Murder, She Wrote (1984–1996): Season 3, Episode 16 - Death Takes a Dive - full transcript

Now I find myself
the— the manager of a

prizefighter, and you're
under arrest for murder.

[Woman] Tonight on
Murder, She Wrote.

- His gun was used to kill Mr. Talmadge.
- That's very incriminating.

- A roof might just fall in on your head.
- Is that a threat?

Well, if it isn't, I
must've said it wrong.

- Got a light?
- Whatever it is you're sellin',
you better peddle it someplace else.

McGraw was warned.
Now I'll warn you.

If you think that Blaster...

is going to lose intentionally
to, uh, that shillelagh...

[Man] Will ya move?
Okay, okay, now jab, jab.



Cover up, cover up!

Yeah, yeah, way to go,
Blaster. Keep that right tucked in.

Okay, okay, now jab, jab.

Move in, move in. Come on,
come on, Blaster, combinations.

You know what a combination
is? One, two, jab, then the right.

Right, there you go.

Will ya move? He's makin'
meatloaf out of your belly, big guy.

There you go. Isn't
this guy somethin'?

I mean, look at that right hand.

Look at those moves. First a left,
then a quick right. The timing, footwork.

I'm telling you, in six months, the
Blaster's gonna be right back on top.

A genuine contender.

He's something, isn't he, Jessica?
I mean, the guy's a mountain.

Oh. Uh, yes. Uh, Harry, I...



In three weeks, the Blaster's gonna get a
shot at Sean Shaleen, the Irish Shillelagh.

Oh, uh, yeah. Come on,
Jessica, don't you read the papers?

We're talkin' about
the number eight grand

contender in the Continental
Boxing Federation,

which isn't exactly the WBA
or the IBC or even the WBF,

but it's not exactly
chopped liver either.

Uh, oh, yes, but I-I— Harry, I
don't know what I'm doing here.

That's it! Come on, way
to move, way to move!

Tuck in the left, Blaster.

- Sanchez, keep those punches up, huh?
- Hey, old man!

Why don't you give it up,
man? You ain't got nothin' left.

You couldn't lick
a postage stamp.

I've seen statues move
better than you, man.

[Man #2] Come on,
now. That's it, that's it.

Come on, man!
Get the punches up!

Hey, you're a tub of turkey
fat. Ain't got nothin' left.

[Spectators Chattering]

Come on, Blaster.
Get out of there, man.

All right, Blaster. That's
the way to give it to him!

Oh, dear. Harry, I thought you
said they were only practicing.

Yeah, yeah, you're
right, Jessica.

Hey, Blaster, take it
easy! What are you doin'?

Hey, Blaster, back away!

Blaster, that's enough!

Hey, what are you, crazy?
Boyle, leave him alone.

- Hey, are you deaf?
- Hey, Blaster!

What's the matter with you, huh?

He made me mad,
Harry! All right, all right.

- Hey, come on, McGraw,
get your animal outta here!
- All right.

- He started it, Mr. Ponzini!
- Yeah, sure.

[Man] All right, come on,
Blaster, get yourself a shower now.

Yeah, yeah, you'll take a
shower, change clothes,

and we'll get somethin' to eat.

I'm sorry, Mrs. Fletcher. I
guess I just kinda lost my temper.

Come on, let's go. I
gotta look at that eye.

No, Harry. No, no, no.

Jessica, you haven't heard
what I— I've heard enough, Harry.

Oh, for pity's sakes. You phone me.
You tell me you're in terrible trouble.

I take a bus all the way down here
from-from Cabot Cove— I am in trouble.

And then I find that you want
me to invest in a boxer—in a boxer!

Harry, you lied to me. On my
mother's bones, I never lied.

And when I tell you I'm in
trouble, I'm talkin' with a capital "T."

Okay, I got a salad here, burger
with everything, a couple of steaks,

three baked potatoes, two corn
on the cob, and a side of chili.

Jessica, if I don't get
this fight off the ground,

- I'm gonna get picked apart
like a Thanksgiving turkey.
- Oh, I've heard that before.

- Can I help it if for once
I'm telling you the truth?
- That'll be a first.

Look, there's this fat goon
with more muscles than brains...

who thinks I owe him five big
ones, which I don't, by the way.

- Oh? Well, why in the
world would he— - Because

with Benny Falcone,
you don't ask questions.

Harry, stop, stop,
stop, stop, now.

Now, very slowly, I want you to
tell me exactly what is going on.

Okay. Now, this is
the straight skinny.

A few months ago, I take a job
from this guy, Benny Falcone,

to chase down his daughter, who's
run off with some saxophone player.

He gives me 5,000, and off I go.

Only a week later, the
daughter and the sax player

show up on his doorstep
and move in with him.

Now, not only is Falcone
steamed at his kid,

but he's not too
thrilled with me.

And he wants his
five thou back, which I

can't give him, because
I no longer have it.

But he can't do
that. So I explained.

Except he suddenly
developed a loss of hearing...

and threatened osteopathic
damage to my legs unless I cough up.

So I went to this
major creditor of mine,

a fight manager named Pinky Schultz,
who happened to owe me a few bucks.

Only Pinky was not in the very
best of shape when I found him.

[Harry's Voice] Sixty years
of good living and bad booze...

had finally put Pinky
down for the count.

I was standin' there thinkin',
"Harry, that's gonna be you in the box,

as soon as Benny Falcone
catches up with you,"

when this guy comes up to me—
Lawyer, never did catch his name.

He hands me this
contract for the Blaster.

It was Pinky's way
of setting things right.

He'd left me the only thing in the world
that counted to him, his prizefighter.

Now, what do I know about
the fight game? Nothin'.

But I figure, "Okay, maybe I can
turn this contract into a few bucks."

So I take Blaster
to Ponzini's Gym,

figurin' maybe I can sell the
contract to some fight guy.

And what do you
know— Soon as I walk in,

I can see the Irish Shillelagh
is workin' out in the ring,

which means maybe Wade Talmadge
the promoter is around someplace.

Meanwhile, the owner of
the gym, Cosmo Ponzini,

is having his problems with a
muckraking reporter named Dave Robinson.

Get outta here, Robinson. I'm
a reporter doing my job, Ponzini.

I have every right to
be— You want to dig up

dirt on Mr. Talmadge,
you do it someplace else.

- You ever heard of freedom
of the press, fella?
- Oh, yeah.

And I also heard of private
property, which this is.

You see that sign?
Can you read that sign?

You ever heard of
the Supreme Court?

The sign's unenforceable,
and you know it.

Hey, you're a pretty smart guy,
ain't you, Robinson? [Chuckles]

You know everything, huh?

Well, let me tell ya.
You know garbage.

You try to take down
the fight business,

and a roof might just
fall in on your head.

- You understand?
- Ooh, is that a threat?

Well, if it isn't, I
must've said it wrong.

Leo, Tony, show
these two the door.

What're you hidin', Ponzini?

I mean, why are you so loyal
to a guy like Talmadge, huh?

Hey, watch it, you big creep!

You're gonna get a face
full of fingernails, you jerk!

Good, kid, good!

Now keep movin'.
Move! That's it.

Hi.

Come on, kid, move!

That's it. Come on.

Throw the jab, now, jab!

Sean looks good, Mr. Talmadge.
He's in real fightin' trim.

Just don't overtrain him, Dennis. The
Gates fight is still three weeks away.

Not to worry, sir. The
boy's comin' along just fine.

A network TV fight— We
want to see him do his best.

Funny, he looks
great to me already.

You an expert on the
manly art of pugilism, darling?

No, darling, just the manly art.

Uh, hiya, Mr. Talmadge.

Harry McGraw. Listen,
I'm new to the fight game.

But you probably heard of
my boy here, Blaster Boyle.

I've heard of him.
I thought he died.

[Laughs] Blaster?
You gotta be kidding.

No, he's been real busy. I got
myself a real contender here.

Maybe, a couple of years ago. Right
now, all you've got is a burned-out pug.

Hey, you got this Irish powder puff
fightin' a has-been like Jocko Gates,

and you call my boy a
pug? [Dennis] Mr. McGraw.

I could arrange to have
the, uh, powder puff...

- rearrange the contours of your jawline.
- Oh, come on now,
what are we arguin' about?

I mean, I'm just here tryin' to
do a little business. That's all.

Like I said, I'm new
to the fight game,

and I figured maybe I
can't give Blaster the

kind of representation
he really deserves.

That's why I'm
bringin' him to you.

- I'm a promoter, not a manager, McGraw.
- Yeah, but you haven't heard my deal yet.

I'm not interested in
your deal, McGraw.

[Snapping Fingers] And I don't
like being hustled by cheap grifters.

Trouble, Mr. Talmadge?
Yes, Cosmo.

Mr. Boyle and his keeper
need directions to the door.

Yes, sir. Okay, boys. All
right, all right, we're goin'.

No problem. Take it
easy, take it easy, Blaster.

Hey, you're missin' a
great bet, Talmadge.

In a few months,
don't come cryin' to me.

[Harry's Voice] I spent the rest of the
day hustlin' Blaster from gym to gym.

But gettin' the bum's rush from
Wade Talmadge hadn't helped much.

The word got around.

It also got around to Benny Falcone,
whose blood pressure was rising...

as high as his voice when
he finally got me on the phone.

He said somethin’ about cement boots
and the Charles River, and then he hung up.

I was staring into a dead phone
when there was a knock at the door.

[Knocking]

Talmadge. Good evening,
McGraw. Mind if I come in?

Uh, hey, listen, if the cockroaches
don't care, why should I?

Doc, Blaster.

I'll cut to the bottom line,
McGraw. I've reconsidered.

You want a fight for your
boy here, you've got it.

Three weeks from
Friday with Sean Shaleen.

- Here's the contract.
- The TV fight?

Well, what happened
to Jocko Gates?

Oh, his old lady caught him playing
hopscotch on somebody else's sidewalk.

She, uh, broke his
jaw with a coffeemaker.

I'll expect your boy
to put up a good fight.

Naturally, I don't
expect him to win.

Oh, you don't, huh?
Hey, what's this?

You call this a purse? Slavery
went out a hundred years ago.

Those are my terms, McGraw. Take 'em
or leave 'em. Let me know in the morning.

Bye, Mr. McGraw.

Oh, and McGraw, our
arrangement is strictly business.

There are no fringe benefits.

You know what they
used to do to people...

who poached on
somebody else's preserve?

Look it up.

That guy Shaleen and TV and all—
That'd be a good fight for me, Harry.

- Yeah, yeah.
- I'd take that man seriously, Harry.

That Talmadge can be a rough
customer when it comes to his women.

Especially that one.

[Harry] Jessica,
don’t you understand?

With my cut of this purse, not only can I
pay back Falcone, I can make a few bucks.

Yes, I can see that, but
what's it all got to do with me?

Trainin' for a big
fight costs money.

There's a lot of
expenses. And, well...

Frankly, my credit is about
as flat as a can of stale beer.

Look, I need a few
thousand bucks. That's all.

Oh, Harry, please.
You'd be in for half.

Partners, right down the line.
Look, Harry, I don't know anything...

about the fight business,
and I don't want to know.

[Sighs]

But if you're in some sort of trouble
with this, uh, Falcone gentleman,

I certainly wouldn't
want to see you get hurt.

- Suppose I lend you 5,000, huh?
- Lend?

Jessica, a gentleman does not
borrow money from his friends.

Besides, this isn't just the
money, it's an investment.

A chance at the brass ring.

I mean, Blaster's gonna knock
that Shaleen kid silly. Trust me.

Look, here's a check.

It's a loan, like it or not.

Do with it what you
want, but the less I know

about what you're up
to, the better I'll like it.

Thanks, Jessica.
You won't regret this.

Uh, excuse me. I gotta make
a phone call. Get things rollin'.

That sure was nice
of you, Mrs. Fletcher,

but I feel real bad
about that 5,000.

That's the last time
you're ever gonna see it.

Oh, don't be so sure, Blaster. I
have great faith in you and, uh, Harry.

Why, uh, I even think you might
have a chance at your big comeback.

Comeback?

Oh, no, ma'am. I
couldn't win that fight.

I mean, that'd be the
worst thing I could do.

Uh, I'm sorry, am I
missing something?

Ma'am, the only reason anybody ever hires
me anymore is 'cause I make 'em look good.

You see, I used to be
a pretty good fighter,

so when somebody whips me now, it
looks—it looks pretty good on their record.

But, shoot, ma'am, if I beat
Shaleen, nobody'd ever fight me again.

But that doesn't make any sense.

It does if you know
the fight business.

You see, I-I don't
try to lose, but...

Well, I know I'm never gonna
be the champ. I know that.

So I got to make my
money while I can.

But, Blaster, you...

You can't go on being
somebody else's punching

bag for the rest of your
life. I don't intend to.

See, I've been sendin' my money
to this fella down in Tennessee.

I'm buyin' myself a dairy farm.

I almost got it paid for too.

Just two or three more
fights, I'll have it paid for clear.

But win that fight with Shaleen?

If I did, how'd I ever
be able to retire?

[Phone Ringing]

Hello?

Mrs. Fletcher? Yes.

My name is David Robinson. I'm a

sportswriter for the
Boston Evening Tribune.

Yes? Yeah, well,
I'm curious to know...

how you got involved with
an over-the-hill pug named

Blaster Boyle and a hustler
named Harry McGraw.

Mr. Robinson, not only do I
resent the tone of that question,

but frankly, it's none
of your business.

Wrong, Mrs. Fletcher.
You see, boxing's my beat.

And when a world-famous
mystery writer gets

involved in the fight
racket, well, that's news.

Well, you're wrong. And
I'm not involved in anything.

That so? Well, the Massachusetts
Boxing Commission's

gonna be very
interested in hearing that,

because as of
5:00 p.m. yesterday,

- you were listed as
Blaster Boyle's manager of record.
- What?

- Any comment, Mrs. Fletcher?
- Uh, yes, uh...

Uh, I'll get back to you.

[Mumbling] Manager of—manager
of— I'm gonna kill that man.

Oh, dear, what am I
saying? Harry McGraw.

Harry. Oh.

[Man] Hello. Harry?

Uh, no. Who's this? Oh,
uh, this is Jessica Fletcher.

Well, well, well, Mrs. Fletcher,
how interesting to hear your voice.

This is Lieutenant Casey.
Maybe you remember me?

Oh, yes, yes. Of
course, Lieutenant.

But what are you doing
there, in Harry's apartment?

Well, I just dropped by to
conduct a little business.

Well, may I please
speak to Harry?

I'm sorry, Mrs.
Fletcher, no can do.

You see, me and a couple of the boys,
uh, we're takin' him down to headquarters.

He's under arrest,
Mrs. Fletcher.

The charge is first
degree murder.

[Casey] Wade Talmadge had more
enemies than there are beans in Boston.

Just too bad Harry's
the one who got him.

Well, I'm sorry, but I just can't
believe that Harry is responsible.

Believe it.

Listen, uh, this gives me no
great pleasure, believe me.

I happen to like the guy. Even
though he is something of a scuzzball.

I assume that you have
some sort of proof, Lieutenant?

Motive, means, opportunity,
something besides just speculation.

Proof, yeah.

Uh, by the way, what is a nice
lady like you doing in the fight game?

Well, believe me,
it wasn't my idea.

In-In fact, I, uh— I have
no idea how it happened.

Uh-huh. I guess Harry needed
somebody to front for him, huh?

The Boxing Commission
never give him an okay.

Too many years hangin' around
with too many undesirables, right?

Lieutenant, just exactly
what proof do you have?

Harry! Aw, Casey, what'd you
have to drag her into this for?

Her idea, McGraw.

She's got some cockamamie
idea maybe you need her help.

I'll give you 15 minutes.

Look, Jessica, I
can handle this.

Yeah, so I see, Harry. Sit down.

Hey, I'm tellin' you. The
whole thing is a big frame-up.

So far you haven't
told me anything.

Look, the last time I saw you,
I gave you a check for $5,000.

Now I find myself
the— the manager of a

prizefighter, and you're
under arrest for murder.

Harry, I want answers.

Answers, yeah. [Clear Throat]

Wish I had some. Oh,
about the fight commission

thing, I'm sorry
about that. I, uh...

[Chuckle] I sort of signed
your name to the contract.

- Sort of?
- Well, I had to, Jessica.

I mean, they didn't want
anything to do with me,

and after all, it was your
dough I was puttin' up.

All right, Harry, tell me.

Okay. Last night, I went down to
Ponzini's Gym, to talk to Talmadge.

He was in there, in the office,
with Ponzini and Shaleen.

[Harry's Voice] I could hear 'em arguing
while I cooled my heels outside the door.

[Sean] I'm not lyin' to you, Mr. Talmadge.
I'm ready. Honest. I can take anybody.

Of course you can, son.
Who says you couldn't?

Look, what I mean is,

I don't need any help fightin'
them palookas, you know?

And I'm gonna prove that to ya.

I just don't want all of a sudden
somethin' to happen, you know?

- Well, like what, for example?
- Like what happened to Cosmo here.

You know, makin' it to the big fight, and
all of a sudden bein' told to take a dive.

Hey, you watch your tongue, kid.

I can still handle you. I know
you're a good fighter, Sean.

We're just making sure you're
not lucky-punched, that's all.

Dennis said my fights—
They were all setups.

Dennis talks too much.

Look, Sean, I picked you up off a Minnesota
farm because I thought you had talent.

Now, you either stick with me,

or you go duck hunting
for the rest of your life.

Look, I'm grateful for all you've
done for me, Mr. Talmadge,

but you gotta give me a chance
to prove myself. Got a light?

- Sorry, doll face, I'm fresh out.
- Oh, funny.

You strike me as the type
that plays with matches.

Not me. I don't
like gettin' burned.

You only get burned
when you're careless.

Me, I'm very careful.

Honey, whatever it is you're sellin',
you better peddle it someplace else.

Right now, I'm interested in
only one thing: self-preservation.

Excuse me.

Sorry to bust this up, fellas.
I told you to wait, McGraw.

Hey, if I wanted to cool my
heels, I could go ice skating.

Now, you got your fight, Talmadge, but
it's not gonna be one of your tea dances.

My boy Blaster intends
to come out smokin'.

Yeah, well, that's fine
with me. But not me.

Hey, tough T-bone, Charlie.

Me and Blaster had a long
talk, and he's gonna win this fight.

Don't worry, Mr. Talmadge.
I can take him.

Sean, be quiet.

Let me spell it out
for you, McGraw.

You got a nice bonus coming
if your boy puts up a good fight,

and if he lays down in
the third round. No way.

I'm not asking you,
McGraw, I'm telling you.

And if anything dumb should happen,
it could get unhealthy for both of you.

- Don't threaten me!
- Take your hands off me.

My boy takes a dive for nobody.

Excuse me, Mr. Talmadge.

I sure hate to mess
up a pretty face.

[Talmadge] That's enough.

At the risk of repeating
myself, McGraw.

I'm not intimidated by your
threats or your firearms.

Your fighter loses this match,

or you both lose
a great deal more.

Show the gentleman the door.

[Harry's Voice] The Shillelagh and
the pizza-belly were havin' their jollies.

I just wanted to
crawl into a hole.

That night, I was reloading
my piece and polishing off...

the sole survivor of a second
six-pack when there was a knock.

[Knocking]

When I opened the door,
she was standin' there.

Wade Talmadge's squeeze. A
hundred and twenty pounds of trouble.

Soft as a London fog, and
smellin' like an armful of gardenias.

Not bad, doll. Where's
your boyfriend?

He's got a place
out in Marblehead.

Tonight I wasn't invited.

You're trouble. I can smell it.

Oh, if you want me to
go, Harry, just say so.

Hey, I'm cautious,
sweetheart, not stupid.

[Chuckles]

Harry, you can,
uh— [Clear Throat]

spare me the
blow-by-blow description.

Jessica, will you let me finish?

Anyway, I figured
Talmadge sent her to see me.

You know, to find out what I
was gonna do about the fight.

But, hey, what do I care?
You know, when you're

rollin' sevens, you
don't ask to see the dice.

[Laughing]

Okay, okay. Anyway,
the next morning...

[Harry's Voice] All I could think of
was gettin' Benny Falcone off my back.

But no matter what
Talmadge pulled,

I wasn't lettin' Blaster
take a dive for anyone.

Win, lose or draw, it
was gonna be his fight.

Lois came out of the bedroom, lookin'
for another round of bedsheet bingo,

but I had more important
things to worry about.

I called Doc Penrose and
arranged to meet him at Gilhooley's.

Doc convinced me Blaster
had a real shot against Shaleen,

who we called a
real zero as a fighter.

All I had to do was talk
Blaster into really trying to win it,

because despite what I told Talmadge,
the big guy wasn't all that convinced.

I spent the next couple of hours
drivin' around lookin' for him.

When I caught up with
him, Blaster kept talkin’ about

that dumb diary farm he
was buyin’ in Tennessee...

and how maybe it’d just
be simpler if he took a dive.

He finally changed his mind after I told
him what a chump Shaleen said he was.

One thing about Blaster—
Don't get him mad— ever.

Anyway, we headed
back to my place,

where a reception
committee was waiting for me.

Two guys in blue, and Lieutenant Casey,
who immediately confiscates my gun,

while he tells me Wade Talmadge was
found dead behind the wheel of his car,

parked under a bridge a
couple of miles outside of town.

Killed with a .38, McGraw.
Not more than an hour ago.

You're crazy! I didn't kill him.
Come on. You threatened him.

My gun hasn't even been
fired. So you cleaned it.

Nobody ever said you were
stupid. Take this guy away.

Which is when you phoned, Jessica.
But, Harry, that doesn't make sense.

Lieutenant Casey must have
something besides an idle threat.

Yeah. I have no alibi.

[Sighs] While Talmadge
was getting iced,

I was drivin' around tryin' to
find Blaster, but go try to prove it.

What was Talmadge doing
parked under a bridge?

Oh, Casey's got
that figured out too.

He says I called him at
his house in Marblehead

and arranged to meet
him under the bridge.

Then when I got there, I plunked him in
the chest with a single shot from my .38.

Is that it? How do I know?

Look, Jessica, I know Casey. He's
bullheaded, but he's a pretty good cop.

He's got something. He's
just not telling me what it is.

Maybe I'll have
better luck with him.

Meantime, you better get yourself
a lawyer. Lawyers cost money.

- Harry.
- Oh, come on, Jessica.

With you carryin' the
ball for me, what do I need

with a lawyer? I got the
utmost confidence in you.

Here's a photo from
the crime scene.

Wade Talmadge slumped
behind the wheel of his car.

So you're saying what, that
Harry called him at his home,

lured him to this secluded
spot under a bridge,

where he could kill him?
That's the way it reads.

And the butler and whoever answered
the phone recognized Harry's voice?

No, actually it was the
housekeeper's day off.

So you don't even know for
sure that there was a phone call.

There had to be. Otherwise, what's
he doing under the bridge? Oh, I see.

Maybe there was a phone
call. Maybe Harry placed it.

Lieutenant, if there was a
call, anybody could've made it.

Mrs. Fletcher. Did you
check Harry's phone...

to see if there was an outgoing
call made to Talmadge's home?

So he used a pay phone.

Did you check anybody
else's phone? Lois Ames?

The phone at the gym?
Uh, Dennis McConnell's?

Mrs. Fletcher,
Harry killed the guy.

Harry McGraw, do you understand?
I'll tell you something else too.

Don't even think
about bail, because the

D.A. says he's going
to the mat on this one.

Something just doesn't
make any sense.

Ma'am, I've got
the guy dead-bang.

Means, motive and opportunity.

Now, this says that there were
no powder burns on his shirt.

Maybe Harry fired
from a distance.

Inside a car? Oh, that
doesn't make any sense.

Mrs. Fletcher, he threatened
the guy. I've got two witnesses.

I know. Mr. Ponzini and
Mr. Shaleen. That's right.

Also Harry doesn't
have an alibi. Yeah, well,

what about the rest
of the people involved?

You said yourself that Mr. Talmadge
was not a very popular man. Mrs. Fletcher.

What about Mr. Shaleen and
his manager, Dennis McConnell?

Now, maybe they were
very happy to be rid

of the arrangement
they had with the victim.

And Lois Ames. What happened to
her when she left Harry's apartment?

- Does she have an alibi?
- No. She doesn't need an alibi.

She doesn't happen to own
a .38 caliber Police Special.

Oh, I see. Is that
it? Your "means."

Just because
Harry carries a .38,

just like the rest of the Boston
police, and Lord knows who else.

There are .38s
and there are .38s.

The D.A. would have my neck if he knew I
was showing you this, but the hell with it.

Anything to get you off my case.

I had Ballistics run a
comparison between the

murder slug and the
one fired from Harry's gun.

Take a good look, please.

That's right, Mrs.
Fletcher, an exact match.

Talmadge was killed
with Harry's gun.

But Harry's gun was
never out of his sight!

Now you got the picture.

Lieutenant, I've gotta go back
and talk to Harry. No. no. no, no.

No, you've had your 15 minutes.

Now, Mrs. Fletcher, it was very
nice seeing you again, but good-bye.

Yeah, but— Good-bye!

Uh, Ponzini's Gym, please.
I think it's on 9th Street.

Yes, ma'am.

[Tire Screeching]

Okay, move it!

- Excuse me.
- Hope you don't mind sharing a ride,
Mrs. Fletcher.

[Jessica] Well, indeed I do.

And how do know me, because
I— I certainly don't know you.

We talked on the phone.
Dave Robinson, Boston Tribune.

Oh, yes.

Lady behind the wheel is
my photographer, Pam Collins.

Hi. Sorry for the detour.
It was his idea. Yeah, well.

Since you clammed up on the phone, I
wanted a chance to talk to you in person.

It's for a series of articles
I'm writing on Wade Talmadge.

Well, isn't that, uh, somewhat
academic now, Mr. Robinson,

since Mr. Talmadge is
dead? What, are you kidding?

That's the first thing they
taught me at the Scranton

School of Journalism:
Murder makes a great headline.

Not that murder was such a big deal
in Scranton. Tough town, tough people.

Anyway, now that
Talmadge is gone, maybe

people won't be so
afraid to talk about him.

Well, still it seems a bit gamy
to rip him up, after a man is dead.

Of such things Pulitzer
Prizes are made, Mrs. Fletcher.

Epitaph for a snake.

The king of the fix goes
down for the long count.

Yes, well, if you're looking for
dirt from me, you're out of luck.

What I know about him, I learned
secondhand. From Harry McGraw.

It's a shame he had to be the one
who got him. I kinda liked the guy.

Surely Mr. Talmadge wasn't as
reprehensible as you paint him.

The guy was a real sack of
garbage. Everybody hated him.

His manager, Dennis
McConnell, Sean

Shaleen. He was bleedin'
those two guys dry.

You see, Talmadge was
fattenin' up the kid's record,

so he could throw him
to the wolves at a price.

Like he did to Cosmo Ponzini
a few years back. Really?

Mr. Ponzini was a
prizefighter? You're kidding me.

Fifteen years ago, Ponzini
had a shot at the title.

But Talmadge yanked out the rug.
Made him dump the fight, or else.

You mean he
threatened him physically?

Now you got the picture.

'Course, Ponzini got a
bundle for goin' in the tank.

Talmadge set him up with that gym, so
he could develop a bunch of new fighters.

Dumb farm boys,
like Sean Shaleen...

Who, if you want the truth, is about
as tough as a wad of Silly Putty.

I see. Then it is possible.
Wait a minute, wait a minute.

- I'm supposed to be interviewing you.
- Yes, but...

But Mr. Robinson— Dave, you know,
when you talk about Mr. Talmadge,

I sense the most terrible
bitterness in your voice.

And I wonder, is your interest
in the story strictly professional,

or if you have another reason for
wanting to expose Wade Talmadge?

I'm a sportswriter, Mrs.
Fletcher. This is strictly a story.

That's all.

Come on, put your
shoulder into it.

Harder, come on!

Oh, no, you tired already?
Kid, you're outta shape.

Come on, Denny, man, you know
what this is. It's a big waste of time.

With McGraw in jail and Talmadge
dead, they're gonna call this fight off.

Maybe. But there's plenty
of others down the road.

Listen, kid, I know you look great in the
mirror, but this isn't a beauty contest.

- You need all the work you can get.
- You know your problem, Denny? Huh?

You don't recognize
talent when you see it.

16 and 0, remember?

You're 16 and 0 against a bunch of green
kids and some over-the-hill beer bellies.

I could've beaten those guys.

Listen to me. You come
up against a real fighter,

kid, you're gonna get
your head handed to you.

Like who, Denny?
Huh? Blaster Boyle?

- The guy couldn't beat eggs unless
somebody cracked the shells for him.
- Don't be so sure.

Denny, I can beat this guy.

It's you and me,
man, right to the top.

Hey, didn't you tell me once
we got out from under Talmadge,

we'd get a real
shot at the title, huh?

Instead of just some
setup for a payday?

Hey, I'm not sayin' you haven't
got guts. I'm talkin' experience here.

I'm not windin' up like Ponzini, a
never-was that nobody remembers.

Hey, come on, Denny.
Talmadge is dead, man.

Don't sell me out.

I'm not gonna do that, kid.

Trust me.

Yeah, right. [Jessica] Hello?

Excuse me, uh, Mr. McConnell?

That's right. My
name is Jessica...

I know who you
are. Mrs. Fletcher.

As soon as I saw
the fight contract,

I made it a point to
check out the competition.

Boxing's, uh, a little
far afield for you, isn't it?

Oh, more than
a little, I'm afraid.

Not that we don't
welcome fresh blood.

You know Sean?
Sean Shaleen, the Irish

Shillelagh, Mrs. J.B.
Fletcher. How do you do?

Blaster Boyle's new
manager. You gotta be kiddin'.

I wish he were. It's a
long story, Mr. Shaleen.

You'll have to tell us
all about it sometime.

Come on, Sean,
let's hit the showers.

Uh, yes, uh...

Excuse me, uh, just one thing.

The other morning when Mr. Talmadge
was killed— What a terrible thing!

Tragic. Someone must have telephoned
him at his house out at Marblehead,

then met him under that bridge.

Not someone, Mrs.
Fletcher, the killer.

Yes. Now, let's see, that
was, uh, 9:00, 9:30, I believe.

And you want to know where I
was. Uh, maybe both of us, is that it?

- Well— - I can tell
you where I was...

We were out doing
roadwork between 8:00 and...

maybe quarter to
10:00. Roadwork.

Oh, yes, of course.
[Ponzini] Hey, Dennis!

Ah—Oh, hey, I just got off
the phone with the TV people.

See? What'd I tell
you? The fight's off.

No, you're wrong,
kid. The fight is on.

I guess they figured that with the killin'
and all, the fight'll get big ratings.

Anyway, I'm gonna be, uh, fillin' in
for Talmadge, you know, promotin'.

So you need anything,
you just call me, huh? Okay.

Excuse me, Mr. Ponzini?

You see the sign?
No women allowed.

Uh, yes, but I, uh— Hit the
showers. I'll be with ya in a minute.

Uh, Mrs. Fletcher.

Uh, looks like your boy and my
boy are gonna be goin' at it after all.

My boy? You're his
manager, aren't you?

Oh, dear. I better do
something about that right away.

Uh, listen, even though Talmadge
is dead, nothing's changed.

What I mean is, I got a lot of time
and money invested in Sean Shaleen,

and I don't expect him to lose
to the likes of Blaster Boyle.

Oh, now, now, just a moment.

If you think that Blaster is going to lose
intentionally to, uh, that shillelagh...

[Chuckles] you
better think again.

Lady, McGraw was
warned. Now I'll warn you.

You tell Blaster not to do anything
stupid, like winnin' that fight.

It could be, uh, exceedingly
dangerous for both of you.

This is Doc 29. Give me 500 on
the nose, Lady Gypsy, fifth at Suffolk.

What do you mean,
you can't take it?

Al, you gotta give me a
chance to get outta the hole.

I been feedin' you a
lotta years. I'm good for it.

Okay. Thanks.

Look, if it doesn't work out, I'll
settle— I'll settle up with you tomorrow.

The whole thing.

Right. Thanks, guy.

Well, Blaster, we
got it, the whole thing.

Five hundred,
right on his buzzola.

You got it, Doc. I
don't bet horses.

You shouldn't either.

Well, I shouldn't have got
married four times either.

What can I say? I'm a pushover.

Doc, Blaster.

Oh, hi, Mrs. Fletcher.
Oh, sit down, Blaster.

- How's Harry?
- Oh, in a lot of trouble, I'm afraid.

- His gun was used to kill Mr. Talmadge.
- That's very incriminating.

Yeah, except that Harry says that
the gun was never out of his sight.

Which means that
someone figured out...

a very ingenious way to
frame Harry for murder.

Sounds to me like
they're succeeding.

Look, Doc, we've just heard
from the television networks.

- They want to go ahead with the fight.
- [Blaster] That's good!

Harry says I can beat him, Doc.

Harry's in jail, Blaster, and not very
likely to get out. You got no manager.

Well, not exactly. Ma'am?

Well, Doc, uh, I am the manager.

You know, on the record
of the Boxing Commission.

Ma'am, you-you don't know
anything about the fight game.

Oh, no, I don't. But you do.

Oh, no, ma'am. I-I'm a
trainer, not a manager.

And besides, I'd feel
funny workin' for a, uh...

I know, no women allowed.

Yeah. Somethin' like that.

I'd pay you well,
Doc, win or lose.

Oh, no, it's not the money,
Mrs. Fletcher— Excuse me.

[Man On TV] ...it's Rosy Posy, leading
by a length, Misty Girl on the rail,

and Stan's Pride, raging up on
the outside, gap of two lengths,

Ain't He Brave, followed by
Boxcars— Where's Lady Gypsy?

Lady Gypsy fading to last,
heading to the eighth pole,

it's Rosy Posy widening
out to two lengths,

followed by Misty Girl, Stan's
Pride, and down the stretch— [TV Off]

[Woman] Hey, I wanna
watch Wheel of Fortune!

Ma'am, uh, about that job...

You think you could manage to
give me an advance on my paycheck?

[Harry] "Promoter Wade
Talmadge went down for the count,

"nailed with a .38
slug to the body.

Authorities are holding ex-P.I. turned
hustler Harry McGraw, 47, of Boston."

- Forty-seven? Where does he get 47?
- Harry!

Now, wait, wait, it gets worse!

"The fight between up-and-coming
Sean Shaleen, the Irish Shillelagh,

"and one time contender Blaster Boyle
remains scheduled for the end of the month,

despite widespread
rumors of corruption."

That makes it sound like I was
in on a fixed fight, which I wasn't!

Harry, will you
please calm down?

You're gonna pop a
blood vessel at this rate.

Look, you've got more
important things to worry

about than some sportswriter.
Like a murder charge.

Now, what have you done
about a lawyer? Nothin'.

Public Defender's Office sent me
some geek fresh outta law school.

He took one look at
Casey's report and asked

me to plead temporary
insanity. Oh, dear.

Yeah, I guess he had
trouble gettin' past the

part where Talmadge
was killed with my gun.

Which just happened to be in my
holster at the time Talmadge was offed.

Well, that part is
a puzzle, Harry.

Now you sound like the
geek. Jessica, tell me.

Did you or didn't you find out
who hung this frame on me?

Well, uh, no, uh...

- Not actually, Harry.
- Well, what were you doin' all day?

Sorry, but it, uh,
doesn't look promising.

Sean Shaleen and his manager,
Dennis McConnell, said...

they were out doing roadwork at the
time that, uh, Mr. Talmadge was killed.

Now, I don't believe that.

Now, let me see, now, Cosmo
Ponzini went to his gym early.

He was there before it opened, and
his employees will verify that. Sure.

What else? Lois Ames claims...

that she returned to her
apartment after she left your place,

and her doorman saw her come in.

And Doc Penrose says
that he went to the track

early to watch the
early morning workouts.

So he says. Jessica, I think
we have to call off this fight.

Oh, no, Harry. The
fight stays. What?

Look, maybe whoever
killed Mr. Talmadge...

wanted to prevent the
fight from happening.

So, if it stays, and is
still scheduled, maybe

that will draw the killer
out of the woodwork.

Oh, great thinking, Jessica. Only
this time he's gonna be after you.

Oh, don't worry about me. I'll
have Blaster with me all the time,

and it'll give me a chance to
poke around the gym some more,

no matter what that sign
on Mr. Ponzini's wall says.

Nah, I don't like it.

And how do you feel about spending
the next 30 years of your life in jail?

You'll be 77 years old, you
know, when you come out.

Jessica, you shouldn't believe
everything you read in the papers.

[Man On TV] The death of
boxing promoter Wade Talmadge...

hasn't stopped the career of
the up-and-coming slugger...

Sean, the Irish
Shillelagh, Shaleen,

as he goes after win number 17
at the arena a week from Friday...

against one-time
contender Blaster Boyle.

The former Wisconsin farm
boy is a perfect 1 6 and 0...

against some pretty
tough competition...

and Boyle just doesn't
look like much of a threat.

Raised on his family farm,

a few miles east of Sheboygan,

Sean learned the meaning
of hard work early in life.

But it wasn't long before the
Shaleens discovered pugilism.

Actually, Sean's first
love was duck hunting,

and he became a real
wizard with a 12-gauge,

outshooting oldsters
three times his age.

But at age 1 6, he'd already won the
Junior Athletics Boxing Championship,

and from there it was a quick
hop to a professional career,

under the tutelage of his
manager, Dennis McConnell.

An up-an-comer? You bet.

And as we said, Blaster
Boyle, good as he used to be,

will be no match for
this fighting Irishman.

One reason is
because— Get this, folks—

Blaster Boyle's new manager is not a
grizzled old veteran of the fight wars,

but a very sweet
and charming lady,

a writer of murder mysteries,

who doesn't know a
left jab from a right cross.

Sorry, Blaster, you
were a good fighter,

but in this reporter's opinion,
it's time for you to hang 'em up.

You and your manager. [TV Off]

Easy on that stuff. Easy.

[Doc] You look beat. You're
not gonna last till Friday.

Oh, come on, Doc. I feel great.

Wasn't talkin' about you.

[Chuckles]

Well, if you're worried
about me, Doc, I...

I can go on like this forever.

Yeah, if forever comes
tomorrow morning.

You know, you
don't have to do this.

You're not the one
that's fightin' Shaleen.

You know, I'm gonna
beat that guy, Mrs. Fletcher.

I'm gonna do it
for you and Harry.

I mean, it is okay, isn't
it, ma'am? I mean, to win?

Oh, yes, of course, Blaster.
I, uh, I was just thinking...

I had an idea that, uh, maybe
someone wanted the fight called off,

and maybe that was the reason
that Talmadge was killed. But, uh...

Well, I—I think I was
wrong about that.

Well, whoever killed Mr. Talmadge,
I can't get real mad at him.

I mean, killin’ isn’t right, but
Mr. Talmadge, he was a real bad man.

Makin’ people lose fights.
I mean, that was real bad.

Well, apparently you weren't the
only one that he pressured, Blaster.

There was Mr. Ponzini.
And a lot more than that.

I can name you a dozen fighters
that creep chewed up and spit out.

Gutty guys like
Carlos Montenegro,

Willie Brandeis, Mickey
Brewster, helluva lightweight.

Lou Robbie, the
Scranton Scrapper,

Tommy Novinski, nice
kid with a great right.

Whoa, Doc, back up a bit there.

Uh, this, this fella
from Scranton?

Lou Robbie, the
Scranton Scrapper.

- I never heard of him, Doc.
- That was a few years ago, kid.

A real solid middleweight,
right on his way to the top...

till he ran into
Wade Talmadge...

and lost a fight
he should've won.

Let's see, that
was 15 years ago.

I remember the night of the fight seein'
Talmadge and a couple of his enforcers...

comin' out of Robbie's dressin' room
just a few minutes before the fight.

That night, Robbie got
beaten silly for 10 rounds.

He wouldn't defend himself.
Just kept takin' punches.

And after every round,
he'd go back to his corner...

and stare down at Talmadge
and just give him this look.

What happened to him, Doc?

After the fight, he collapsed.

Wound up in the
hospital for a week,

while Talmadge's boy
got a shot at the title.

He was never the
same after that.

Then Lou Robbie is still alive?

Yeah. Last I heard, he
went back to Scranton,

workin’ in some
bowlin' alley as a janitor.

[Dave] Come on Charlie.
Don't give me that.

No, no, look, I know what
happened in Memphis.

I'm just trying to get
confirmation, so I can use it.

What are you afraid of? I mean,
the man is dead, for cryin' out loud!

No, Charlie, Charlie, I'm
not tryin' to embarrass you.

Fine! I'll get it from
somebody else!

Geez! Charlie Pendelton used
to manage Jo Jo Gutierrez, right?

Hear no evil, see
no evil, speak no evil.

Pam, where's the one with
Talmadge and the senator?

Did you call A. P.? Yeah,
but they couldn't find it.

What do you mean, they couldn't
find it? It was on their wire last year.

Well, they know, but
they couldn't find it, okay?

Would you get off my back?

Dave, Dave, Dave, this story...

I think maybe you should drop it.
There's something happening to you.

- I'm just tired, okay?
- No, no, it's not just that.

Pamela, lay off, all
right? I just don't need this.

Yeah, I know. Guess you don't
need much of anything, do you?

[Phone Rings]

[Sighs]

Hello.

Marty, Marty, what are you
doin' callin' me on this line?

I told you this is
for outgoing only!

Yeah? Yeah, okay,
okay. What have you got?

[Whispering] There's a woman downstairs
looking through the record files.

Mrs. Fletcher!

Uh, excuse me, Miss.

It's all right,
Blaster. She's okay.

Mrs. Fletcher, I heard that you were
down here, looking through the back issues.

What are you looking for?

Look, uh, I don't know
what you're trying to prove.

I can't prove anything, Pam.

But one thing I
have figured out.

Your boss— Dave
Robinson's crusade...

against Wade Talmadge
is personal, isn't it?

Very personal.

Dave was only 12 years old...

when his father took that
savage beating, Mrs. Fletcher.

Lou came home to
Scranton nearly a vegetable.

And is that why Dave became a
sportswriter? To settle a score?

I guess with Talmadge, it was real
personal. But can you blame him?

No, I couldn't
blame him for, uh...

Well, for writing
about Mr. Talmadge.

Mrs. Fletcher,
Dave didn't kill him.

Well, he certainly
had good reason to.

No argument there, but while
Talmadge was being shot,

Dave was at my place,
and I will swear to that.

- And would you lie to it?
- If I had to.

As if you haven't figured it
out, Mrs. Fletcher, I love the guy.

Not that it's mutual.

Dave is so wrapped up in
his story and his career...

that I'm just an
accessory to his life.

But, yes, I would lie.

Only in this case, I don't
have to. It'd be the truth.

Well, I'd like to believe that.

Pam, about Mr. Talmadge—

I did a little research,

and one thing I
noticed, his clothes.

He seems to have been
something of a fashion plate.

Yeah, you mean the preppy look.

[Chuckles] He
worked real hard at it.

He came out of the
Chicago tenements.

Guess that's why he always
tried to be Mr. Ivy League.

You know, with the tweed jackets, the
cashmere sweaters, the whole schmear.

You know, when
they found the body,

he was wearing a pair of
slacks and a plain white shirt.

No. No, that doesn't
sound like Talmadge.

Dave and I bird-dogged him for months. He
wouldn't be caught dead lookin' like that.

Yeah, but that's just the point. He
was caught dead looking like that.

- Unless— - What? What is it?

Oh, it—it was just a thought.

Pam, thanks for
everything. I've got to run.

Come on, Blaster. We've
got to be on our way.

Bye.

Still tryin' to make
sense of the ponies, Doc?

Everybody needs
a hobby. Expensive.

So's women and
booze. I tried 'em both.

Horses don't talk back, and
they don't give you a hangover.

So, Doc, uh, I hear...

you're helpin' the, uh, Fletcher dame
get Blaster Boyle ready for the fight.

No secret. Your
boy's gonna lose, Doc.

We'll see.

You're not hearin' me.
Your boy's gonna lose.

How come you suddenly sound
so much like Wade Talmadge?

I got an investment
in Shaleen, Doc.

I don't want anything
funny to happen.

Get outta here, McConnell.

Come on, Doc,
Sean's got a future.

Blaster's just,
uh, markin' time.

The money's the same
for him, win or lose.

Oh! You want me to sweeten the
kitty a little something extra. How much?

- You don't hear so good.
- When did you suddenly
get so damn noble?

This is a dollars
and cents business.

I just wanna make sure
we all come out ahead.

Look, the Fletcher woman
bailed you out with the bookies

this time. So how about a
couple of weeks from now?

You need a cushion,
Doc, and I'm offerin'.

[Chuckles] Come on.

You listen to me, you scuzzball.

I've spent my whole life
watchin' this game get

screwed around by guys
like you and Wade Talmadge,

suckin' the life outta fighters,
decent fighters, like Blaster,

[Phone Rings] who had to go
along, 'cause they had no choice.

Well, this time we got a choice.

You tell Shaleen to
keep his chin covered.

Is there a Dennis
McConnell here?

Hey, there's a telephone
call for Dennis McConnell.

Yeah!

McConnell.

What are you callin'
me here for? You crazy?

I wanted to talk to you, Denny.
It's been a couple of days.

I told you, I'll call you. Look.

I've been following Mrs. Fletcher.
She was talking to the photographer.

The-The one that
works for Dave Robinson.

So what? She's asking
a lot of questions.

- So she's nosy.
- She's not giving in, Denny.

- Not while McGraw's still in jail.
- Well, what are you worried about?

About cops, okay?

Look, that night that-that
I spent with McGraw...

I did that for you, honey. And didn't
I express my appreciation, hmm?

Lois, cool it for a while.

And like I said, don't
call me, I'll call you.

[Casey] Well,
well, Mrs. Fletcher.

Just, uh, happened to
be in the neighborhood?

Uh, no, Lieutenant.
But I had a thought.

I wanted to talk to
Mr. Talmadge's housekeeper.

Is that right? Uh, about what?

Well, I think that my hunch about
the way that he was dressed is valid.

I mean, he was just
not the sort of man...

who would wear a
shirt and a pair of slacks.

Clothes were very
important to him.

Almost like a status symbol. You
could say they were like a uniform.

Herringbone jacket and
a gray cashmere sweater.

What? Same thing occurred to me.

I had the housekeeper check through
his things. That's what's missing.

The jacket and the sweater.

Which means he was wearing
them when he was shot.

Yeah, maybe. Well,
of course he was.

There were no powder
burns on his shirt,

which means that the killer
removed the sweater and the jacket.

But why, and where are they?

Well, my men are looking
for them, Mrs. Fletcher,

and they're starting with
Harry McGraw's apartment.

Lieutenant, about that phone call
that you think was made to this house.

That is still the theory.

Well, have you checked anybody
else's phone? We're work...

Look, Mrs. Fletcher, you and
Harry can huff and puff all you want.

It's not gonna change one thing.

Talmadge was killed
with Harry's gun.

Harry had the gun when
Talmadge was killed.

Now, if you can come up with
an answer to that, maybe I'll listen.

Will you excuse me?

[Harry] It may have been
my gun, but I didn't kill him.

Harry, are you certain that you
had your gun with you at all times?

It is always with
me at all times.

Well, not all times. I mean,
I—I do not sleep with it.

Especially on those occasions
when I am entertaining a young lady.

Uh, Harry...

Harry, when you, uh,
disrobed for the evening,

- what did you do with your gun?
- The same thing I always do.

I hung the holster on a
hook in my bedroom closet.

Aha. Question.

Is it possible that Lois Ames...

might have come to your place
carrying another .38 Police Special,

which she substituted
for your gun?

Nah, she wouldn't...

I said, is it possible?

I, uh, can't believe that you,
uh, stayed awake all night.

Well, no, no, Jessica,
it doesn't work.

See, I put the holster
on the next morning.

Now, even if she made the switch, she
wouldn't have had time to switch it back.

Because Casey arrested me later
that morning, and it was my gun he took.

Something is missing.

Aha, from the look on your face,
Casey, this has gotta be good news for me.

Yeah, McGraw,
it's your lucky day.

We just got a readout
on outgoing calls...

from a certain phone
the morning of the murder.

At 8:00, a two-minute
call was placed to

Wade Talmadge's house
in, uh, in Marblehead.

From which phone?

- From Cosmo Ponzini's office.
- There you go!

- I was nowhere near that place.
- Wait a minute, hotshot.

This doesn't prove anything yet.

Of course it does, Lieutenant.
It proves that Harry was framed.

Ponzini, that barf-bag. I
knew it. Come on, Jessica.

I want a piece of that guy. Wait
a minute, just hold it, McGraw.

You're goin' nowhere until I
talk to the D.A. Come on, Casey.

Which I'm planning
to do as soon as I have

a little chat with this,
uh, Cosmo Ponzini.

Uh, uh, Lieutenant,
just a suggestion.

Look, even if the phone
call was made from Ponzini's

office, that doesn't mean
that he made the call.

I mean, from what I can
gather, that office is never locked.

So?

Well, uh, maybe
we'd have more luck...

if, uh—well, if I
just poked around.

I mean, none of them
there take me very seriously,

particularly
Mr. Ponzini and, uh...

Well, who knows,
I might just, uh...

Stumble over something that
they wouldn't let slip in front of you.

No, um, no, it's too dangerous.

Oh, but I'd have
Blaster with me.

Oh, don't worry. I
would be perfectly safe.

[Dennis] Left up,
keep it up, kid.

Slip the right, move inside.

Inside, Sean. There!

Hey, Blaster, what
are you doin' here?

Come to spy on your opponent?

I've seen him fight
already, Mr. Ponzini.

He didn't show me nothin'.
Yeah? We'll see about that.

Hey, lady, I told ya the
last time you was here that...

Yes, I understand, Mr. Ponzini,
and I don't intend to stay long.

The fact is, I'm a little
puzzled about some things,

and, uh, I want to ask you a
question or two. About what?

The day that
Mr. Talmadge was killed...

- What time did you open up the gym?
- 7:00, 7:30.

And you were here at 8:00 a.m.?

And so were a lot of
other people. So what?

Uh, what other people?

Look, lady, I ain't got time to
answer a lot of dumb questions.

Oh, oh, there's no need
to be upset, Mr. Ponzini.

I'm sure that you have nothing
to hide in Mr. Talmadge's murder.

Me? You're crazy!

All right, you wanna
know who was here?

Okay, there were two
club fighters from Brockton,

uh, there was Moxey who
cleans the, uh, locker room,

and there was, uh, Doc Penrose—
He was just leavin' for the races,

and, uh, oh, Dennis and Shaleen.

The kid had just finished
out workin’ on the heavy bag,

and then they were goin’ out to
do some roadwork, and uh, that's it.

Okay? Any other questions?

Just one more thing.

Did any one of them ask to
use the telephone in your office?

Ask? Ha! Around
here nobody asks.

The phone is there, they use it.

So, Mrs. Fletcher, still at it?

Still trying to hang the
murder on somebody else?

Well, actually, I
was inquiring— No!

You were pokin' your nose
in where it doesn't belong,

and I'm gettin' a little tired of
it. Excuse me, Mr. McConnell.

There's no call to use that tone
of voice. You keep out of this.

I'm just sayin' you
could be more polite.

- Get your hands off him, Boyle.
- I'm just tryin' to protect
the lady, that's all.

That's all right, Blaster.

Look, why don't you and
this busybody get outta here?

Don't do that. I'm
gonna tell you somethin'.

I'm gettin' kinda
tired of both of you.

Hey!

Kid, kid, you all right?

It's okay. What, are
you nuts or somethin'?

Look what you did! Come
on, let's get him to the showers.

Does that mean there
won't be any fight?

[Phone Rings] [Sean]
Look, I'm tellin’ you.

I didn't make any phone calls
to anybody from that office.

Did you see anybody
else use the phone?

Mr. Shaleen, you must tell
us what you know. Please.

Denny didn't kill
anybody! Denny?

Dennis McConnell, your manager?
You saw him use the phone?

No.

I didn't see him exactly.

He went into the office a
couple of times to use the phone.

To call some woman, I think.

What woman? I don't know.

He didn't talk about her much.

I knew he had somethin' goin'.

He tried earlier a couple of times,
but she wasn't answerin' the phone.

Or she was out.

Phone company doesn't show
any outgoing calls that morning...

except for the one
to Marblehead. Okay.

So maybe he never
did get through.

Look, all I know is Denny
comes out of the office,

and he says we was
gonna skip the roadwork.

He had some place to go.

I figure he's gonna see the
lady, so I don't ask any questions.

[Casey's Voice]
So Dennis took off.

[Sean's Voice] And I went back to
my hotel room to watch a little TV.

[Casey's Voice] The first time you told
me you were out doin' roadwork. You lied.

[Sean's Voice] I
didn't lie. Denny lied.

I just kept my mouth shut.

There you go, Casey,
your phone call.

You got the guy dead-bang.

I got nothin', McGraw,
except maybe a can of worms.

Hey, you don't believe all that
stuff about a dame, do you? I do.

Jessica, you're supposed
to be on my side.

I also think I know
who the lady is.

Lois Ames.

Lois? You're nuts.
She's crazy about me.

[Doorman] Like I told
the cops— Miss Ames,

uh, she came in
about a quarter to 8:00.

She was out all night,
if-if you catch my drift.

Uh, yes. Uh, now what I
am most interested in is

a man who may have
shown up a short time later.

Come on, lady, I can get in a lot
of trouble talkin' to you like this.

Yeah, the guy, well, uh...

He was medium build,
about six feet, dark hair.

That's him. Yeah, well,
I can't tell you his name,

but, uh, he'd been poppin' in
and out the past couple of weeks.

Always when the coast was
clear, if you catch my drift.

Yes, I'm-I'm still catching it.

And how long were they upstairs?

Well, long enough, I guess.

I mean, the guy came down about 10:00 and,
uh, Miss Ames, uh, she left about 11:00.

Uh-huh. And they were in
her apartment the entire time?

Sure. I guess so.

I mean, they couldn't have
left without me knowin' about it.

Come on, Blaster. We've got another
stop to make. Thank you very much.

Nice seein' ya.
Come back anytime.

Uh, no, Blaster, you stay here.

Oh, gee, I don't
know, Mrs. Fletcher.

I need some answers. And this time, I
don't think that intimidation is the key.

[Sports Announcer, Indistinct]

Hello. Am I interrupting?
Oh, not at all. Come on in.

Make yourself comfortable. The, uh, corned
beef's tough and the linebackers aren't.

I don't want to bother you, Mr. Robinson,
but, uh, I need some information.

Possibly the kind that
only you can give me.

You wanna know
about Lou Robbie, right?

Whether or not I hated
Talmadge enough...

to kill him for turning
my dad into a vegetable?

Well, that's not why I came. No?

The way I figure it, I'm "A" number one
on your suspect list. Not at the moment.

Oh, you have a very
good motive, of course, but

I don't believe that
you're the killer type.

With a gun, or with this?

You see, Mrs. Fletcher,
I, uh, I killed the story.

Pam was right. Talmadge was
dead and he was still eatin' me alive.

Funny, huh? Anyway, I
gave the whole thing up.

The whole story, in the
wastebasket. And you know what?

For the first time in
years, I feel pretty terrific.

Good. Obsessions
can be very poisonous.

- So what can I do for you?
- Tell me about Lois Ames.

Well, what's to tell? Uh,
an ex-showgirl, real hustler.

Always has a knack for latching
onto the main chance, you know?

Why do you ask? You think
she shot Talmadge? I don't know.

She's the only one who had
access to Harry McGraw's gun,

and she was having an
affair with Dennis McConnell.

Well, she never did have much
taste, but I mean—shoot Talmadge.

I mean, what for? He
was her meal ticket.

Even if she'd fallen
in love with Dennis?

Mrs. Fletcher, that woman doesn't
know the meaning of the word.

Well, thank you, Mr. Robinson. I'm
sorry to have bothered you. Anytime.

[Announcer] ...flanked wide— Howard
drops back into the shotgun formation,

Larussa's in motion,
the snap, he steps up.

Donaldson on a fly pattern.

Shotgun?

Oh, my goodness!

Lieutenant, did you find the
missing sweater and jacket?

Uh, no. I doubt if we ever will.

Sid, don't give me maybes.
Just tell me, could the guy and

his girlfriend get out of the
building without being seen?

Uh, Lieutenant. I don't know.

Staircase, fire escape,
elevator to the garage, whatever.

Lieutenant, what kind of
powder burns would result...

if Mr. Talmadge has been
shot with, say, a shotgun?

What, shot with a shotgun?
He was plugged with a .38.

I tell you what, Sid, forget it.

What's comin' out of the
academy these days? Retards.

Well, it could have been
a shotgun. I think it was.

Oh, do you really? Next
class enrolls in three weeks.

You'll fit right in. Lieutenant.

Do you or do you not want to know
who the real killer of Wade Talmadge is?

- You know who did it?
- Yes.

I think so. But I need
your help to prove it.

Help. Right.

- The kind of help that could
cost me my badge?
- Well, maybe, if I'm wrong.

What the hell, I'm
nowhere. What do you need?

Well, first, release Harry
McGraw from custody,

and second, make sure that
everyone involved knows about it.

- So far, so good.
- Then you saw him too?

He picked us up
around 4th Street.

All right, Harry, now let's try
to reconstruct what happened.

Now Mr. Ponzini hit you and you
fell to the floor. Now where was that?

Right here.

- Would you mind getting down
on the floor, please?
- Oh, Jessica.

The same position
you were in that night.

Yeah, okay.

Now, you-you start to
draw your gun, right?

- I'd like to oblige you,
but Casey confiscated it.
- Well, then we'll just pretend.

Now, you draw your gun.

Now, Mr. Ponzini grabs your
wrist. Right. Then he pulled me up.

Uh-huh. And in the struggle,
the gun goes off. Where?

Uh, here.

Aha. Well, the bullet must
have embedded itself...

either in the wall or in
one of these cushions.

Yeah, but where's
the bullet hole? There.

There. The bullet went
right into the pillow,

and, uh-uh, it's gone.

Just as I thought. It was dug out
of here by Wade Talmadge's killer.

I was right, Harry.

Someone took the slug and
packed it into a shotgun shell,

and fired it at Wade
Talmadge at close range.

And because it was
fired by a shotgun,

the ballistics markings
weren't disturbed.

Even to a trained eye, it appeared
to have been fired from your pistol.

- A shotgun? You sure?
- Oh, I'm positive.

That's why the killer had to remove
Mr. Talmadge's jacket and sweater.

The powder burns from a shotgun blast
would have given the whole thing away.

- They'd be far more extensive
than those that came from a pistol.
- Okay, so who?

Well, it had to be someone who
knew the slug was buried in this sofa.

Someone who was here
when your gun went off.

Someone who had a working
knowledge of shotguns.

Someone who had access to that
phone that morning to call Talmadge...

and lure him to his death, and someone who
had no alibi for the time of the shooting.

- Someone— - Someone
named Sean Shaleen.

- That was what you were getting to,
wasn't it, Mrs. Fletcher?
- Yes, Sean. Actually, it was.

You know, you're a pretty smart
lady. A lot smarter than you, bozo.

- Harry, this is no time to get him angry.
- Angry?

No, no, I'm not angry.

To tell you the truth,
I'm a little scared.

- Why'd you kill him, kid?
- Why?

Can't you figure it
out for yourself? Huh?

He was gonna force me to
dump a big fight for a price.

And it was either
that or get killed.

I guess you could kinda say it
was like self-defense, you know?

Him or me.

Yeah, but then you had to drag
me into it. I'm sorry about that.

Look, you threatened the guy, McGraw.
Man, you were beggin' to be set up.

And when that shot went wild, man, I-I
realized what I could do with that slug.

Being an expert with a shotgun?

I caught that sportscast
on television, Sean.

Yeah, I'm sorry you did.

- You're gonna be a lot sorrier, kid.
- Have you heard enough, Lieutenant?

Oh, please, Mrs. Fletcher. [Casey]
You came through loud and clear.

Freeze, turkey!

- You said Casey took your gun away.
- So I lied.

Cows, Doc? You
and a bunch of cows?

Yeah, I'm gonna be a gentleman
farmer, Harry. Me and Blaster.

Gonna be partners in his
dairy farm down in Tennessee.

I give you three
months. No, make it two.

Okay, two eggs over easy ham,

whole wheat, a Denver
with a side of fries,

two poached with bacon, white toast,
heavyweight special with sausage,

two slabs of ham, two
English, and a large O.J.

More coffee coming up.

All right. You can forget
about Dave and Pam.

What, they're too
good to eat with us?

- No, they're on their way
to city hall to get a license.
- Marriage?

You know, I'd drink to that, but
I'm afraid it'd spoil my appetite.

Well, I'll drink to somebody.

Here's to Jessica. The
best legman a P.I. ever had.

Hey, Harry, you got that a
little screwed up, don't you?

Oh, incidentally, not only did I
get Benny Falcone off my back,

but, here you are, 5,000 clams.

Never let it be said Harry
McGraw welshed on a debt.

Oh, Harry, are you
sure? I mean, how...

How? I made a deal
with the TV people.

But-but the fight has
been canceled. I know.

But I sold them
something even better.

The inside story of a tough,
resourceful private eye,

who single-handedly broke open one of
the largest murder cases of the decade.

Single-handedly?

So I exaggerated a little.

What's a little white
lie between friends?

[All Laughing]