Murder, She Wrote (1984–1996): Season 4, Episode 16 - Murder Through the Looking Glass - full transcript

Tonight on Murder, She Wrote.

Mr. Cosgrove has turned up
on a cold slab in the morgue.

I met him right after
he'd been shot in the head

and the heart and dumped
into the Connecticut River.

Mrs. Fletcher?

I wanna to know what the
dying man said in his confession.

Naturally, Adams's
death was a loss.

Not to everyone. You got what
you wanted. You're in charge.

- A lady this persistent could be trouble.
- Let's get it over with quickly.

That's a bad place to
stand, pal. You're in my way.

No!



Okay, face me.

Just to satisfy my curiosity,
who ordered this hit?

What good would it do you?

Wonderful speech, Mrs.
Fletcher. Oh, thank you very much.

I wouldn't have missed it
for anything. Oh, they could

have you back every year,
as far as I'm concerned.

You're very kind.

Mrs. Fletcher, uh, I don't think you
really had time to enjoy your dessert.

Listen, there's a wonderful
place right up the street

where we can relax and
have a great cup of coffee.

Best in Hartford.

It sounds like a wonderful
idea. Thanks. All right.

Is he all right?

My heart. I'll call
the paramedics.



It's all right. They'll
be right here.

Can't breathe.

A priest.

Get me a priest.

Get me a priest. Yes. Yes.

Is there a Catholic
church nearby?

Father!

Father, I have sinned.

I killed a man tonight.

Carl Cosgrove...

from Farm-
Farmington-"H" and "H"-

He spoke to you. What did
he say? He wants a priest.

He's dead.

No, Edie, I did not have
a fight with your sister.

No. Nothing. Nothing happened.

I'm sitting home, minding
my own business, I'm

watching the Celtics
game when Norma walks in-

- Hey, what is this?
- The exhibitionist who stabbed
the woman in the park.

Morey. Flash and slash.

So I'm watching the Celts
game and Norma walks in,

and she asks me what do I think
of this new dress she just bought.

So I tell her.

The next thing I know, she's
upstairs and she's packing a bag.

Look, Edie, all I wanna
know is, is she there?

Uh, pardon me. Could you tell
me where I'll find Sergeant Cooper?

Sure. He's right there
at that desk. Thank you.

Edie, look, I don't think
your divorce entitles

you to give me a
lecture on married life.

Hey, hey, wait a
minute! Don't hang up!

I need your cousin Shirley's
phone number. Please?

Uh, Sergeant Cooper?
Yeah, yeah, yeah. Is that 204?

Yeah. All right.

Yeah, thanks, Edie. Listen-

Yeah, and if you hear from
her, will you let me know?

Right. Okay.

Yes?

- I'm Jessica Fletcher. We spoke
on the phone about a half hour ago.
- Yeah. Yeah.

Morey. Morey! The bodies in the
cement mixer. They're on my desk.

Sorry.

I'm the one who made the report last night
about the man who died in the accident.

Yeah. Yeah. Uh, John Doe.

He didn't have any
identification on him.

Oh, that's very
odd. No, it's not odd.

There's a lot of guys
walkin' around out there

these days with nothin'
in their pockets but holes.

Yes, but he wasn't walking
around. He was driving a car.

A t the very least, he
would have a driver's license.

Unless he wanted to conceal his identity
because he was a professional killer.

Oh. Well! A professional killer.

Uh, yeah, Mrs.- Uh, Mrs. Fletcher,
where did you get that idea?

From his dying confession-"H" and
"H." I reported it to the night watch.

"H" and "H." What do you
know about "H" and "H"?

Uh, well, if my research is
accurate, it means "head and heart."

What does that mean to you?

Well, I believe a bullet in both places
is the mark of a professional killing.

Okay. All right.

For the sake of argument, let's say
John Doe was a professional killer.

Now, you tell me, why would
he confess to his last job?

Because it was his last
job, and he knew that it was,

and he did not want to die
with that on his conscience.

That's good.

A hit man with a conscience.
Well, he wasn't always a hit man.

I mean, something in him
remembered that at the end.

And you believed that?

Yes, I believed him, Sergeant.

And I expect the
police to investigate.

I suggest you start with
Carl Cosgrove in Farmington.

Okay. Why not?

Give me information.

Uh, oh, pardon me.
Directory Assistance.

You wanna listen?
Pick up the extension.

Hello.

Yes, this is the residence of
Carl Cosgrove. I'm Mrs. Cosgrove.

Yeah, Mrs. Cosgrove, this is Sergeant
Milton Cooper of the Hartford Police.

Look, I'm sorry to disturb
you at this hour, ma'am,

but we got a report here
that your husband may be, uh-

uh, missing.

No.

You've been
misinformed, Sergeant.

My husband is upstairs in bed.

Could I talk to him please?
I wanna clear this up.

I'm sorry.

Carl can't speak on the phone
right now. He was working

in the rose garden and got
one of his asthma attacks.

I can have him call
you when he recovers.

No, no. That won't be
necessary. W-Wait. Wait.

Uh, Mrs. Cosgrove,

is it possible that there is another
Carl Cosgrove in Farmington?

I don't know of any. To
whom am I speaking?

Oh, my name is Jessica Fletcher.

And does your husband always take to
his bed when he has an asthma attack?

Good-bye, Mrs. Cosgrove.

Lady, what do you
want? This guy is alive.

We only have his
wife's word for it.

Oh, come on, Mrs. Fletcher.

I'm sorry, but I know what I
heard, and something is wrong.

You know what's wrong?

What's wrong here
is that I'm sitting here

listening to you instead
of getting my work done.

Are we through, Mrs. Fletcher?
Yes, yes, we are through, Sergeant.

And thank you very
much for all your help.

Don't mention it. Ever.

Cooper.

Morning. Good morning.

How can I help you?

My name is Jessica Fletcher.
I'd like to see Mrs. Cosgrove.

Well, she didn't call your name
down, ma'am. Is she expecting you?

Well, not exactly.

I was talking to her
on the telephone a

little while ago with
police Sergeant Cooper,

and I'd like to continue
our interrupted conversation.

- She doesn't look like a cop.
- I'm sorry, ma'am.

What was your name
again? Jessica Fletcher.

Maybe we'd better clear
this one with Adams.

Adams isn't here.

Just a moment.

Pierce.

Hold on. What's the verdict?

I heard the tape of the phone
call. Sounds like the same woman.

A lady this persistent
could be trouble.

- Let's get it over with quickly.
- Let her in.

Company, dear.

You may go in, Mrs.
Fletcher. Thank you.

Hello. Won't you
come in? Thank you.

I'm Ellen Cosgrove.
Is it Mrs. Fletcher? Yes.

I won't say I'm not
surprised to see you.

Oh, I can imagine.

I'm here to apologize
for any distress you may

have been caused by
Sergeant Cooper's phone call.

Ah. It was rather brusque.

And in all fairness, I feel
that I owe you an explanation.

Frankly, I have been dying
of curiosity ever since the call.

Where did the police get
the idea Carl was missing?

A concerned citizen.
Thank God he was home.

I mean, what if he hadn't
been? I would've been

worried sick. That
call was like a bad joke.

Actually, Mrs. Cosgrove,

the police were told that something
may have happened to Carl Cosgrove.

But, of course, having made contact
with you we know that's not true.

Mrs. Fletcher, I think
it's time to introduce

you to my husband.
This way, please.

Darling, are you awake?

Here's someone who
wants to meet you.

Jessica Fletcher, my
husband, Carl Cosgrove.

Mr. Cosgrove, your wife has told me
about your asthma attack. I'm so sorry.

- Does she buy it?
- Not for a minute.

Must you always be negative?

Get some rest.

I'm going to show Mrs.
Fletcher the rest of the house.

So nice meeting you.

I saw nothing wrong.

Mm-mmm. Her body language.

The way she looked at the mirror-straight
at it. She wasn't checking her lipstick.

Yeah, I caught that too.

I know you are
there, Señor Jackson.

I do not like role-playing.
Do you understand?

Yes, of course, Señor Delgado.

But such moments are sometimes
necessary to maintain security.

¿Comprende?

Comandante, is something wrong?

The comandante feels uneasy.

He wants to return
to Washington today.

Well, that cannot be arranged.

But you tell him that we will
take him tomorrow afternoon.

I will not stay
here another night!

I demand to see Señor
Adams, your superior.

Tell him to take a number.

Mr. Adams isn't available.

He's in Washington arranging the security
for your appearance before the committee.

The comandante begs your
pardon, but he does not believe you.

Mrs. Fletcher, a Father
Francis was looking for you.

Father Francis? A priest?

Yes. He left a message.

He wants you to meet him
at his church, St. Jerome’s.

It's two blocks east. You can't
miss it. Oh, thank you very much.

Mrs. Fletcher?

Oh. Oh, please. I'm sorry. Forgive
me. I didn't mean to startle you.

Oh, it's quite all
right. It's just a little

difficult to talk when
your heart's in your throat.

I felt self-conscious hanging around
your lobby. I thought this would be better.

Oh, yes. How did
you know my name?

I just described you to your desk
clerk. He was kind enough to identify you.

And thank you for coming.

Oh, I was very curious. What
is it that you want from me?

I want to know what the dying
man said in his confession.

Oh, yes. Yes, you were
interested in that last night.

That confession was
meant for a priest.

Yes. Of course.

That's true.

He said, "I just killed a
man." A Carl Cosgrove.

Yes, one of my
parishioners, a police officer,

was telling me that
the man was identified

as a professional
killer from another city.

Tell me, did he say who
hired him to kill Mr. Cosgrove?

No. And I just met Mr. Cosgrove,
and he seemed very much alive.

You're sure it was
the Mr. Cosgrove?

Father, what is it
you want to know?

Anything I can
do for you, Father?

No. Thank you very much, Father.

Father Sweeney. His eyes
aren't what they used to be.

Well, in the words of
Saint Thomas Aquinas,

"We are much as we see.
Faith is sight and knowledge."

And the old boy certainly
knew what he was talking about.

- Are you, by any chance, Mrs. Fletcher?
- Yes.

There's a telephone call for
you. You can take it in my office.

Oh, thank you very much.

Yes? Yeah, Mrs. Fletcher?

I'm glad I found you. This is Sergeant
Cooper. How did you know where-

The desk clerk.

Listen, I would take it as a personal favor
if you would come down here right away.

- What's happened?
- Well, they just pulled a guy
out of the Connecticut River.

The guy had been dead
for several hours, with two

bullets in him-one in his
head and one in his heart.

And, oh, yeah-his I.D. says he
is Carl Cosgrove of Farmington.

No, no, Shirley, I'm
not calling you a liar.

No. Will you listen for a
minute? All I said was, if Norma

didn't go to her sister's,
she had to go to her cousin's.

Shirley, I don't believe you.

Oh! Hey, hey.
Watch your language.

Hey, you know that
I can bust people for

talking like that on
the telephone, Shirley.

Will you tell Norma to call me?

So, Mrs. Fletcher, sorry.
Seems like you were right.

Mr. Cosgrove has turned up
on a cold slab in the morgue.

He's also in a warm
bed in Farmington.

I met him right after he'd
been shot in the head and

the heart and dumped
into the Connecticut River...

and he seemed to
have taken it very well.

You went to that house? You had no business
interfering in a murder investigation.

There was no
murder investigation.

You practically threw
me out of this office.

But that was before the
dead man who confessed

to me was identified
as a professional killer.

Nobody knows he was
identified. How do you know?

I heard it in church.

Sergeant, something
very strange is going on.

Pardon me. The
photo lab sent this over.

Oh, thanks, Arlene.

Mr. Cosgrove?

Uh, that is not the
Mr. Cosgrove that I met.

Time for a house call.

What can I do for you folks?

- You can open the gate.
- No, I can't do that.

Then I'll use you
for a battering ram.

Right.

I'm sorry. Mrs.
Cosgrove has gone out.

I'm her brother. If there's
anything I can do to help, I'll-

What about Mr. Cosgrove?
Has he gone out too?

Uh, yes. They left together.

I don't expect them back
until later this evening.

I'm glad Mr. Cosgrove
is feeling better.

Well, I'll tell him. I'm sure
he'll appreciate your concern.

- Yeah. You don't mind
if I look around a little bit, do you?
- Yes, I do mind.

Stop where you are.

That's a bad place to
stand, pal. You're in my way.

- No!
- That's far enough.

Easy with that. Clasp your hands behind
your head. and come back down the stairs.

Slowly. Get his gun.

You people know the penalty
for interfering with a police officer?

These look authentic.
You better believe it.

You're both in a hell of a lot
of trouble. On the contrary.

Sergeant Cooper. Mrs. Fletcher.

Please join me
in the living room.

Your insistence on coming
here may have seriously

compromised the security
of a D.S.S. safe house.

A safe house?

A house for keeping certain
high-risk people under tight security.

I'm sorry. I'm not familiar
with the initials "D.S.S."

Department of Special
Security, Mrs. Fletcher.

Anyone care for a cup of coffee?

No?

And as you are aware, Sergeant, our federal
authority supersedes the local police.

Your coming here
was an absurd blunder.

Sergeant Cooper was
merely doing his duty.

Unless, of course, your authority
includes investigating a homicide.

Thank you, Mrs. Fletcher.
It sure as hell doesn't.

And I want some answers.

Like, for instance, who is this guy that
you're trying to palm off as Carl Cosgrove?

That's confidential.

I don't know much
about these things,

but it occurs to me
that the oxygen mask...

not only prevented me seeing the
man's face, but also hearing his voice.

Perhaps a foreign accent.

Is he, by any chance, your
current high-risk houseguest?

Colombian. Prime stuff. The
C.I.A. flies it in once a week.

I think this is what they call
stonewalling, Mrs. Fletcher.

You must've hit it
right on the nose.

Well, I wouldn't have
expected less from a

mystery writer who
outwitted a K.G.B. agent...

and helped a pair of defecting
Russian ballet dancers.

- You have a file on me.
- Maiden name: MacGill.

One marriage to Frank
Fletcher, deceased.

No children. Doesn't
drive. Travels extensively.

Please stop.

I see no reason to continue this
detailed discussion of my personal life.

You opened yourself up for that when you
showed up on our doorstep, Mrs. Fletcher.

We like to know who
we're dealing with.

And if you're thinking of turning
this into a best-seller, forget it.

Okay, okay, never mind.

Forget all that.

Uh, you. You tell me
about Carl Cosgrove.

There's nothing to
tell. He doesn't exist.

It was a house name that
we used for convenience.

There never was a
real Carl Cosgrove.

Don't give me
that. I saw his I.D.

Well, we had driver's
licenses, social security

and credit cards made
to use when we go out.

Okay. Why?

Department regulation.

We never use
real identification.

From time to time, each of
us has been Mr. Cosgrove.

Except Mrs. Cosgrove, of course.

Sergeant, when
did you see his I.D.?

After we pulled this
guy out of the river.

Do you recognize him?

No.

Well, let me tell you
about this Mr. Cosgrove.

He has a bullet in his head
and his heart, and he's cold.

He's very, very cold. You lied!

You told me he was on
assignment in Washington.

Careful. Adams is dead,
and you let it happen!

Don't be absurd.

Meeting with somebody he didn't
know in a deserted parking lot was stupid.

You should have stopped him.
I didn't know anything about it.

Now please, both of you-
you think for a moment.

Oh, do we just go on and
try to forget he was ever alive?

Let's get some fresh air.

Okay, who was this Adams,
and what the hell's goin' on here?

That's none of your business.
Well, why don't I make it my business!

Why don't I call headquarters,
get about 12 black-and-whites

down here and haul
you all in for interrogation.

Maybe I'll get some
straight answers then.

Adams was the code name for
the chief of this security operation.

You identify this man as Adams?

I'll have to take my cue from
Washington on that. What does that mean?

He may not be officially dead.

They don't get any
deader than that.

Uh, Sergeant, I believe he means
that the agency may not want to admit...

that the head of the special
security unit was, uh, murdered.

Oh. My hands are tied.

I can't help you with
your investigation.

Is this Adams a
friend of yours or not?

I found his company bearable...

most of the time.

Come on, Mrs. Fletcher. Let's get
out of here before my blood freezes.

Whew!

Sure, I knew you and Adams were breaking
some rules. I've broken a few myself.

It wasn't like that.

We were in love.

That really is a rule breaker.

You guys must've been serious.

We were gonna be married.

If you can't control your emotions, I
suggest you leave the department.

Don't you have any feelings?

I don't let them get the
better of my good judgment.

Naturally, A dams's
death was a loss.

Not to everyone. You got what
you wanted. You're in charge.

I'll seek a replacement
for you... at once.

That beer is mine.

I didn't know how long I'd
have to wait. Please, don't panic.

We have to talk.

Talk to the police. Tell them
why you broke into my room.

You know you really nailed me
on that quotation in the church.

I. Had to look it up, and it wasn't St.
Thomas Aquinas-it was Henry David Thoreau.

The name of the priest
was Kelly, not Sweeney.

Bad connection.

Who are you? What are you?

- Well, I'm not a burglar.
- And you're not a priest.

I think that's been
fairly well established.

The truth-I work for the D.S.S.

Internal Affairs.

We're the watchdog division that
keeps the rest of the department honest.

I don't suppose you could
show me some identification.

Well, yes, I could, but it all says
that I'm Father Patrick Francis.

- Just call me Francis.
- Is that your real name?

No.

Now, you see? I'm being
perfectly honest with you.

And since you penetrated my cover,
you're going to have to trust me. Why?

Well, now, that's a good question. How
about because I work for the government.

Do you trust everyone who
works for the government?

If I did, I wouldn't be here.

Look, can we talk outside?

In my business, even
the walls have ears.

Not to mention the tables,
the chairs, the lamps. All right.

I'll listen, but only
with people around.

Good. Deal. Name the place.

I know that this has something
to do with the safe house.

But how is that possible?

You find that bewildering?

Well, for the very
good reason that I met

you before I even knew
about the safe house.

Let's sit. Okay.

Now-Now, what is this all about?

From the very beginning, please.

Last week, Adams called
Internal Affairs and told me

he had reason to suspect
a traitor at the safe house.

So I ran a check on each
member of the security team.

Jackson, with his
seniority, shunted aside

when A dams, a younger
man, was put in charge.

Now he's acting chief.

Van Buren, Ivy Leaguer emeritus.

A real hotshot when he was recruited
off a college campus eight years ago,

but lacking the
potential for leadership.

Pierce, the new recruit,
who'd rather follow

orders than be forced
to make a decision.

And Ellen Cosgrove.

You see, a female presence was necessary
for the Mr. and Mrs. Cosgrove cover.

Maybe they should
have picked someone less

attractive. She and A
dams developed a thing.

So, each with a minor
snag, a little pull in the wool,

but nothing that says "traitor."

There are two more
men in the house.

One I presume to be the honored guest,
and the other is his personal bodyguard.

Yeah. Right.

Sanchez is bodyguard,
factotum and gofer...

all rolled into one very
unpleasant package.

But he's fiercely loyal to
Delgado, the rebel leader,

who's in this country to
seek additional U.S. dollars...

to help pay for the
overthrow of his government,

which came in during
the last revolution.

And there is a strong
suspicion in certain quarters...

that some of the
money from the past is

being siphoned off to
a Swiss bank account...

for Delgado's personal
retirement fund.

That's, uh-That's
all very interesting.

But at the moment I'm more concerned
with what happened to Mr. Adams.

Yeah, okay, so Adams called
me late yesterday afternoon...

and said he'd been
contacted by an informant...

who offered to turn over evidence
that would reveal the traitor.

A dams arranged to meet him
secretly at Trinity College last night,

and he told me that he hadn't
confided his plans to anyone.

It just didn't
smell right to me.

So I persuaded A dams to wear a
sending device so I could track him.

And since he was meeting
the guy at a Catholic

college, I decided to
wear my priest getup.

It's one of my favorite
covers anyway.

People just glance at the collar
and they don't notice the face.

I doused my lights when
I got into the parking lot.

I saw A dams talking to
the so-called informant.

After a moment, they got
into the car and drove away.

I followed them at a
safe distance, out of sight,

but well within range
of the tracking device.

But the device suddenly
stopped sending as I was

crossing a bridge over
the Connecticut River.

I retraced my path
without any luck.

So I stayed in the area of
the last transmission, hoping

that I would pick up the signal
again, but it never returned.

And then I saw
the informant's car.

So I tailed him back into the city, only
to see him crash in front of your hotel.

Ah, so that's why I saw a
priest just when I needed one.

I only wish I could have had a few
minutes with the hit man before he died...

to find out who hired him.

I mean, which member of the security team
picked his name from the department's list.

List?

Of professional assassins?

Copied from another agency.

These things have a
way of making the rounds.

Francis, what do you want of me?

I mean, surely not information,
because mine is very limited.

Well, you see, being a shoofly with
Internal Affairs has its drawbacks.

Oh?

You see, if I walked
into the safe house and

identified myself, I'll
never get any answers.

They'll just close ranks.

But you've been there and you've
met most of the people in the unit.

You can't be serious.
You have access.

And you can use your mystery
novelist acumen to pick up on things.

So you've checked me out too.

Yes, I have. Why?
Does that bother you?

Okay, when this is over,
you remind me and whatever

you don't like, I'll just
pluck out of the file...

and it will be as if
it never happened.

Jessica, I want you to find out
what's going on in that safe house,

and I want you to
share it with me.

In other words, you want me to spy
on others so that you can fill their files?

My answer to that
is, no, thank you.

No, please wait. Let's talk.

Absolutely not.

Now, look, I gave you my answer,
and I'm not gonna change my mind.

Uh, what?

Oh, yes, Mr. Secretary.

I recall meeting you at the cocktail
party at the state department.

Well, it's very nice talking
to you, Mr. Secretary.

Don't get me wrong, Jessica-I don't
expect an Academy A ward performance.

Just be yourself, only a little
more so to throw them off balance.

Well, even if I knew what that
meant, I wouldn't know how to do it.

Please, don't sweat
it. You'll be terrific.

Oh, yeah, I almost forgot. I have
a little-I have a little gift for you.

A lipstick?

How did you know my
shade? It was in your file.

Only this is not
a real lipstick.

You twist the bottom clockwise and it
starts a beeper, an emergency beeper.

For what sort of an emergency?

Whatever comes up.

But don't worry. Our
receivers will be close by.

That's not terribly reassuring.

Yeah, this is where
I get out. All right,

good luck, Jessica. And
hang onto that beeper.

Good morning.

Good morning. I
thought you'd be packing.

I would have been out of
here, but Jackson ordered

me to stay until Washington
sends my replacement.

Where you going?

I won't know until I
receive my orders.

Jackson's report will
be less than glowing.

- Well, if you need somebody to
put in a good word for you... Thanks.

Will you look who's back.
Can you believe that lady?

Hello. I don't know if you
remember me. I'm Jessica Fletcher.

I'd love to see your new acting
chief. Yes, ma'am. Go right on in.

Your name's on
the list. Oh, it is?

Her name is on the list?

I think Jackson must have had too
many marshmallows in his cocoa.

Mr. Jackson, you were right.

I do want to write
about your safe house.

I knew it.

A lovely home, deceptively
suburban on the outside,

but on the inside, a veritable
hotbed of international intrigue.

You know, my publisher
thinks it can be a big best-seller.

- With your help, of course.
- My help?

Tell me, how many top secret guests
can you accommodate during a season?

This is incredible.

Mrs. Fletcher, now, I know that you
have excellent contacts in Washington.

One of them called
me this morning.

But I think this is
hardly the time...

to polish the image of the
department with a chatty little book.

All the polish in the world won't put a
shine on it when Adams's murder gets out.

You're supposed to be watching Delgado.
Not to worry. I traded with Pierce.

- Without checking with me first?
- Oh, I keep forgetting you're in charge.

Mr. Jackson, it must be very stressful
to carry the burden of leadership...

when it's thrust on you.

"Thrust"? You're talking about
a man who lusted after the job.

I don't think this is the time or the
place, and I was the senior man.

- Adams was younger and smarter,
and they passed you by to pick him.
- Just as Mrs. Cosgrove did to you?

Speaking of someone who lusted.

And I suppose she
never turned you on.

Well, I'm beginning to see
your point, Mrs. Fletcher.

This place does have all
the elements of a cheap novel.

Hello.

That police sergeant is
here, and he insists on talking

to you about a new
development in Adams's murder.

I assume you're interested.
Let Sergeant Cooper come in.

Well, let everybody
in. Let's have a party.

Get the door.

Ooh. Conflict. Your kind of
stuff. Right, Mrs. Fletcher?

Well-I-

Look out! Sanchez,
tell me something,

When your comandante
sleeps this late back home,

do you bring coffee and
croissants to his cave?

Ignorante.

Mrs. Fletcher, what
are you doing here?

Well, I suppose you
could call it research.

Sergeant, I believe
your business is with me.

Something about a new
development in the case or what? Yeah.

I ran your friend Adams's
prints through a computer

check. Guess what? He's got
a rap sheet about a yard long.

- And he's the guy who was in charge here.
- What are you talking about?

I'm talking about
arraignment for counterfeiting,

breaking and entering,
assault with a deadly weapon.

That old stuff. It should have
been excised from the file long ago.

It was a cover from a
previous assignment.

A cover? What was he pretending
to be-a one-man crime wave?

Comandante!

Wake up!

Sanchez? What's wrong?

Murderers. You've killed him!

The comandante's dead!

Stay there. Don't leave!

I can't help you with any of Adams's past
assignments. It's confidential information.

Delgado is dead.
Somebody got him.

That's not possible.

Oh, yeah?

Surround the house. Now.

Let's go.

You figure out
how to get 'em in.

Yes, I need a homicide team. I need prints.
I need lab. I need the whole package.

How could you possibly not see what
was going on inside Delgado's room?

You're sitting in
front of a window.

Sitting for a long time
watching a man sleeping.

Did you fall asleep, Pierce?

I'm sorry, sir. I didn't
mean to. It just happened.

- You were on probation.
- The other times it was late at night.

That's why it seemed
like a good idea to take my

shift in the morning,
so that I could sleep first.

Only it didn't work.

Neither did a Thermos of
black coffee. I just conked off.

I guess I deserve
whatever punishment I get.

Don't give me red tape. I have a
stiff upstairs that belongs to Homicide.

Okay.

So how long do you suppose you were
conked out? Okay, just hold it. Hold it.

I know you're probably a
big shot up in Washington,

but this is my precinct
and I will ask the questions.

Please go ahead. I share.

Thank you.

- Your name Pierce?
- Yes, sir.

All right, Pierce. When
you woke up from your

little snooze, what did
you see in the bedroom?

Sanchez leaning over Delgado.

- Doing what?
- Kind of shaking him.

- Was Sanchez facing the mirror?
- No, ma'am. His back was to me.

With his hands on
Señor Delgado's shoulder.

I couldn't see his hands.

So his hands could have been
around Delgado's neck, and he

could've been chokin' him
to death right in front of you.

Did you see anyone else come
in the room? No, sir, I didn't.

But I didn't see Sanchez come in either.
He was there when I opened my eyes.

Sergeant. What?

We have to talk.

Pierce, I want to see
you in my office. Yes, sir.

Señor Sanchez, could you
hear what was said in there?

Most of it. I even
understood some of it.

- What didn't you understand?
- The young man.

In my country, he would have
been shot for falling asleep on duty.

You are obviously
a very loyal person.

But I wonder if you are as loyal to the
revolution as you are to your comandante.

I would have walked
through fire for him.

Even if you thought he was
getting rich on the money that

should've been spent on
food and arms for your country?

That's a lie. He was a good man!
He would not steal from his people!

Jessica, please. I would
stay away from this man.

Yeah, this is the only
guy who could have

gotten close enough to
Delgado to strangle him.

Mr. Sanchez couldn't
see through the two-way

mirror. He didn't even
know if he was asleep.

That's true, but he
was the only man-

Well, doesn't it seem foolish
that Sanchez would risk

killing Delgado in front of
someone who might be watching?

Foolish or not, it happened.
Take him into the storeroom.

And watch him!

Yes, but what still
bothers me is that it

wouldn't link this murder
to the murder of Adams.

And I am absolutely
convinced that there is a link.

And they call this a safe house.

Adams wouldn't
have let this happen.

I wonder if that was
why he was eliminated.

From what I've heard, your Mr. Adams
was very thorough and very conscientious.

He was.

He also cared about
people and their feelings.

So why didn't he tell me where he
was going the night he was killed?

I don't think he
meant to hurt you.

I think he wanted to
prevent any possibility

of a leak by not
confiding in anyone.

What? What is it?

I think I know who
killed him... and Delgado.

You wanted to see me?

I thought Sergeant Cooper would
have sealed the murder room.

He did.

But I persuaded him to open
it so that I could test a theory.

Will you help me?

Sure. I love games.
What do I have to do?

Just express your opinion.

I can handle that. I was film critic
on my college newspaper. Roll it.

I believe that the killer was
assigned to the safe house,

where he possibly felt that
he'd reached a dead end.

That would make him restless and
maybe looking for something better.

Well, that was
Jackson’s frame of mind.

The timing was right for someone
from Delgado's country to contact him.

I'd imagine a large
sum of American money

was offered for the
assassination of Delgado.

But first the killer had
to get rid of Adams,

who kept a very watchful
eye on the safe house,

and that meant
contacting a hit man.

Well, Jackson did have
access to the department's list.

- Oh, you know about that?
- I heard about it.

How did he sucker
Adams? With a scenario.

First he stirred up suspicion
of treachery in the ranks.

Then he told the hit man to
call Adams and offer information

about the traitor, naming
a secret meeting place.

Real cute. I didn't know
Jackson had it in him.

Mr. Van Buren, we both know
we're not talking about Jackson.

You're the one they contacted.

You're the one who set it up.

Who's in the room behind the
mirror-the cop or the shoofly?

Both.

Well, I'm sorry to have
wasted your time, gentlemen.

She's got the wrong boy.

I'd be very surprised.

The proof came from
a very reliable source.

Really?

What source? You, Mr. Van Buren.

Something you said to
Jackson about Adams.

Meeting with somebody
he didn't know in a strange

parking lot was stupid. You
should have stopped him.

Since Adams didn't tell anyone
but Francis where he was going,

only the hit man and the
person who set up the meeting...

could know that A dams was
meeting a stranger in a parking lot.

And I suppose I killed Delgado with Pierce
sitting there behind the mirror watching.

No. I'm sure you didn't.

Is she saying he
didn't do it? Listen.

You set up Pierce in advance, probably
by drugging his coffee every night...

and making sure he'd be
caught sleeping on duty.

And last night you
increased the dose.

It won't wash.

I can account for every minute of
my time while Pierce was on duty.

You didn't kill him
during Pierce's shift.

You did it earlier,
during yours.

You switched with Pierce,
letting him take the morning shift,

telling him you were doing him a favor
so he'd have less trouble staying awake.

Actually, you wanted the night shift so you
could be there when Delgado fell asleep.

That way you could
approach him without fear

of anyone seeing you
choke the life out of him.

After you pulled up the blankets
so it would look like he was sleeping,

you returned to the room behind the mirror
and waited for Pierce to come on duty.

Later, when Sanchez found the
body, Pierce admitted he'd been asleep.

Everyone assumed the murder
had taken place during Pierce's shift.

Well, your theory...

turned out to be
better than I thought.

Why did you do it?

She got it right-for the money.

Or would you prefer I did it
because I believed in a cause?

Either way, it was murder.

I finished dictating my statement,
and I'm ready to leave, finally.

Sorry to see you go. By the way, your
Washington friend, Mr. Francis, called-

Cooper. I can't talk now, Norma.

He said Van Buren is
talking his head off about the

people who paid him to
kill Delgado and a lot of-

Uh, i-isn't your
wife's name Norma?

Yeah. Why?

Oh!

Trace that call!