuart's tests.

One dated the 12th and
one dated two days later.

I think he gave
Max the second one.

Sure, and Max found the
first one and compared them.

What it looks like is, Stuart
was falsifying the results.

Time out, David.

Oh, come on, guys.

You look like this is the first
time in this hallowed business

of magical panaceas
and healthy-ever-afters

that anyone's ever
doctored a few figures.

A few? Max was
fretting about side effects

that might show up five
to ten years down the line.

I figured by then, if there
are any, there'll be a cure.

And meanwhile, thousands
of lives will be saved by L-214.

Maybe. You killed
him, didn't you?

You creep, you dirty, rotten...

Ah, here you all are.
Especially you, Mr. Himes.

I have a warrant for your arrest
for the murder of Dr. Max Franklin.

Lieutenant, we covered
all that this afternoon.

Except your alibi
turned out to be smoke.

As a matter of fact, a little
while ago we paid a visit

to your basement
out in Northport.

We found the ingredients that
went into that lethal contraption

you put together in
Franklin's brownstone.

His cat blew that one for you,

but you sure did a job of
it the second time around.

I'm not gonna say anything more.

Good thinking.

Jessica, everyone,
thanks for your help.

I think you're wrong.

Artie, I mean, you have to admit

that fear of exposure for
tampering with those test results

is a pretty weak
motive for murder.

Especially when
you consider that...

I know, I know. It is
almost impossible to prove

he's the one who actually
changed the numbers.

But what I'm trying to say,
Jessica, is we've got the motive.

You do? And it doesn't have
to get any prettier than this.

Himes begged, borrowed and mortgaged
every penny he could get his hands on,

almost two million bucks.

And invested it all in the
new Biomec stock offering.

You got it. Himes had to make
the L-214 fly, no matter what.

It explains why he trashed
Franklin's computer, the whole shot.

But how could he have found the
apartment where Max was hiding?

Hey, you found it. The PI found it.
Maybe Max called him and told him.

Yeah. But I don't recall seeing
a phone in that apartment.

So he called from a booth.
It'll come out in the trial.

Main thing is, I've got
a lot more than I need

and a pile of cases
waiting their turn.

Artie, you're right.
Max did call his killer.

But I don't think it
was from a pay-phone,

it was from right there in the
apartment from his cellular phone.

I don't remember any cellular.

Nope! No cell phone.

Well, that's because
the killer took it.

Until just now I'd forgotten
I'd seen it in his briefcase.

Artie, if you can locate
Max's cellular phone carrier,

I have a feeling that you'll find
that one of his last phone calls

was to or from the murderer.

Right. I'll call you.

I'm truly sorry you
feel I misled you, but...

Misled? You miserable, lying...

How about bilked,
scammed, swindled?

I'm out twenty million dollars,

my reputation is in
ruins, my business...

I heard about that.

But, Richard, if there's
anything I can do.

I'll do you! I'm gonna
take you down with me!

I'm going to keep you in courts defending
lawsuits till you're too old to stand!

And that goes for you, too!

We are very disappointed
that you feel this way,

but the fact is, we were both totally
in the dark about this entire mess.

Now, if you'll excuse me,
we've got a very full schedule.

You're going to deny you
knew L-214 was flawed.

Richard, Max Franklin
victimized us, too,

by keeping his doubts
about the vaccine to himself.

And I don't think there's a court in
the land that would've found otherwise.

And because we have a duty to
the public and to medical prudence,

we've withdrawn L-214 from FDA
consideration despite the costs to Biomec.

And your losses?

Actually, they were gains.

You see, Priscilla
had this premonition.

Something told me
things weren't right

so I suggested to Fredrick that we put all
the stock we'd subscribed for up for sale

prior to its official issue.

Here you go, Lieutenant.

Okay, so we know that Max
took a call on his cellular phone

about a half hour
before he was killed,

but it was from a pay
phone. It could be anybody.

Meanwhile, we
found Himes's prints

in one of the few unburned
areas at Franklin's brownstone.

Well, Stuart had
visited there socially.

I'm sure you could've
found my prints there, too.

We did. Anyway, I just ran the goods
we got on Himes past the Assistant DA.

She was on the other
side of hog heaven.

Said she wished
they were all that solid.

Now, listen, Jessica, which
one of these do you like the best?

Oh, that one, definitely.

Really?

I kinda thought that...

That this one made
me look a little bit,

you know, like Robert Redford!

Well, um...

Jessica, what?

It did bend, it was paper.

What bend? What paper?

Artie, I think I know who killed
Max Franklin and I think I know why.

Yes? Is someone there?

What are you doing
at Max's computer?

I was, uh... I was,
uh, taking a break.

Running some diagnostics to see
if we could get some use out of it.

Hmm.

Then by moving that
section up into chapter one...

Of course, it sets the
reader up for what's to come.

Jessica, that's brilliant.

It's an old fiction writer's
device called foreshadowing.

Laying in a hint of
what's going to happen,

then the trick is to surprise them
with a twist that they don't expect.

Hello?

Really?

David Randall has
come up with a way to

salvage the files off
Max's computer at Biomec.

The one Max trashed.

Well, when will he have it all?

Well, thanks, Artie. And
keep me posted, will you?

Hmm.

Apparently David's written some sort
of program that's slowly restoring them.

What's interesting is that
so far what he's finding

is pointing directly
at Priscilla Lake.

You're kidding.

They don't expect anything
conclusive till tomorrow,

and even then, it
may be a false alarm.

Now, this note on page 27,

I'm not quite sure
what you meant.

Oh, I hope I can remember.

Not as much as I do!

Wow, you really are
the night owl, aren't you?

I'm kinda busy, Liz.

I heard. David, I need
to get at that computer.

There's something
that I've got to find.

That won't be necessary, Liz.

Sadly, by coming here tonight,

you've admitted that
you murdered Max.

Jessica! That
doesn't make sense.

I could hardly wait to see
what David had found, that's all.

What you could hardly wait to do
was to get over here and destroy the file

that would show your
motive for murdering him.

The file containing
the letter that Max

wrote, breaking off his
relationship with you.

Jessica, you've got it backwards.
I dumped Max weeks ago.

So you said, and made sure that
several other people heard you.

But the truth is, that's the
letter that was delivered to you

via inter-office mail the
morning of the press conference

when it appeared that Max
had died in the airplane crash.

It was the computer disk
with Stuart's test data.

No. When I was in Lieutenant
Gelber's office today,

I saw an envelope
marked, "Do not bend."

It reminded me that
I'd seen you receive it.

I recognized Max's handwriting and thought
it didn't seem significant at the time.

I could tell by the way
that you bent the envelope,

it had to have contained something
pliable like paper, not a rigid diskette.

Yet, earlier today,

when you suddenly "remembered" the
diskette Max had supposedly sent you,

you took it out of
that same envelope.

Jessica, you've made one
really humungous mistake here.

You know that I wouldn't
kill Max! I loved the guy!

- Okay, so, I had to...
- Ms. White.

Sad as it is, Mrs.
Fletcher's on the money.

Mind coming downtown?

So tonight, at your place, that phone
call about David and Max's computer...

That was all a set-up, Liz.

Hers.

When Lieutenant Gelber and his
people searched your apartment

and were unable to locate the
note Max sent you in that envelope,

I felt that we had to take a
chance, that my hunch was right.

It was. We found
this in your car.

Sort of a classic, "Dear Liz."

A computer generated letter.

Sweet, isn't it? He didn't
just throw me over the side.

Oh, no, he sent me all
the way to the bottom.

Well, when he turned up alive,

I couldn't think of anything except
making sure that he'd die and stay dead.

Because you'd been working with
him, you knew that he'd need his journal.

I figured he'd go to
the brownstone to get it.

So you rigged the fire bomb and planted
the materials in Stuart Himes' basement.

And when that
failed to do the trick,

you called Max on
his cellular phone.

I told him I didn't blame him,

that he was right, that I had
been too pushy, too self-involved.

I convinced him I was just
worried about his safety.

All I wanted to do was to help him
finish the analysis he was running

so he could come out of
hiding and get some protection.

He agreed to let me
come to the apartment.

He dismissed me
in so many words.

And then he started to
assign chores for me to do,

like nothing had changed!

I spotted the heavy ashtray...

And along with everything else,

you took the diskette
with the fake test results.

Four years of my life.

I gave the man everything. Sacrificed
my career, submerged my own goals

to help him with his L-214. The
damned tedious obsession of his.

All I wanted in return was
a commitment. That's all.

And in local news, a grand jury
has just handed down indictments

against Biomec CEO Fredrick
Grundberg and Priscilla Lake,

charging each with a dozen
counts of conspiracy to defraud.

There is a God.

Artie, is that your photo
for your high school?

Yeah. Listen, uh,

now that your friend Max's suspicions
about this L-214 have been confirmed,

what happens?

Well, David Randall claims that
it'll take him three or four years

to know if it can
be fixed or not.

Apparently, Max
left quite a roadmap.

And I hear that David's
gonna do the driving.

Yes. Richard Ellston has
put him in charge of research.

Nice.

Artie?

Oh, I went with the one
you picked. Oh, listen...

Jessica, I gotta get
over to the store.

Henderson's coming
back tomorrow,

and I have a ton of
paperwork to get ready for him.

The picture.

This is...

I had them do a little,
you know, re-touching.

Look, it's no sin to want
to look as good as you can.

You, uh, you've gotta
promise not to laugh.

On my honor.

Artie, it's lovely.

You're sure it isn't too much?

Absolutely!

You sure?