Murder, She Wrote (1984–1996): Season 4, Episode 22 - The Body Politic - full transcript

Jessica flies in for her old friend Kathleen Lane's campaign in the senatorial primaries and accepts to replace her suddenly deserted speech-writer. After a dodgy TV talk-show host makes a sleazy deal with opponent Arthur Drelinger's campaign staff, he gets and publishes pictures suggesting Lane had an affair with her much younger campaign manager Bud Johnson, who is net found dead, apparently suicide by jumping in her bathrobe from her balcony, which Jessica believes to be staged, but by whom and why thus? Meanwhile Kath's rich ad generous, much older husband Jackson Lane, also suspected of financial faults, speaks up for her innocence, but can that save her candidature?

I predict that
Kathleen will win.

[Woman] Tonight on
Murder, She Wrote.

The police found
Bud's body in my robe.

We're absolutely clean
on this. Now trust me.

We're also negotiating
with Bud's grieving widow.

If she and her attorney agree to
the bucks, well, she gets first crack.

Hey, I'm talking dinner
here. Maybe a chance to talk.

He must have gone from
his room to mine naked.

Surprised? Nothing
about politics surprises me.

- Assume he had his own key.
- Jack, please!

[Crowd Chattering]
[Gavel Banging]



[Man On P.A.] Mr. Speaker,
the 23rd Districtjoins...

with the 18th and the 33rd districts in
unanimous support for the candidate.

[Man #2] Mr. Speaker, the Union
of Federated Office Workers...

submit the name of
the only candidate...

that has the full support
of the upstate minorities.

A proven leader, and
can deliver the votes—

[Gavel Banging] to gain victory—

If my opponent
can't find a way...

to pay back the $600,000 he
owes from his last campaign,

then how can the voters expect him to
do anything about the federal budget?

Well, I certainly wish I had a
millionaire spouse like Mrs. Lane here.

Uh, perhaps the fairness doctrine would
allow your husband to help repay my debts.

After all, we're from the
same party. [Chuckles]

[Man, Indistinct] Why does she
have to take all these cheap shots,



just because I've
got a few bucks?

Jackson, you ought to come out on the road
with us more often. You get used to it.

Drelinger has read that same bad
joke on the past four TV appearances.

"After all, we're
from the same party."

Complete with the "ha, ha, ha's."
The man's on the threshold of senility.

Well, the "ha, ha,
ha's" must be working.

My man still leads Kathleen
by 10 points in the polls.

Kathleen is closing
the gap and you know it.

You ought to get your old boy
some new ad libs, Butterfield.

Yeah, and some fresh
three-by-five cards.

Well, in the few moments
that we have left...

Mrs. Lane, this morning's
Daily Post alleges...

that you and Bud Johnson, your
campaign manager, were becoming...

Well, how should
I put it? Involved.

I don't believe this. Bud Johnson’s
only involvement with me...

is managing my campaign.

Anything beyond that is
merely malicious gossip.

So you're denying that
the relationship is romantic?

Yes, my campaign director and I
were dancing together last night...

In front of a thousand voters at
the Italian-American block party.

The Post calls it a romance.

I call it the Tarantella.

All right. She's on a roll now.

I'm gonna try and answer
some of these calls.

The few hours my campaign
allows me to sleep...

I sleep with my husband— when
he can get out on the stump with me.

There have been
persistent rumors.

Mr. Hall, I don't want to talk about
rumors. It demeans both our professions.

But five years ago, when you
were mayor of your home town,

stories persisted that you had an affair
with a married man. Forgive me, Mr. Hall.

What should be put to bed in this
campaign is gossip, not me. ♪ [Orchestra]

Well, I'm sorry. I see that's all the
time we have for Face the Issues.

- I want to thank both candidates.
- Thank you, Edmund.

And I for one am certainly
willing to overlook and forget...

any of Mrs. Lane's
past indiscretions.

This is Edmund Hall.
Have a pleasant Sunday.

Cass? Bud. [Woman]
Bud. Thank God.

Sounds like trouble. You bet.

- Harold just quit.
- What?

We spent eight weeks wining and dining
the best speech writer in the country...

Man, that really leaves
me hanging out to dry.

Well, I'm working on some
alternatives. Good. Good. Keep on it.

Listen, Cass, uh, I
just spoke with Gracie,

and she's gonna stay up at the farm
with the kids for a couple of weeks.

Bud, don't start. Okay?

Hey, I'm talking dinner.
Maybe a chance to talk.

Bud, you're a nice
guy, but I'm talked out.

Now, what was,
was. Now let it alone.

[Clicks, Dial Tone]

Kathleen! You were wonderful.

Ohh. Bud was right. I
should have known better.

I try to deal with issues, and
that muck-raking gossip hound...

All he cares about
is— Somebody call me?

Oh, yes. Uh, you're
supposed to be impartial.

You cut Kathleen off just when
she was about to nail Drelinger.

It's a half-hour show. I can't spill
over into Pro Bowling Highlights.

Oh, Edmund, other than the
blow dry and some makeup,

just what are your
qualifications to be a newsman?

She danced with the mayor last
night— With half of the city council.

- Is she fooling around with them too?
- Just be glad I'm focusing
on your wife and not you.

The Post is sifting through your
back taxes, but did I bring it up?

If you're looking for old
news, dig up Watergate.

I paid every penny
back. It's on the record.

That's wonderful,
Edmund. [Laughs]

You've just handed
me the winning issue.

I'm going to appeal to every voter
who's ever been audited by the I.R.S.

Ah! It'll be a landslide.

[Chuckles] I'll say
one thing, Kathleen.

You kiss a lot better
than Arthur Drelinger.

[Both Chuckle]

Kate, if you don't mind, I
want to get back to the house.

I want to look at those
condominium estimates tonight.

Well, I wouldn't be very
good company anyway.

We will see you this
weekend in, uh—in, uh...

Bud! Help.

Where will this wandering
caravan be on Saturday?

Uh, let's see. Lacentra and, uh,

Holiday Township
and Forest Heights.

'Course, that's just
Saturday morning.

Listen, there's a glitch with Harold.
I've gotta run and try and iron it out.

I'll see you back at
the hotel, all right?

Well, I showed you the
great capitals of Europe.

You can show me the motel
capitals of middle America.

[Footsteps]

You people have Hall on your payroll,
or does he just have a garbage fetish?

Guy is just doin' his job.

Anyway, Kathleen can't
overcome Drelinger's lead.

Bright girl like you, top 10%
of her class at Pendleton...

You of all people should
be able to do the arithmetic.

Ooh. What adds up
in this voter profile...

is that you're falling way behind
among working women and blacks.

When our guy clobbers
Kathleen— And he will...

We're gonna be taking on some
extra staffers for the main event.

Does that mean that
you'll be looking for a

highly visible and bright
working black female?

What do you think Kathleen
took you on for, sweetheart?

I can't imagine.

Well, Butterfield. How
do you score the debate?

On balance, I'd say
you came off best.

[Chuckles] Did you ever
think of going into politics?

Uh, look. This is
strictly on background,

but somebody fed that story to the
Post about Kathleen and Bud Johnson.

The Drelinger camp would
never smear an opponent.

Look, Kathleen Lane is news.

Right now the only story I've got,
besides those rumors about her love life,

is how she's closing
the gap on Drelinger.

Now, if you guys have got something,
and you give it to me instead of the Post—

Well, all I can say is, my
sources are always confidential.

Well, like I said, we
don't deal in dirty tricks...

It smacks of bad sportsmanship—
But we are doing some research.

If something newsworthy does
turn up, you might get a call.

Just make sure I get it first.

If any headline material does
turn up— And I'm not saying it will...

It would come from
some anonymous source.

- Understood?
- Perfectly.

[Jessica] Uh,
Fletcher, J. B., Mrs.

I'm sorry. The computer
does not recognize you.

When do you say you made
this alleged reservation?

I made it last night in Chicago, but—
You should have a confirmation number.

Every reservation has
a confirmation number.

Yes, well, I told you, I
didn't make it personally.

It was arranged—
[Kathleen] Jessica?

Oh, Kathleen. Thank
heavens. [Laughing]

Oh! You look
absolutely wonderful.

Well, so do you.

I'll look better after I've checked
in and got into a hot tub...

If they can find a tub for me to
climb into. Is there a problem?

Well, they seem to have lost the
reservation that you made for me.

Good Lord. I told Bud
to make that personally.

Excuse me, uh, Preston?

There seems to be
some sort of mix-up.

I would very much appreciate
it if you could arrange...

to put Mrs. Fletcher in a room
as close to mine as possible.

Of course— If there's
anything available.

And you are?

It's been almost four months,
and I'm still "Mrs. Anonymous."

Well, I thought you were
coming up in the polls.

Oh, I am, but this
is only the primary.

The fact is, if it isn't a
presidential election,

the public interest is on a par
with Saturday night wrestling.

Mmm. Frankly, if it wasn't
for all of the money...

that Jackson’s poured
into my candidacy,

I'd still be a total nobody,
instead of a relative unknown.

That sounds awfully cynical.

I hadn't realized... [Sighs]

what a big fishbowl
I'd be living in.

The press has been having a field
day digging into my personal life.

Not just mine, but Jackson’s
too. Anything for a story.

The less it has to do
with the issues, the better.

Speaking of the issues,
I was delighted when

you asked me to come
here and speak for you.

You know, your program
on environmental cleanup...

is something that I
can really get behind.

I have another little problem.

My head writer quit
on me this morning,

and this Friday I am making
my most important address...

to the state party leaders,
right here in the capital.

And it isn't enough that I find a writer
who understands my position on the issues.

I need somebody who knows me...

Who— who won’t just be
putting words into my mouth.

- Oh, no.
- Oh, please, Jess.

Look, Kathleen, if you give me a
good juicy murder and a few suspects,

my imagination will
swing into high gear.

But, uh, speechifying?

I'm not sure that I could
write on a soapbox.

But that's exactly why I need
you. You can write so movingly.

You won't make me sound
like an oracle on Mt. Olympus.

This morning I tried
to ad lib a speech,

and almost guaranteed a group of
foreign war veterans maternity leave.

Sure, you're laughing,
but I'm desperate.

Unless you pick up an
oar and start to paddle,

I'm afraid I'm going to
have to jump this ship.

Well, we can't have that.

All right.

I'll climb on board for a week's
worth of “My fellow citizens."

[Buzzer] [Hall] Yes, Ruth?

[Woman] A man
for you on line one.

This is Edmund Hall.

[Distorted Male Voice]
Are you interested in

a story that will bury
one of the candidates?

Who—Who is this?

Call me a highly placed source.

Is that you, Butterfield?

If you're not interested,
I can take it to the Post.

Okay, let's say I'm interested.

[Man On P.A.] The 1 1:00 bus to
Cleveland is now boarding at Gate 10.

[Ringing]

Hall. [Man, Indistinct]

What? The phone book—
Find your station's number.

What is this, some kind of joke?

I don't think Kathleen
Lane will be laughing.

Now who is this?

[Line Clicks, Dial Tone]

Bud, see what you
think of this piece so far.

Good. It's good.

Though you might want to soft pedal this
reference to day care for working mothers.

But in a speech Kathleen gave
last week, she came out for day care.

Yeah, well, that was
at a day care center.

The speech you're working on is for a
couple hundred ladies at a country club,

and they already have day care.

- They call her the maid.
- [Laughs]

How does Kathleen feel about
day care? I mean, really feel?

Beats me. I never asked her.

Hi, guys. Just left Kathleen
at the senior citizens' center.

And did she come
out for long life?

Yeah, that's our position. Nan,
when's Kathleen getting back?

Late. While she was at the center,
the state party chairman called.

He wanted to see her. She said
she was gonna drive out to his house.

Maybe he's gonna drop the
other shoe and come out for her.

Maybe he's gonna drop the other
shoe on her and come out for Drelinger.

Bologna? [Laughs] No comment.

♪ [TV: Instrumental]

[Man On TV] Here now with
the 1 1:00 news, Edmund Hall.

Good evening. In the headlines,
this campaign exclusive:

A highly placed source
close to the senate primary...

has made available
to this reporter...

photographs of married
candidate Kathleen Lane,

seen here with her also-married,

30-year-old campaign
director Bud Johnson...

at her vacation retreat
at Lake St. Catherine.

According to campaign insiders,

her husband was out of the
country on business at the time.

This morning's
Daily Post alleges—

Mrs. Fletcher. Did
you see Channel 8?

Yellow journalism in living
color. Have you seen Bud?

He's not in his room. No, and
Kathleen's not in her room either.

Great. Where are those two?

[Siren Blaring]

[Tires Screech] [Man] Okay,
okay, get back. Get back.

All right, everybody,
all right. Back of the

barricades. Stand
back of the barricades.

[Kathleen] Cass,
what's going on?

Oh, Kathleen, he must
have fallen from the balcony.

Oh!

Mrs. Lane, do you have any idea
why Mr. Johnson killed himself?

No. Did you see the
11:00 news tonight?

No, but my associate, Cass Malone,
told me about those ridiculous photographs.

The way I see it, if he saw
those photographs on the news,

he knew he had
finished your chances.

Lieutenant, we
weren't lovers. No?

- Then how come he jumped
from your balcony?
- Well, that's impossible.

Recognize this, Mrs. Lane?

Yes, that's mine.
Where did you get it?

Where did you see it last? I
guess I took it off when I showered.

Lieutenant, where did
you find that bracelet?

In the pocket of the robe
the victim was wearing.

Now, every guest gets a robe.

They're all the same.
But yours is missing.

Now, I don't know what
the victim was wearing...

when he left the balcony, but when
he landed, he was wearing your robe.

Mrs. Lane, you care to
tell us what was going on?

Lieutenant, Mrs. Lane wasn't
here. She's just returned.

- Uh-huh.
- [Rings]

Penthouse.

Excuse me, Mrs. Lane.

It's your husband.

Take it in the bedroom.

Lieutenant? We found something
across the hall in the victim's room.

Right.

No. I didn't see
the news either.

Some supposedly flirtatious photographs
of Bud and me alone out at the lake.

[Jackson] Yes, I understand. Some
reporter called to give me a description.

Look, honey, I don't
want to sound cold,

but you can't let Bud's
death stop your campaign.

Jack, the police found
Bud's body in my robe.

- What the hell does that mean?
- I don't know.

Uh, traffic's light.

I'll be there in an hour.
What's your room number?

1811. No, wait. The management
gave me another room.

Check with the desk.

Oh, and Jackson,
please— Drive safely.

The victim's pants.
The victim's room key.

Something I can do
for you, Mrs. Fletcher?

One of your men
said I'd find you here.

Lieutenant, I think you should
have a word with your fingerprint man.

- What's he turned up?
- Nothing.

Well, what I mean is,

he didn't find any prints on the
door handle leading to the balcony.

- So?
- Well, a man doesn't go
out on a balcony to end it all...

and wipe his prints
off the handle first.

No. I won't give a statement to the
paper until the facts are sorted out.

Mrs. Lane? We just got
these on loan from Channel 8.

It doesn't take a detective to figure out
who stands to gain from this, Lieutenant.

So you and Johnson
weren't at the lake together?

We were there.
What are you saying?

Are you saying these
are doctored? Faked?

Those pictures are
really perfectly innocent.

Look, ma'am, we figure he fell
between 10:45 and that news broadcast.

Maybe even just after
these pictures were aired.

- Where were you tonight?
- Me? Well, I...

Kathleen, weren’t you out meeting
the state party chairman at his house?

Mrs. Fletcher, you said that
you were her speech writer.

Are you also her spokesperson?

Lieutenant, I did go out there.

Actually, I didn't
meet with him.

The message I got must
have been fouled up.

I arrived there about 10:30. I rang
the doorbell. Nobody answered.

So I climbed back into my
car, waited about a half an hour,

and then I drove back into
town. Did anybody see you?

Yes. I told you,
the parking valet.

When I pulled up outside, Bud's
body had just been discovered.

Oh. Well, who is to say that you
didn't return to the hotel earlier?

I'm to say. The hotel
has my new room number.

Kathleen, shall I go with you?
Oh, no, Jess. I'll be all right.

Jackson's driving in.

These letters and numbers
mean anything to anybody?

"A.D. 53/K.L. 46."

Would seem to be a
poll of some sort. Nan?

That's right. They're preliminary figures
from a survey conducted this afternoon.

Did you give this to Mrs.
Lane or the victim? No.

Oh. What I mean is, they
were phoned in to me at 10:00,

and I brought them right over,
but Kathleen wasn't back yet.

At least, nobody answered when I
knocked. So I slipped them under the door.

Oh. How odd.

And nobody answered?

Maybe somebody didn't
want to be disturbed.

I was wondering how
they got onto this table.

Sure. Bud and I went for a
swim. It was totally innocent.

Kathleen.

We've always leveled with each
other. I'm only gonna ask you once.

Jack, I swear. I—
Please, let me finish.

It's no secret. Bud gave his hotel
room keys to every woman... but his wife.

Jack, we weren't
having an affair.

I promise you.

That's all I wanted to hear.

Those photographs
of Bud and I hugging...

I'd just beat him at Ping-Pong.
He actually started to pout.

I just felt sorry for him.

What was the score?

Twenty-one to three.

[Chuckles] You always
have to win, don't you?

I'm not so sure I'm
gonna win this one.

You've done nothing wrong.

Tomorrow you'll call a press
conference, deny everything.

Let's go to bed, get
some sleep, huh?

[Kathleen] Please.
[Jackson] Quiet, please. Quiet.

Please. You'll all have a chance.
She has a statement to make.

Ladies and gentlemen,

I am prepared to
make a statement.

Please.

Thank you.

Bud and I were coworkers...

and, yes, friends.

But it never went
any further than that.

I just wish that he
were alive now...

to personally refute those charges
and those misleading photographs.

Mrs. Lane, are you
going to stay in the race?

My supporters—and my husband—
Want me to stay and fight.

I'm sure that's what Bud
would have wanted too.

But most important,
I want to carry on,

and no amount of press
pillory can make me back out.

[Woman] Mr. Lane?

Is it true that you were out of
the country on the weekend...

that Bud Johnson and your wife
spent the day at your summer cottage?

I was away on business
in the Bahamas.

Uh, but Kathleen told me that
they intended to work there.

Uh, Miss Brown,

I have total confidence
in my wife's fidelity.

Score one for the home team.

Thank you.

I would just like to add...

My wife started
out a dark horse,

some 20 points behind Drelinger.

Now she's closed to
only seven points behind.

I predict that Kathleen
will win, come primary day.

Mrs. Lane, who do you
think took those pictures?

Who do you think
has the most to gain?

Are you implying Drelinger's
people are behind it?

You said that, Harry. I didn't.

Mr. Hall, suppose you tell
us and your colleagues...

just how you got those pictures.

There are shield laws
in this state, and I'm

prepared to go to jail
to protect my sources.

Mrs. Lane, first the
police said it was suicide.

Now the word from headquarters
is a loud and clear "no comment."

- Would you care to comment?
- You know as much as I do, Mr. Hall.

You told the police that you
were away from the hotel...

when Bud Johnson
died. That's true.

Then if you weren't there
to let him into your room,

I assume he had his own key.

Jack, please! [Man] Mr. Lane!

[Clamoring]

Hold it, hold it, hold it.

[Lieutenant] Yeah, it's murder,
and yeah, I think she did it,

but proving it...

I'm not so sure about that.

Meanwhile, she's
being convicted on the

front page of every
newspaper in this state.

Hey, she's news.
Nobody asked her to run.

You sure you don't want
some coffee, Mrs. Fletcher?

- I know it looks lousy, but— -
Oh, no. No, no, no, thank you.

Lieutenant— The thing is, this
case has a lot of loose ends,

and the D.A.'s the kind of a guy who likes
his packages wrapped up nice and neat.

You know what I mean? What
you mean is, that this case...

may never come to
trial. You could say that.

While Kathleen Lane
tries to run for office...

with this cloud of suspicion
hanging over her head.

Well, it's better than
being tried and convicted.

Have you considered that somebody
else may have killed Mr. Johnson...

and framed Mrs. Lane for the express
purpose of destroying her candidacy?

It's crossed my mind.

Well, next time it starts
crossing, Lieutenant,

please stop it halfway...

and give it some attention.

I have known this woman
for 17 years, and believe me,

she is incapable of
deceit or subterfuge,

and she is also incapable
of committing murder.

Sure, she's a friend. I understand.
Oh, it's much more than that.

She's innocent, and she's not
gonna spend the rest of her life...

Political or not— with people whispering
behind her back that she's a killer.

Not if I have anything to
say about it. Excuse me.

Thank you.

Oh, Mrs. Fletcher.

Edmund Hall, Channel 8.

Yes. News at 6:00
and 11:00. [Chuckles]

I'm sure your broadcast
tonight will be quite lively,

since you managed to provoke
Jackson Lane into a near brawl. [Laughs]

How are you planning to
lead off? With a hook or a jab?

If you're in town Sunday,
tune in Face the Issues.

That's my foray
into public service.

And news at 6:00
and 11:00 isn't?

Well, my Sunday
show's not hard news.

We have on
scholars, intellectuals.

That's nice.
Excuse me, Mr. Hall.

Look. If you happen
to have a new book out,

I'd love to have
you on the show...

Unless you're opposed
to tooting your own horn.

Oh, I don't mind
selling books, Mr. Hall.

You could even say a few
words about Kathleen Lane.

The longtime-friend angle
always intrigues the electorate.

Something personal that she
might have mentioned to me?

Like the identity
of that doctor...

that she was supposed to be
seeing while she was the mayor?

Well, the public loves a peek
into a candidate's personal file.

You know, at times it seems
that's all they are interested in.

Look, Mr. Hall, I might—just
might— consider chatting with you...

about my latest novel
and other matters...

if you will tell me who
gave you those photographs.

You're quite a horse trader,
Mrs. Fletcher. [Chuckles]

But the truth is, I don't know.

Oh!

That's why you claimed confidential
source and shield laws, et cetera.

Well, I could
hardly tell the truth.

I'm supposed to gather news, not have
it left for me in bus station lockers...

by persons unknown. "Unknown"?

Doesn't the name Arthur
Drelinger spring to mind?

All right, I'll level with you.

C.W. Butterfield, Drelinger's
campaign manager,

has been beating
around the bush.

He said he might have something
newsworthy about Kathleen Lane.

But I can't swear
it was the photos.

So do I count you in
for Face the Issues?

I will think about it.
Well, don't think too long.

We're also negotiating
with Bud's grieving widow.

If she and her attorney
agree to the bucks...

Well, she gets
first crack, naturally.

I'll wait to hear from you.

I just can't believe that somebody
would murder Bud just to win an election.

Even more
disturbing is the fact...

that they seem to have gone to
considerable trouble to smear you.

You know what I
don't understand...

is if Bud's clothes
were in his room,

and he was found
dead in my bathrobe,

he must have gone from
his room to mine naked.

No, I think it's more likely that
he was lured into your room,

killed, and then
put into your robe.

Then the murderer took
Bud's clothes back to his room...

using the key that I saw Lt. Gowans
take out of Bud's trousers pocket.

Kathleen, I can't say...

that his has any
connection with Bud's death,

but Edmund Hall has been
trying to pump me about you...

and that mysterious doctor.

Hall is nothing more than a
Peeping Tom with a hand mike.

Kathleen.

Is there something that
you haven't told me about?

Anything at all?
No, of course not.

Did you talk to the party
chairman about the meeting...

that you were supposed
to have at his house?

Yes. He said he never called me.

Nan Wynn was the one
who told me he called.

So someone called Nan Wynn
claiming to be the party chairman,

luring you away from the hotel.

Kathleen, where is
Nan? I don't know.

I've been trying to
reach her all day.

Where are you going?
What about my speech?

Well, the speech can wait.

Kathleen, I think it's
high time that somebody

had a chat with the
source of your troubles.

The issue in this campaign,
friends and neighbors,

is a simple one.

Moral integrity, honesty,
a respect for justice...

and a love for the
American way of life.

C.W., there's something wrong
here. What is it now, Arthur?

Shouldn't that be
"issues," not "issue"?

I mean, here I am reading
off this laundry list of clichés.

No. "Simple, honesty,
respect for justice"...

They're slogans, Arthur. Ideas.

You want to say issues? Fine.

Say issues. Just try to
make it sound sincere.

And while you're
at it, don't blink your

eyes so much. It makes
you look shifty-eyed.

[Door Opens] Well, if these
lights weren't so bright...

Leo, how's my make-up?

I feel like I'm sweating.
Excuse me, sir.

Yeah?

Lieutenant Gowans— He's outside.

Well, I already told him we didn't
slip those photos to Channel 8.

You want me to have him wait?

Outside in the chief's anteroom?

Oh, that's a terrific idea.
No! Bring him inside.

Okay, outside,
everybody. Five minutes.

You're doing fine.
You're doing fine.

C.W.? Yeah?

If we did have anything to
do with those photographs

Hall got ahold of, I don't
want to know about it.

- Is that clear?
- Chief, we're absolutely clean on this.

Now trust me.

Gentlemen.

Lieutenant. So good to see you.

Dreadful business,
this thing with Johnson.

My heart goes out
to that poor woman.

Hey, I just heard on the radio
that a new poll from the Daily Post...

says Mrs. Lane just
fell 12 points behind you.

Well, you can't say
you're surprised.

Surprised? Nothing
about politics surprises me.

If the lady self-destructs,
well, that's her lookout.

I only get involved if
she got a little help.

I—I'm not quite sure I understand
that remark, Lieutenant.

Well, let me just make
it very clear to you, sir.

Were you and
Mr. Butterfield here...

between 10:00 and 1 1:00
Monday night, when Johnson died?

I think I resent that question.

Chief, the lieutenant's
just doing his job,

and obviously,
neither one of us...

has anything to hide.

The fact is, Mr. Drelinger...

was at the Onyx Lodge
from 8:00 to 1 1:00.

He was receiving the Man of the
Year A ward, and, of course, I was there.

11:00, huh?

I heard it was 10:30
when you two left.

I thought it was later than that.
We were in my car at 11:00...

driving Mr. Drelinger
to his hotel.

We stayed in your hotel
room until after 12:00.

Wasn't that correct, Arthur?
Uh, yes. Uh, absolutely correct.

Well, thank you.

If I need anything else,
Mr. Butterfield, I'll let you know.

[Chuckles] Of course. Trust me.

Mrs. Fletcher. Lieutenant.

That speech you made kind of got to me,
so I decided to work on those loose ends.

And? Nothing. Zip. Zero.

Look, if you feel you can do
any better, please, be my guest.

Mrs. Fletcher. What a surprise.

I know you must be very busy, but I
wonder if you could spare a few moments.

Arthur, Jessica Fletcher...

Kathleen Lane's new writer.

The mystery novelist.
Yes, yes, of course.

Mrs. Fletcher, this
is indeed a pleasure.

Are you here with a
message from Kathleen?

- Now if she's ready to
bow out— - "Bow out"?

Oh, no. Nothing like that.

I just wanted to satisfy my curiosity
about one or two small things.

- Such as?
- Well, for starters, those photographs
that someone gave to Edmund Hall...

of Kathleen and Bud Johnson.

[Chuckling] We had nothing
to do with that. Really?

I can't imagine why anyone
would want to sneak around...

with a telephoto-lens camera,

trying to shoot something—

Well, shall we say compromising?

And then slip it
to Edmund Hall...

unless they were deliberately
trying to smear Kathleen Lane.

Mrs. Fletcher, I couldn't
agree with you more.

That kind of backstairs journalism
is an insult to the people we serve.

C.W., make a note.

We want a strong public statement
condemning that sort of sleazy journalism.

My goodness, no wonder you have so
many strong supporters, Mr. Drelinger.

I may be confused,
but someone told me...

that you had a file on Kathleen Lane,
and that you were working up something...

to release to the press.

Who told you that?
That is a damn lie.

Mrs. Fletcher, the only file
we have on Kathleen Lane...

is her position on the issues.

And between you,
me and the door post,

we're not that far
apart on a lot of things.

No, Mrs. Fletcher,

if there's one thing Arthur
Drelinger can't abide, it's dirty tricks.

Arthur, here's the documented
printout of our new phone survey.

Kathleen Lane
is officially... dead.

[Nan] I swear, Mrs. Fletcher,
I was not a spy for Drelinger.

Yes, but according to Cass Malone,
you delivered the message to Kathleen...

to visit the party chairman,
which left her without an alibi.

I only took the message. The man
said he was an aide to the party chairman.

I—I thought you believed in
Kathleen's stand on the issues.

What I believe in are numbers...

The substantial salary numbers
that Drelinger's campaign offered me,

and the ugly numbers that Kathleen
is suddenly trailing by in the polls.

It just seems to me
that if you beat the body

politic over the head long
enough with these polls,

they tend to become a
self-fulfilling prophecy.

Self-fulfilling or not,
Kathleen is dead in the water.

Take a look at the month-to-month
curve on these numbers.

Kathleen starts
out 20 points back,

then she closes
it to 15, then 12,

then 10, then five.

In this past week— The
photos, Bud's death...

It's back to 12 in two days.

You mean Kathleen was
within five points of Drelinger?

The day Bud was murdered, yes.

But the figures that you passed
under the door were 53 to 46.

That's seven points.

That was a mistake.

I told you and Lt.
Gowans. No one else.

What's the big deal?

Anybody can make a mistake.

Oh, dear.

Mrs. Fletcher?

What's going on? Is she throwing
in the towel? I honestly don't know.

Well, she's called
a press conference.

She's trailing Drelinger by 12
points now. What else could it be?

Maybe she's decided
to hang in and fight it out.

But if she has
decided to withdraw,

I think that you can take
some of the responsibility.

Oh, give me a break, Mrs. Fletcher.
I don't make the news. I just report it.

Really? It doesn't seem
as simple as that to me.

Whatever you report
becomes the news.

You seem to decide what is news
and what is important and what isn't.

I mean, somehow you seem to mix
up importance with sensationalism.

Let me explain something to you.

The political beat
puts people to sleep.

It's dry, it's boring. They want
to see Dallas. Knots Landing.

So you give them soap operas.
Well, what about the issues?

What have we got? Two, three
minutes of air time per story?

We've gotta grab 'em. And
what are we gonna give them?

Dry statistics? Charts? Graphs?

You seem to have a very
low opinion of your viewers.

One thing I know about
the public, Mrs. Fletcher...

They have a very
short attention span.

If Kathleen Lane folds,
she's yesterday's newspaper.

In a month, they won't
even remember her name.

Yes, well, thank you for the
lesson in political science, Mr. Hall.

Thank you.

Oh, Kathleen. Jessica.

Thank you so much for trying
to lend a hand. Then it's true?

I can't convince
her to carry on.

Oh, Jessica, how can I?

I've learned the hard way that a
candidate is worth two angles to the media.

When I was 20 points behind in
the polls, they tried to build me up...

with those heart-rending
stories about the gutsy underdog.

But after molding you
into David versus Goliath,

they wanted a new angle
for the morning edition.

That's the idea.

And when I closed the gap,
they started to tear me down.

My attempt at public service
has cost me my dignity,

my privacy and my sanity.

And it could have
cost me my marriage.

Sorry, Jessica. It
just isn't worth it.

Kathleen? The lynch
party's trampling the lawn.

We're still suing
Hall and Channel 8.

No, we're not, darling.

We're just gonna get on
with the rest of our lives.

Well, I'd better go out there and
give 'em the hanging they came for.

Jackson? Could I have
a moment with you?

Uh, Kathleen?
I'll be right along.

Yes, what is it, Jessica?
Something wrong? Well, I'm afraid so.

I think I know who took those
photos of Kathleen and Bud...

and leaked them to
Channel 8. You do?

It was the same person
that lured Kathleen

away from the hotel
the night that Bud died.

Well, if it's someone
on Drelinger's staff,

then we've gotta stop
her from withdrawing.

Oh, I'm afraid it's
a little late for that.

Please! Please, I
have a statement.

If a candidate's character
becomes the issue of the campaign,

and the bedroom
becomes the ballot box,

then the candidate can no
longer speak on the vital ideas...

and programs that
should be addressed.

Although my husband and...

some tireless volunteers
and staff workers...

pleaded with me to
remain in the race,

I am announcing my withdrawal.

[Reporters Clamoring]

I hope to, uh,

speak out on some of the
issues from time to time,

and that the party will still look
for the best man—or woman...

And not give the nomination
to Arthur Drelinger by default.

[Jackson] What a
gutsy lady she is, huh?

You know what I'm gonna do?

I'm gonna take here away
for a while— For a few months.

We always talked a lot
about spending time in France.

It really tears me
up though that...

she'll never get a chance
to show what she could do.

On the contrary. You must
be... enormously relieved.

Relieved? That somebody
like Drelinger smeared my wife...

and forced her to withdraw?
Oh, Jackson, I'm sorry.

But Kathleen's most dangerous
opponent in this campaign wasn't Drelinger.

- It was you. - Me? [Laughs]

After spending a million
dollars to launch her campaign?

Yes, I imagine there
probably was a time...

when you thought the election
might help your business deals,

but then the sharks
started to circle.

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

I'm talking about
the media spotlight...

That suddenly began to pry into
your personal and business life.

Everybody knew
about your tax problems,

but you thought that
was all behind you.

But because of Kathleen,
you became news again.

The press began to dig, to see
what dirt they could come up with.

Aw, that's ridiculous.

I don't think so.

You knew that—that you
couldn't take that kind of scrutiny,

so you decided that Kathleen
had to drop out of the race.

I think it was you who took those
photographs of Kathleen and Bud Johnson.

I was out of the country.

Well, that shouldn't be hard to check.
They keep very good records these days.

Lieutenant, you can't take this
woman's wild charges seriously.

Perhaps you'd like to show
us your passport, Mr. Lane.

Oh. All right.

Maybe I wasn't in the Bahamas.

That doesn't prove
I took the pictures.

I think that you called Edmund
Hall, disguising your voice.

I think you also left
that phone message,

luring Kathleen on that wild goose chase
to the chairman's house in the suburbs.

The next thing I know you'll be
accusing me of killing Bud Johnson.

For God sakes, I was here,

40 miles away from the city.

Oh, you may have given that impression
when you called on your car phone,

but you were there,
all right, Jackson,

in Kathleen's suite.
Oh, that's a lie.

Nan slipped the poll results
under the door at around 10:00.

"Fifty-three to forty-six."
Seven points apart.

Those are the numbers
you shouted at the reporters...

at the news conference
the very next morning.

My wife started
out a dark horse,

some 20 points behind Drelinger.

Now she's closed to
only seven points behind.

Care for an instant replay,
courtesy of Channel 8?

Well, that's what it was—seven
points. [Jessica] No, that was a mistake.

It was actually five points.

Nan was already making the
correction and typing up the release...

about the time you threw
Bud Johnson off the balcony.

The only way you'd
have gotten seven points...

would have been if
you’d been in that room...

and seen the figure she'd
slipped under the door.

Bud found out that I— I wasn't
in the Bahamas that weekend.

Once the photographs made the
news, he'd start to put it together.

And then... the
solution came to me.

Bud's suicide— It would finally
put an end to Kathleen's campaign.

I got—

I got Kathleen out and
I slipped into her suite.

I phoned Bud's room...

and I told him Kathleen was
back and wanted to see him.

I was— I was cornered.

I— I had to do something.

I brought the hammer from home.

So you removed his clothes,
dressed him in Kathleen's robe...

And then you threw
him off the balcony.

Jessica,

the people that I dealt
with in those days...

Well, the people
I deal with now...

I didn't get where I am...

by being a choirboy,

and they were getting
awfully nervous...

about those rumors.

It wasn't jail. I was looking...

I was looking at— [Sobs]

much worse, and
I couldn't think...

of what else to do.
[Pounding Door]

[Reporters Clamoring]

And now I'm gonna step
out of the goldfish bowl,

and once again become
Mrs. Jackson Lane—

The devoted wife of a wonderful,

loving husband.