Murder, She Wrote (1984–1996): Season 4, Episode 21 - Deadpan - full transcript

This show is
going to run forever!

Tonight on Murder, She Wrote.

What we're dealing with
here is a perfect crime.

The entire company will have
you to thank when the show closes.

He smells blood. He's
circling like a vulture.

Everybody's a critic. Consider
yourself an arrested person.

Actors and rewrites— That's a worse
combination than drinking and driving.

Pow! Right in the kisser!

- That's it!
- Jessica! After all
we've been through!

Good evening.

Elliot Easterbrook with your Live At
5:00 Mini Cam at the Woolcott Theatre.



Do you know that it has been
said that the theater is a temple?

If so, it is a temple which has
frequently worshipped false gods.

Only time and astute critical
judgment will tell if Mainely Murder,

which opens here tomorrow night,

will honor the gods or
yet again, profane them.

Now you and I have the benefit
of meeting the show's creators...

before they have to
face the critical faculty.

With us this evening, are
producer Shayna Grant,

who in the past has brought us such
unforgettable evenings in the theater...

as the musical
biography of Louis XVI,

uh, Heads, You Lose.

524 performances, Elliot!

And J. B. Fletcher, whose
book Murder Comes to Maine,

forms the basis of this... play.



And don't you look just like
a mystery writer from Maine?

Thank you. Uh, those are two
things of which I'm very proud.

Yes, and neophyte
playwright Walter Knapf,

who has adapted Mrs.
Fletcher's book to the stage.

Mr. Knapf, you must be terribly excited
to see your opus go straight to Broadway.

Uh, yes. I'm—I'm thrilled, uh...

Excited—That's the word.

Yes, and you must be exhausted from
doing all those rewrites you're working on.

Oh, no rewrites, Elliot.
The play works like a dream.

Uh, Mrs. Fletcher, I must tell you that I'm
not particularly interested in mysteries.

However, there's
one that intrigues me—

How a neophyte playwright was able
to convince an experienced writer...

to let him adapt her property.

Well, Mr. Easterbrook, that
is an easy mystery to solve.

You see, Walter was a
very talented student of mine.

So there's no truth in
the rumors that you've

rushed into town to
do emergency rewrites.

No rewrites, Elliot.
Uh, Mr. Easterbrook,

I am here to attend the opening
night and to bask in Walter's success.

Uh, bask? Is that a
prediction, Mrs. Fletcher,

or just... hype?

Isn't it true that the only
thing you can predict

about the theater is
that it is unpredictable?

Oh, bravo, Mrs. Fletcher.

Oh, you must have stayed
up all night thinking that one up.

No, actually. Molière did it
for me about 200 years ago.

Pow! Right in the kisser!

Hey, I like that broad!

Not too smart though.

Easterbrook's going to review
her show in about 24 hours.

Come on, Denise. A single cell battery's
got more power than that smirk in a suit.

A lot of people watch
his review, Danny.

Yeah. And they forget
about what he said...

by the time the airhead gets
on with the weather report.

Oh! I forgot! The only
people who count...

are the ones who read Danny
O'Mara's reviews in the Chronicle.

You better believe it.

I'm not sure that I
really want to do another

TV interview after
yesterday, Mr. Mapost.

I know. I know. It
wasn't that flattering.

- But it did get us a lot of exposure.
- Easterbrook is going to kill us.

He smells blood. He's
circling like a vulture.

Now if you could get us an
interview with Danny O'Mara—

Danny O'Mara? Are you crazy?

Just try and get the most popular
critic in the city to do an interview.

Oh, then he must be the
drama critic on the Chronicle.

J.B. Fletcher!

Danny O'Mara, and
I like your style, lady.

Well, thank you. Uh, that's
very flattering from a fellow writer.

Oh, I never read
any of your books.

I'm talkin' about the way you
took out that hack Easterbrook.

Say, Danny— Uh,

off the record, J. B., have
you seen your show yet?

Uh, no. No, actually we're seeing
a dress rehearsal right after lunch.

Oh. Well, from what I hear,
you better make it a light lunch.

He's gonna draw and quarter us. He's gonna
flay our entrails all over Times Square.

Actually, he'll give
you a clean shot.

Oh, uh, Jessica, Walter,
this is Denise Quinlan,

Danny's right hand, his
left hand and entire brain.

Not at all. I-I'm more like the guy who
walks behind the elephant in the parade.

Believe it or not, you'll get a fairer
shake from Danny than any of the others.

Ah. Which makes me a little
trepidatious about the others.

Well, you'll find out soon
enough... at the party.

I guess I'll see all of you
there tonight. Nice meeting you.

You mean, you actually invite
critics to the opening night party?

No. That was Shayna's idea.
You know, she does it all the time.

She, uh, thinks
it's good publicity.

Oh, my gosh! Why are you listening
to me? We got a rehearsal to go to.

Uh, Jessica, just a second.

Now, I know that you liked
the first draft that I sent you...

Walter, you don't have to fish for
compliments from me. I like your work.

Yeah. Well, you see, the thing is, I just
don't want you to be upset by the witch.

Which witch?

Double trouble,
spoil the bubble!

Make the haystack...
turn to rubble!

Curtain! Curtain! Cut it!

Put out that flame before it
burns the bloody place down!

All right, gentlemen, let's fix
the fire before we continue.

God, why has thou forsaken me?

So, Mrs. Fletcher, what do
you think of our little opus so far?

Uh, I've, uh, never
seen anything like it.

Wait until act two.

When that effect works properly,
it makes quite an act curtain.

Oh. Well, it's, uh— It's
certainly very unexpected.

But aren't you confusing
Maine with Massachusetts?

Oh, no, no, darling.

By including all of perceptual New England,
we're broadening the show's appeal.

Jason! What's with Tony?

He was like a black hole of
energy on that stage tonight.

He's got flu. Well, put in the
understudy, for God's sake.

I will not have him
dragging the show down.

You despise and
loathe it, right?

Walter, despise and
loathe are very strong words,

but what I don't understand is what
happened to your wonderful first draft?

Well, it got buried underneath
all the improvements.

I—I figured they know
what they were doing,

and so I did what they said,
and then suddenly we had this.

Well, who knows, Walter?
The audience will like it.

I mean, don't they say a bad dress
rehearsal means a great opening?

Walter, calm down.
You'll get whiplash.

My God, my entire life is
riding in that man's hands.

I mean, what if he had a lousy
dinner? Walter, listen to me.

You are a very talented young
writer, and this is only your first play.

Ladies and gentlemen, in

tonight's performance,
the role of Woodsman,

normally played by Tony Jasper,
will be played by Craig Donner.

How can they start?
Easterbrook isn't here yet!

Please hurry. Curtain
going up, darling!

I hope you don't think by inviting
me to your postprandial party,

you'll color my reaction
to your little play.

Of course not, darling, but
missing the first scene might.

Finally I get it!
He likes being late!

He's only comfortable
in the dark...

Like all creatures who
prey off the living. Huh.

Refreshments are available during
the intermission in the outer lobby.

I'll get us some drinks.

Best party I've been
to in years! Daphne was

there and with Charles!
Can you believe it?

Don't you tell me how tired you are!
Do you know what my day was like?

First I rode the car pool. Then I had to
run all over town looking for your golf...

White wine and
a double anything.

First I got an estimate, and
then I gotta knock down the wall.

I mean, I gotta knock
down the whole wall!

No one's talking about the play!

Well, at least they're not saying
anything negative about it, Walter.

Well, that's great. That means
it's taking their minds off their lives.

All they're talking about is their
lives! Oh, well, that is wonderful.

That means the
play has relevance.

You know, Easterbrook,

all you TV blowhards know
about theater is makeup and hair.

Well, Mr. O'Mara, if I didn't know better,
I'd say you were jealous of my exposure.

Exposure? Exposure means
zip without influence, buddy.

And I got influence. How tragic to mistake
the power of one's forum for one's own.

Besides, everyone knows
the Chronicle is past its prime.

My God, they're both
gonna hate this play!

Gimme a break, Easterbrook. Everyone
knows you lost out the Chronicle job to me.

Grammatically speaking, "out" is
incorrectly used in that sentence,

further demonstrating
your intellectual ineptitude.

You simpering—
You're getting violent.

How appropriately Neanderthal.

I need a drink. You've
just had a drink, Walter.

I need many more. Jessica,
I'll see you at the party.

Walter!

Oh, Mrs. Fletcher. I've
been just dying to meet you.

I'm Barbara Blair. I play
Prudence the witch. Of course.

It's a small part.
But memorable.

So, how did you like the play? Uh,
I've... never seen anything quite like it.

Denise! Have you
seen Walter anywhere?

Uh, no, but if he's like most playwrights,
he's probably somewhere getting plastered.

All right, everyone.
Atención, atención.

We're going to hear the review.

Easterbrook's review.
Uh, turn this up!

It is always difficult
to review a mystery...

without giving away the plot.

This unpalatable witch's brew is such
a muddle of clichés and troll dialogue,

that it is impossible
to figure out the plot.

Neophyte playwright Walter Knapf at
least has the excuse of inexperience.

As for the cast,

Vivian Cassell brings her usual
long-in-the-tooth charm to the lead.

And Barbara Blair
shines briefly as a witch.

Tony Jasper as the Woodsman
is appropriately wooden.

If you’re looking for a good thriller,
walk right by the Woolcott Theatre.

The only mystery
about this one, folks,

is how it ever got to
Broadway in the first place.

Elliot Easterbrook,
until we meet again.

My glass slipped.

J.B., you're not leaving?

Well, it was a
lovely party, Shayna,

but it's after 1:00,
and I'd like to get an

early start in the morning
back to Cabot Cove.

Thanks for everything. J.B., you
don't understand. You can't leave.

It'll look like you're
deserting the ship

before the early newspaper
reviews come out.

Shayna, what on earth
is that man doing here?

I invited him, Jason.
I always invite him.

But who would've dreamed
he'd have the nerve to show up?

It does seem odd that he would
attend the party of a show he panned.

In all my years in the
theater, I've never seen...

And if you want many more years in the
theater, Jason, you won't make any trouble.

This is not the last show any of
us are going to be involved with.

Elliot, darling.

We're a hit! Wait'll you see!

This show is
going to run forever!

O'Mara loved the show!

Walter! Are you all right?

- Get some coffee.
- Oh, no. I'm... perfect!

Listen to this! " Mainely
Murder is mainly magnificent,

the one must-see of the season."

And Easterbrook,
this is for you.

"This is a real
audience-pleaser,

"just the kind of show
a certain low-caliber,

high ego TV critic
is sure to hate.

"You know who I'm talking about.

"That Live at Five guy who
thinks he's smarter than you.

"If he hates this show,

maybe you should
let his TV station know

you’ve had enough of
his condescending crap."

Now, I wonder who
he's talking about.

What an amusing joke.

I wonder if Mr. O'Mara is
ready for the punch line.

Elliot, you know Danny.
Well enough, Miss Quinlan.

I think someone has to silence this
undereducated, ill-informed windbag...

permanently.

I'd better give Danny a call.

What? I can't hear you. You're
gonna have to speak a little louder.

Shots? Where?

Okay.

I'm Mr. O'Mara's assistant.
They told me to come up.

I assure you, Lieutenant,

that I arrived only
seconds before your men.

And you just happened to be
carrying the murder weapon.

I picked the gun up
off the floor, because

I felt the assailant
might still be present.

Who let you in?
The door was open.

Listen, we get an anonymous
call there were some shots fired.

We find you standing over the
body with the murder weapon.

Sorry. It just doesn't
sound kosher to me.

You said you would silence
Danny once and for all.

Yes, silence him by costing
him his job at the Chronicle.

I came here to tell him
I intended to sue him...

if he didn't remove what he
wrote about me for the next edition.

Excuse me.

Jarvis, Aloysius
Jarvis. You're...

My name is Jessica Fletcher.
I'm sorry to interrupt you,

but I—I felt it was very
important that you should know...

that Denise and I were at the
same restaurant as Mr. Easterbrook.

And just—just after
he left, Denise tried

to call Mr. O'Mara, but
there was no answer.

Just because he didn't pick up the
phone doesn't mean he was dead.

I just wanted to be
sure that you understood

that we came straight
here from the restaurant...

and Mr. Easterbrook
left only a few moments

before we did. That's
plenty of time to kill him.

Well, forgive me, Lieutenant, but if
those shots were fired as recently as that,

I mean, wouldn't you have
noticed a slight smell of gunpowder?

Well, it was a .22
caliber. It was small.

The smell fades fast.

Well, maybe I'm confused,
but, uh, if Mr. O'Mara

was shot when you
think that he was shot,

uh, why does his skin
have that bluish look to it?

Funny, he doesn't
look bluish to me.

I'm sorry, lady. I've
been on a double shift.

I gotta book this gent before I
go into a coma. Take him out.

The facts will clear
me, Lieutenant,

and then you're going to find
yourself in a spot of trouble.

And Mrs. Fletcher, I would
sincerely appreciate it...

if you would direct your attention
to Murder at the Quilting Bee,

or whatever your next
potboiler is going to be called,

and leave my defense
in more capable hands.

The guy gets paid
for being insulting.

My cousin Marvin spent
his lifetime doing that for free.

Oh, here she is! The
woman of the hour!

You got quite a nice mention
from O'Mara, Mrs. Fletcher.

It was a good thing he finished his
review before he packed it in, eh?

And wait till you hear
about the spectacular

interviews that Barney
has lined up for you!

Oh, no, no, no, no, no. You're the ones
who should be enjoying the spotlight.

I, uh— Well, I was thinking that since I
had so little to do with the production,

wouldn't you like to take
my name off the marquee?

Oh, isn't that sweet?

She wants Walter to take
all the credit for this success.

But you know, J. B. Fletcher
does mean something,

and you know, we
do have a contract...

stipulating your name in
lights all over New York.

We sure are glad O'Mara wrote his
review before he cashed in his chips,

or we wouldn't have
any quotes at all.

What astonishes me is the motive.
Killing somebody because he's insulted you?

I can't believe anybody's
that self-centered.

Well, actually, the
evidence seems to indicate

that Mr. Easterbrook
did not kill him.

Oh, you have got to be kidding.

Just when everything
was going so well.

Anybody who kills a critic ought
to get a special Tony Award...

for his contribution to
the American theater.

I wonder who did kill O'Mara.

Shayna?

Um, your message— It, uh...

It said something about,
uh, script... changes?

Just a tiny touch up
here and there, darling.

Walter, you look dreadful!
Are you—Are you ill?

Industrial strength hangover.

I was up most of
the night celebrating.

Walter, Danny O'Mara
was murdered last night.

I know. I heard.

Did anybody see Steve Cahill's column
this morning? Gave us a terrific write-up.

See it? I wrote it. Really?

- Read just like Cahill.
- Yeah, I have this knack for imitating
various columnist's style.

It makes it easy for them. All
they have to do is print the release.

Well, I must run along,
or I'll miss my plane.

Walter, I want to wish
you the very best of luck.

- You're leaving?
- Call me when you have some time,
and we'll talk about everything. Good-bye.

Oh, Shayna, take a
look at this, will ya?

Jessica, please!

You can't leave me
stranded here like this.

You've gotta help me
straighten out this play!

Everybody seems satisfied
with it the way it is, unfortunately.

Well, I'm not. And I know it's more
embarrassing for me then it is for you.

Maybe not.

I don't know what to do,
Jessica. And I can only

dread what Shayna's
changes are going to be,

but we both know that it's
not gonna make it any better.

Look, maybe you could take
advantage of this opportunity...

to put back in some of the things
that you cut out of the first draft.

Well, like what? Well,
the theme, perhaps?

Theme?

You mean the idea
in your book about not

walking away and
letting an injustice occur.

No? That's not it?

Oh, that's it all right, Walter.

And thank you for reminding me.

You know, there are several
questions about Mr. O'Mara's death...

that I just can't
walk away from.

I remember enjoying reading Gerald
Greeley's reviews. He was very gentlemanly.

He was the best
theater critic we ever had.

Of course after he had that stroke,
Gerald couldn't handle Broadway anymore,

so now he's reviewing
television programs.

And now you have to
replace your drama critic again.

Any ideas who it might be?

What's your angle
on this, Mrs. Fletcher?

Oh, I know. It never hurts to
steal from the headlines, right?

Excuse me?

Well, you're researching
a new book. Uh, Murder

on the Great White Way,
that sort of thing, right?

Guilty as charged, Mr. Cullen.

But of course, as you know, in mysteries,
timing is of the utmost importance.

Yeah, naturally. I
mean, for example,

what time did Mr. O'Mara leave here
last night after he finished his review?

Oh, he didn't come in here
at all. He wrote at home.

Oh, oh, I see. You mean a
messenger picked up his review?

No, no, no, no, no. We're
all on computers now.

You see, O'Mara wrote his
reviews on his home computer,

and then sent it in here by
modems over the telephone.

Oh, my goodness.
How modern. Oh, yeah.

The reviews came in
on a printer, like this one.

Oh, those machines can
do anything, except write.

But some of our reporters
can't do that either, so...

But the machines check
out the spelling and,

um, they even note the
time pieces come in here.

And what time did Mr. O'Mara's
review come in last night?

Uh, let's see.

Um, 11:15.

Oh, I see what you’re getting
at. He must've died right after that.

Talk about going
with your boots on.

Oh, Mrs. Fletcher.
Come right in.

Mr. Cullen told me you were
here. I hope you don't mind.

No, not at all. I'm just
cleaning out the files.

Actually, I'm happy for the
company. It's kind of spooky here.

Mmm. Mr. Cullen also
told me about your new

assignment—temporary
drama critic. Congratulations.

Yeah, thanks. Must
be a little intimidating,

stepping into the shoes of the
foremost drama critic of New York.

Well, no, not really.
I've done it before.

Last year, Danny asked
me to write a review

under his byline while
he was out of town.

And nobody knew? Well, his
style was fairly easy to copy.

I mean, uh, he wrote
the way he talked.

Why don't I show you? His program from
last night should be over here somewhere.

He always scribbled
notes all over his program,

and they showed up
verbatim in his review.

Here. See? Yes.

Denise, that's odd. Hmm?

I mean, these notes aren't
anything like his review.

"Barbara Blair, hammy.
Dialogue stiff and unprofessional."

Really? I hadn't had a
chance to look at it yet.

Craig Donner, "amateurish."

Oh, yes, of course, he was
the last-minute cast change.

But he certainly didn't
like any of the actors here.

Well, this is weird. Why would
his review be so favorable?

I don't suppose you
have a copy of his review?

Uh, no, but I have the original.

Oh, you mean it's in the
computer? Yeah, sure.

But, Denise, that's odd. That
review doesn't square with his notes.

I gather you don't write on
a computer, Mrs. Fletcher.

Oh, no, no. I still use my good
old bucket-of-bolts typewriter.

It's very noisy,
but it's comfortable.

Well, you should
consider switching.

Uh, no, I've heard too
many dreadful stories...

about people punching the
wrong button and losing everything.

Oh, well, it's not quite
that easy. I'll show you.

I'll ask the computer for a
directory of what's on the disk.

There. Now we know the name
of the file that contains the review.

Now, watch. I'll erase it.

There! You see?
You've lost everything.

Uh-huh, but what you can
erase, you can also un-erase. Oh.

There. Now everything that
was erased has been retrieved.

Now, that's odd. There
seem to be two files now.

One that we didn't see before.

Could we look at
that one? Yeah, sure.

"A sickening
spectacle calling itself

Mainely Murder opened
tonight at the Woolcott Theatre.

"This alleged play features stiff
dialogue, hammy performances...

"and a plot almost as mysterious
as a corned beef sandwich.

"The only lucky individual
involved was actor Tony Jasper,

who somehow got himself replaced
by the amateurish Craig Donner."

But this doesn't make sense. I mean, why
would Danny change his mind so radically?

- I suspect he didn't.
- But then, why the two reviews?

Because I think whoever killed
Danny O'Mara also killed his review.

So the deal is, somebody came
to O'Mara's apartment, killed him,

erased the bad review,
sent in the good one?

That still doesn't
eliminate Easterbrook.

Except that he was
on the air at 11:15...

when that review was
received at the Chronicle.

He could've been on tape.

No, no, I checked it.
It was a live broadcast.

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

Finding him with the murder weapon
in his hand— It's just too good to ignore.

Exactly! It's too good.

Wait. What are you
saying? He was framed?

Lieutenant, if I remember
correctly, you received an

anonymous phone call saying
that shots had been heard?

But at the apartment
last night, you said

that O'Mara had been
killed with one bullet.

- Right.
- Well, did you find any other bullets
that had been fired?

- No.
- Well, then, how could
somebody have heard "shots"?

The witness could've
been confused.

What about the other
tenants in the building?

Did they hear a single
shot or several shots?

Nobody heard anything.

Now let's face it, Mrs. Fletcher. He died
just around the time we found Easterbrook.

Here's the Coroner's
report on O'Mara. Thanks.

No other shots were heard
at any other time either.

Easterbrook's are the only
prints that were found on the gun.

Of course, he, uh,
could've died earlier.

Well, then I suppose the question is,
who would benefit from a good review?

Ah, the producer, the
director, the novelist.

Let's face it. That still
doesn't eliminate Easterbrook.

Not to mention the actors and
everybody involved in the production.

Yes, and with my luck, they can probably
all alibi each other at that party.

Excuse me.

Okay. Okay. Yeah, hold on.

I'm sorry, Mrs. Fletcher.
I gotta take this call.

Think about it, Mrs. Fletcher.

Who was at the party, who wasn't at
the party, who came late, whatever.

Hello?

Who came late?

This is Walter Knapf. If I don't
pick up the phone in a second,

it means I'm out, or I'm
having an anxiety attack.

Please leave a message.

Walter, this is Jessica. I have to
talk to you. It's really very urgent.

Uh, I guess I'll just
have to keep trying.

I certainly hope you haven't come
here expecting gratitude, Mrs. Fletcher.

The charges against
me were dropped...

because the facts were obvious to anybody
with a single brain cell still active.

I quite agree. And please,

don't embarrass yourself
by pleading for your show.

I have no intention of
promoting it on the air.

Mr. Easterbrook, doesn't it get
tiring, being the voice of disdain?

I never tire of putting
people in their place.

I can't help but wonder
what interests are served...

when critics make destructive
remarks simply to be,

well, amusing?

Surely you didn't come here simply
to discuss the vagaries of criticism.

I see you do your
homework, Mr. Easterbrook.

You have a copy of
the play on your desk.

Yes. Well, occasionally a publicist will
send me a script before a play opens.

I must confess, I
rarely read them though.

They end up changing
so much before they open.

Although not
often for the better.

Well, on that we agree.

Walter's first draft
was just delightful.

Indeed?

Well, then, perhaps your
Mr., um, uh, Knapf, is it?

Yes. Perhaps he has a
future in the theater after all.

He's— He's a very neat typist.

There's one review in
particular that intrigues me.

The, uh, phony O'Mara review,
and who could have written it.

And why would that interest me?

Well, you seemed more than anxious
last night to sue Mr. O'Mara over it.

Aren’t you curious to
see who did write it?

Well, it wouldn't require much talent
to imitate O'Mara's style, or lack thereof.

That means it could have been
anyone connected with Mainely Murder.

Jason Richards springs to mind.

O'Mara panned
his last five plays.

I'm not in the mood to
chitchat, Mrs. Fletcher.

If it weren't for you, we wouldn't
be in this dreadful situation.

Well, I only wrote the novel,
Mr. Richards. That's all.

Sit down.

I see you haven't heard
the result of your handiwork.

The Chronicle is retracting O'Mara's review
and printing the one that you unearthed.

I hope you're satisfied.

Surely you understand that
once I found that other review,

I was obligated to
show it to the police.

How noble.

The entire company will have
you to thank when the show closes.

Well, if the show does close,

I mean, isn't it possible that it's
because of the quality of the play?

Oh, please, Mrs.
Fletcher, don't be so naive.

We had one single rave review,
the only review that mattered,

and you've taken it away.

Look, I'm truly
sorry, Mr. Richards.

But certainly it is more important
to find out who killed Danny O'Mara?

Why? He was a speck
on the flypaper of theater.

Besides, why does
it matter to you?

Well, I...

I can't help but think that it is somebody
who stood to gain from a good review.

Somebody involved
in the show, you mean.

Like me, presumably?

Well, if you recall, I was at
the party here at Vincent's...

with all the other
members of the company...

save one.

So that's it.

You suspect your
darling little playwright,

and you’re trying to palm
off the blame on one of us.

Well— it won't work.

Walter!

Walter!

Oh, Barney— Well, I guess I
should've known it was too good to last.

The only quote review and the Chronicle
threatens to sue unless we take it down.

Well, whoever wrote that review did a
good job of imitating Mr. O'Mara's style.

Oh, I never tried doing O'Mara.

I mean, he wasn't the type who
appreciated being sent plugs.

Nobody appreciates a publicist.

Well, I imagine that if the
show closes, it would be

devastating to quite a
lot of people, wouldn't it?

Oh, sure. Um,
everybody except me.

But you'd be out of a job.

Well, between you and me,
for a publicist, it doesn't matter.

I mean, another show'll come
along, probably also a turkey.

But not so for Walter. No,
he's taking this pretty hard.

Oh, have you seen
Walter? Wh-Where is he?

Oh, he's backstage
doing some rewrites.

Jessica! Oh, I
followed your advice.

I put back the character
stuff, and guess what.

Shayna loved it. This play's
been changed so many times,

she doesn't even
remember what she cut out!

I really think this
is making it better.

Walter, forget the changes.
You are in serious trouble.

Oh, no, I don't think so. I think these
revisions are gonna save the play!

Walter, this play could not be saved
with mouth-to-mouth resuscitation.

Now, I'm sorry, but I need to know where
you were during the opening night party!

You mean the party
at Vincent's? Yes.

Uh— Walter, where were you?

Uh— Maybe I can tell you that.

The way I see it, he was at Danny
O'Mara's apartment... killing him.

You must have some idea
where you were between

intermission and when
you arrived at the party.

I went to a few bars.

Walter, which bars?

I was drunk. I
didn't pay attention.

Send in Mrs. Rizzo. But can't you at
least remember which street they were on?

Was it Eighth Avenue? Ninth
Avenue? Those were some of them.

That's him! That's the
boy that was in the hallway.

You live in the building
with Mr. O'Mara?

On the first floor.
O'Mara's on the third.

You oughta be ashamed,
a nice boy like you.

Mrs. Rizzo, are you absolutely
certain that it was Walter that you saw?

What? Are you calling me
blind? I never forget a face.

Take Sally Mazursky for instance. I
hadn't seen her since— Hey, we believe you.

- Just tell us
what happened last night.
- Again? Okay.

So, uh, let me see,
uh— At around 11:00...

I remember it was 11:00,
because the news just come on.

You know, with that pretty young
newscaster. What's her name?

We believe you. 1 1:00.
What happened last night?

Well, he comes
bangin' on my door.

So, I opened the door on the
chain. You looked nice in your tuxedo.

And he tells me
that he had to see

Mr. O'Mara. So I tell
him he lived upstairs.

And he went away. You
smelled like a saloon.

- Did you see Walter walk upstairs?
- No, I—I closed the door.

Mrs. Rizzo, why didn't you come
forward and talk to the police sooner?

Well, my husband—you know how it
is— He didn't want me to get involved.

But when I read in
the papers that they

didn't know who killed
this nice Mr. O'Mara,

I said, "Honey, listen, I gotta tell
the cops what I seen." So here I am.

Thank you, Mrs. Rizzo. Would
you be so kind as to wait outside?

More waiting? Oh, mamma mia. No
wonder people don't like to get involved.

Okay, okay, I'll wait.

Look, it isn't the way it seems.

Well, maybe you can
tell us the way it was.

Well, after I left you at the theater,
I did go out and have a few drinks.

All right, a lot of drinks.

But the more I drank, the more I
thought that this play, that my career,

that my entire life depended
on what Danny O'Mara wrote.

And so I decided— And—and
I know it was stupid...

But I decided that I'd go and talk
to him and, well, beg for mercy.

- He refused and you plugged him.
- No!

When I realized I was so drunk
I couldn't find his apartment,

that's when I knew that
I wasn't thinking straight.

- So I went out and got really plastered.
- I'm not buyin' that for a minute.

You were in the building. You had motive
to switch those reviews. You're a writer!

You could've very easily copied his
style. You know how to use a computer.

Lieutenant, how
do you know that?

We got a court order to search
his apartment. He owns a computer.

Yeah, well, since when is it
a crime to own a computer?

If I wanted to write a
favorable review of my

play, I would've written
a better one than that.

Whoever wrote it
missed the whole point!

Everybody's a critic. Consider
yourself an arrested person.

Lieutenant, look. I know
Walter. Believe me...

Mrs. Fletcher, I know
this isn't typecasting,

but the killer in this script has
Walter Knapf's name written all over it!

Jessica, please.

Don't you worry, Walter.

I have another script in mind...
with some different casting.

Like it? I'm a troll.

Shayna asked me to come in early
to try on the new hair and makeup.

She read in some review
that witches are cliché.

Well, I hate to think
what Shayna will do

when somebody writes
that trolls are cliché.

Maybe it is a bit much.

I mean, nobody would
even recognize me.

You must be very proud of having gotten
that good notice from Elliot Easterbrook.

It is really nice, isn't it?

I thought he really understood what I
was trying to accomplish with the role.

Yes, yes. Of course,
an advanced look at the

script must have, uh,
helped him with that.

Oh, I don't know. I mean, it
changed so much since he...

Wait a minute. What makes
you think I loaned him my script?

Well, I saw it in his office. I
assumed that you'd left it there.

Oh, no, he probably just
crammed it in his briefcase

along with everything
else when he left my place.

I take it that you're, uh,
dating Mr. Easterbrook.

If you can call it that.

We only went out
once. Just once?

Mmm. What he wanted
was so disgusting.

Oh, I see. Yeah. Nothing kinky.

Just four hours of dinner when
all he did was talk about himself.

It was all Shayna's idea. I told
her she could do her own dirty work.

But, Morris, baby, I'm doing you a favor
by letting you in on this new show early.

Come in!

Yes, well, I hold
an option. Mm-hmm.

On another book by the
same author, J.B. Fletcher...

Uh, um,

sweetie, baby, I'm going
to have to get back to you.

Mm-hmm. They need me.

Ciao, baby.

I wasn't aware that
we were negotiating.

Oh, well, I was going to call
your agent first thing in the a.m.

I suppose I really should
thank you, Shayna.

I was just talking to Barbara, and it
seems that I have underestimated you.

Well, people do. That's part
of being a woman in business.

Well, I don't have
to tell you, darling.

I just had no idea that
you were so resourceful

about assuring the
success of your productions.

I mean, Barbara told me how you
introduced her to, uh, Elliot Easterbrook.

Oh, that? That was nothing.

A favor to Barbara, really.

Um, they seemed to
be the kind that, uh,

could develop a mutually
beneficial relationship.

Shayna, I've got those
TV reviews you wanted

to pull quotes from.
Easterbrook's on top.

Mmm. Thanks. Jessica,
this might interest you.

Pulling pearls from swine.

And Barbara Blair
shines briefly as a witch.

Tony Jasper as the Woodsman
is appropriately wooden.

If you’re looking
for— That's it!

No, no, Jessica, we're
trying to find the good bits.

I'm sorry, Shayna. I have
to see a man about a play.

Jessica! After all
we've been through!

I'll match any
offer! Forget match!

Mr. Easterbrook?

- Thank you for joining me.
- Curiosity, Mrs. Fletcher,
nothing more.

I do hope you don't
construe this as an agreement

with your proposal that
we collaborate on a play.

You know how I
feel about mysteries.

Well, that's why I wanted
your opinion on my idea.

I knew that you would
give it a frank appraisal.

Won't you sit down?

Don't say I didn't warn you.

The setting of the
story is the theater.

The victim is a powerful critic.

Oh, dear. Art imitates life.

Our killer is very meticulous.

But he also has a
flair for the dramatic.

He plans his murder to coincide
with the opening of a new mystery play.

After the curtain comes down, the
killer goes to the critic's apartment.

They know each other,
and even though the

critic is working on
his review of the show,

he lets the killer in.

Once inside, the
killer shoots his victim.

The killer erases from the computer disk
the bad review his victim has been writing,

and replaces it with a rave
review the murderer wrote earlier...

and took with him
on his own disk.

He calls the police
with an anonymous tip

that later proves to
be partially incorrect,

making it look as if
he's been framed...

which of course he
has, but by himself.

This is why I don't
like mysteries.

This anonymous
tip achieves what?

He knows the police
will ultimately determine

the time of death to
be two hours earlier.

Once he's been cleared, it's extremely
unlikely that he'd be accused again.

But to be cleared,
he must have an alibi.

He has the best.

He was appearing live
on television when the

phony review was
received in the newspaper.

Quite a brilliant touch.

But I can't imagine how he could
be in two places at the same time.

Oh, he wasn't, of course.

Everyone assumed that the phony review was
transmitted from the victim's apartment...

as his reviews usually were.

But it was actually
transmitted from the killer's

own computer at
the television station...

while he was on the air delivering
his review of the same play.

A bit far-fetched,
but quite brilliant.

I doff my chapeau to
you, Madame Authoress.

What we're dealing with
here is a perfect crime.

It could be perfect, yes,
except that Molière was right.

In—In what respect?

The theater is unpredictable.

You see, Mr. Easterbrook, there
was a cast change opening night.

And since you came in late,
you missed the announcement...

and used the name of the
wrong actor in your TV review...

and in the phony review, you
wrote under Mr. O'Mara's name.

I see we've switched from
the third person to the second.

Even a fictional judge and jury
would hardly accept that as proof.

True, but they would accept
the TV station's phone log.

I beg your pardon?

Your station's log shows a five
minute call to the Chronicle at 11:15,

exactly the time it took to
transmit the phony review.

Even the finest works
of art have their flaws.

Congratulations, Mrs. Fletcher.

The only thing
missing is a motive.

Yes, I wondered about that.

Imagine a young and
impressionable writer...

who has his first play
produced off-off-off Broadway.

It's not perfect, but he
has talent, and it's a start.

And imagine a critic
from a second-rate

newspaper trying to
make a name for himself.

His review of the
play is devastating.

So devastating the young
playwright never writes another play.

No, instead, he becomes
a critic himself and

vows to best his
destroyer at his own game.

But it's not enough.

It's not enough to
eradicate the pain.

Only one thing can do that.

Mr. Easterbrook.

The detective in the
wings, Mrs. Fletcher?

I suppose I should have
expected a climax so cliché.

You know, personally,
I liked this guy's ending.

But there's one
thing that bothers me.

How did you know the TV
station logged their phone calls?

Well, if they don't,
they ought to.