Murder, She Wrote (1984–1996): Season 4, Episode 3 - Witness for the Defense - full transcript
Jessica goes to Quebec to testify at the trial of a friend who is accused of killing his wife and burning his house.
Did the victim die from the fire,
or from the blow to the head?
Tonight on Murder, She Wrote.
Only a fool would think
that was an accident.
- They seemed so happy.
- We knew so little about her.
Oh, yes. She completely
captivated Jim.
Oliver Quayle is a genius. You
know, he's never lost a murder trial.
- I hadn't planned to leave.
- I think it would be best for Jim
if you did.
Madam, it seems that one of New
England's most respected families...
is a breeding ground
for homicidal maniacs.
Good morning. I’m
Jessica Fletcher.
I believe Mr. Quayle
is expecting me.
Oh, yes, Mrs. Fletcher.
Indeed, yes. Please follow me.
Sir? Oh!
Welcome to Quebec,
Mrs. Fletcher.
I've been traveling, and I only just
received your letter yesterday, Mr. Quayle.
Oh, dear me, no.
I'm not Oliver Quayle.
No, I'm merely his
assistant, Barnaby Friar.
Well, not merely, exactly.
Can I get you something?
Well, thank you,
Mr. Friar, I'm just fine,
but you could tell me
what this is all about.
The letter mentioned a trial...
The Crown versus James Harlan.
Why don't I let Mr. Quayle
fill you in himself?
No trouble at all, Sir Randolph.
I won't be needing it
again until next month.
Yeah, uh, you're most
welcome. Don't mention it.
Have an absolutely
splendid time. Yes. Bye-bye.
I'm so sorry, Mrs. Fletcher.
Dear friend of mine wanting to
borrow my jet for a couple of weeks.
So kind of you to come.
Please, uh— Please sit down.
I don't imagine we'll have to
impose on your valuable time...
for more than a few days.
Jim has told me
wonderful things about you.
Where is Jim? I more or
less expected him to be here.
Uh, Mrs. Fletcher, I preferred
to have our little chat alone.
Alone?
Oh, my—my tailor?
Yes, I find with a schedule
as busy as mine, I sometimes...
have to accomplish two
things at the same time.
Yes. I would now like to
hear from your own lips...
your best recollection
of the events that led up...
to that fateful
day his wife died.
You have my full attention.
Just a little more cuff
showing, don't you think?
Well, it was six months ago.
Jim was about to publish his
second novel, and he had invited me...
up to Quebec for
the weekend to, uh—
Well, to have a
look at the galleys.
I had shown encouragement
to him on his first book,
and, uh, well, we
became friends.
Well? Jim, I think you've
got a real page-turner here.
You're not just saying
that? Oh, no, no.
Your characters are richer, you
handle your narrative with more authority,
and it has a real
ring of truth about it.
Oh, thank you.
Would you be willing to
write the review for the Times?
I will if they ask me.
- Patricia's back.
- Oh.
Shopping all day...
Did you get something
nice? Let me see it.
Ooh, nothing that
you'd be interested in.
It's for Monica. A little
going-away present.
I'm afraid I have
to be getting back.
My wife's lovely ex-roommate
suddenly appears,
out of the blue, and
then steals away...
before I've had a chance to pump
her about old college romances.
He'd probably change the
names and put 'em in his book.
Well, I'm afraid writers are
accused of that, you know.
Mmm. Yes, speaking of writers,
Jessica has pronounced
my opus readable.
I'd tell you what I really thought,
but he'd need a larger hat size. Ooh.
Oh, my. Patricia.
What a lovely brooch.
A present— from my thoughtful
husband on our first wedding anniversary.
It's a family heirloom. It
belonged to my grandmother.
Monica, I insist
you stay for dinner.
Actually, I have a 7:40 flight.
I booked Maurice
to do my hair at 6:00.
Jim, would you be a dear
and run Monica to the airport...
on your way into
the city? Well, sure.
We'll stop and have a couple of
drinks, and get better acquainted...
before you slip away.
That evening we
gathered for dinner...
at the Harlan townhouse
in the city at 8:30 precisely.
We sat down to eat even though
Patricia hadn’t yet returned home.
As you must know, Jim's
mother Judith is a woman...
who lets nothing
disrupt her daily routine.
Jim tells me that you've been very
flattering about his book, Jessica.
I thought only mothers had
that kind of blind admiration.
It wasn't flattery—
And certainly not blind.
Well, I'm delighted, of course.
Not that I'm an expert,
or even much of a reader.
Jim, will you please stop
fiddling with that watch?
Patricia knows very well
we always dine at 8:30.
Well, no doubt she's been delayed
taking that friend of hers to the airport.
Actually, we took
Monica to the airport.
At least Jim did.
That was after he
dropped me off here.
Mother, what's the matter?
There's been a fire...
at the country house.
Jim was devastated when he learned
that Patricia had died in that fire.
A tragic accident. If it was an accident,
why is Jim on trial for her murder?
Have no fear, dear lady.
I, Oliver Quayle, will prove...
that there is not a shred of
evidence against him. Yes, but...
And you, madam, have a part to
play in this drama— small but vital...
When I call you as a
witness to tell the jury...
about the deep and abiding
affection that existed...
between James Harlan
and his devoted young wife.
Yes, of course, but— And you will
testify with clarity and conviction...
to the fact that he was with
you and his devoted mother...
at the time of the
unfortunate accident.
Mr. Quayle, you keep calling it
an accident, but surely the State...
Uh, the Crown must have
some evidence against him.
What an excellent witness
you're going to make.
"Mrs. Fletcher— national
reputation, no notoriety,
Cabot Cove, Maine."
The jury is going to love that
rustic— Do you have a hat?
An old straw with some violets?
I've never owned a
hat like that in my life.
Well, never mind.
Barnaby will get you one.
And an umbrella— Yes, an
umbrella will be a nice touch.
Mr. Quayle, I'm sorry, but I am not going
to play a countrified character for you...
or for anyone else.
Your ex on line two, Mr. Q.
Oh, yes. Fine, fine. Yes.
Dierdre. Dierdre, my darling,
how lovely to hear your voice.
Uh, where are you?
Corfu? Oh, that sounds
absolutely splendid.
Yes. How much? Not to worry, my
dear. I'll have Barnaby wire it to you.
Love you too, darling.
Love you. Bye-bye.
Oh, alas, Mrs. Fletcher, we
seem to have run out of time.
I'll rehearse your
testimony later.
Barnaby will make an
appointment for you.
But why were you charged
with murdering Patricia?
I couldn't get anything but pompous
platitudes out of your attorney.
The authorities believe that
the fire was deliberately set.
Arson? Oh, my Lord.
Jessica, my dear. How
sweet of you to come.
Of course we knew
we could rely on you.
Judith, I'm so terribly sorry it had
to be under these circumstances.
I would have come
sooner, but I had no idea.
What a travesty of justice.
Poor boy.
Jim, you really
should get some rest.
You can't look worried when you
go in front of that jury tomorrow.
You're right. I'm— I am
feeling a bit wrung out.
- If you don't mind, Jessica,
I'm going to turn in.
- Sure.
Good night, Mother. Good night.
Good night, Jessica.
Thank you. Thank you.
And now, Jessica...
What did you think
of Oliver Quayle?
Well, one word comes
to mind: overpowering.
Yes. He's the very
best man in Canada.
Oh, Judith. This
is such a shock.
I mean, it's hard to accept
that Patricia was murdered.
We knew so little about her.
They seemed so happy. Oh, yes.
She completely captivated Jim.
He was such a
serious, studious boy...
that he really had had no
experience with that sort of person.
And after the completion of
your laboratory investigations,
what did you determine
was the cause of the fire?
The gas line to the hot
water heater in the basement...
had been disconnected,
allowing gas to escape.
Deliberately disconnected?
Yes. And what did you determine
was the actual cause of the fire?
Gas jet had been left
burning upstairs in the kitchen,
inevitably causing a gas explosion
that engulfed the whole house.
Then it would be
your expert opinion...
- that the fire was deliberately set?
- Yes.
The learned counsel for
defense care to cross-examine?
Indeed I would.
A few simple questions...
to clarify the excellent
presentation...
so competently
elicited by Mrs. Pirage.
Uh, or is it "Miss"? Miss.
Thank you, Miss Pirage.
I'm a man who likes to be
precise about small things,
and I would hate to get off to a
bad start by giving you a husband...
if you don't have one.
When I decide I want one,
I'll remember your
generous offer, Mr. Quayle.
Thank you, Miss Pirage.
Uh, Mr. Fouchet,
if you arrived home from
the police lab one evening...
and you found that a
water pipe had burst...
and your whole house
was inundated by water,
what would you
do? Call a plumber.
And so would we all,
even Queen's Counsel...
Miss Pirage.
- You would not undertake
the repairs yourself?
- No.
Then you do not feel yourself
to be a qualified plumber?
Well, no. But you do feel
qualified to testify about matters...
that in the normal course of events
would be dealt with by a qualified plumber?
- Well, I— - No, there's no need
to answer that, Mr. Fouchet.
There is one other simple
point that I would like to clarify.
You testified that a gas jet had
been left burning in the kitchen.
- That's right.
- But wasn't the central gas main...
turned off by the
fire brigade in the
normal, routine
performance of their duties?
Yes, I suppose it was.
You suppose it was?
But you testified that a
jet had been left burning.
Did you see the jet
burning in the kitchen?
Well, no, of course not.
We found the valve on
the range open afterwards.
So your opinion as to the
actual cause of the fire...
- is merely conjecture, is it not?
- Well, yeah, there's—
Quite right. You see? It does
pay to call in a qualified plumber.
You are dismissed.
If the Crown would care
to call her next witness.
The Crown calls Clay McLeod.
Now, Mr. McLeod, let
me direct your attention...
to the weekend of
May 7 of last year.
That was the weekend before
the death of Patricia Harlan.
In the course of your duties,
did you observe any, uh,
exchange between
the defendant...
and his wife? Yeah.
I heard 'em fighting.
"Fighting"? Could
you be more specific?
Yeah. I mean, they
were yelling at each other.
I see. And what was the
nature of their dispute?
She wanted a divorce. And what
was the defendant's response?
Oh, he got real hot—
You know, uh, mad.
Can you recall
his specific words?
Oh, yes. I remember
'em real clear.
He said, "Before I
give you a divorce,
I'll see you dead."
Is it not true, Mr. McLeod, that
among your many occupations...
you are also employed
as an auto mechanic?
Yeah. I guess.
Oh, come now, Mr. McLeod.
Don't be so modest.
Did you not receive
a certificate of
completion for a course
of auto mechanics...
- from the Commonwealth Penitentiary
in Calgary?
- Objection.
Sustained. Please, Mr. Quayle.
You know better than that.
My apologies, Your
Lordship. An inadvertent slip.
The jury will disregard any reference
to the Commonwealth Penitentiary.
Would you say, Mr. McLeod, that
someone trained in auto mechanics...
would know how to disconnect
the gas line to a hot water heater?
Anybody could do
that with a pair of pliers.
And is it not true that the day after
Mrs. Harlan's unfortunate death...
you were discharged?
Yeah. There wasn't a lot left
for me to look after, was there?
What was the reason
given for your dismissal?
They said that, uh, some
stuff was missing. It wasn't.
- You were discharged for theft?
- That's a lie!
They were just trying
to make trouble for me.
I—I was about to ask if you
had any feelings of bitterness...
or hostility toward
the Harlan family,
but it would appear that you
have told us about that already.
Uh, no further questions.
The almost total destruction
of the cadaver by fire...
made the postmortem
very difficult.
In fact, there wasn't
enough left of the body...
to fill a large plastic bag.
As you know, identification was
only made by the jewelry recovered.
Yes, Dr. Cornwall, the engraved
wedding band and the engagement ring...
have already been
introduced into evidence.
But to return to the postmortem— Were
you able to determine cause of death?
Clinically, there was
very little left to go on,
other than— But wasn't
there something...
unusual about the victim's
skull? Yes. Quite right.
The skull— Or what
remained of it...
Showed a massive
fracture of the frontal lobe.
Consistent with a blow
from a heavy instrument?
Yes.
Is it your opinion that
such a blow would be fatal?
Yes. Quite fatal.
Then what is your
expert opinion?
Did the victim
die from the fire...
or from the blow to the head?
No question about it. She
died from a blow to the head.
Barnaby! Yes, sir?
Get me that list of doctors!
Who was that fellow we used
in the Rucklehous murder?
Dr. Ashcroft. But he's
testifying in Vancouver.
What about Snidden? His medical
license was revoked last month.
Well, don’t just stand
there. Bring me the list!
Excuse me.
I do realize that you probably have a
great deal on your mind, Mr. Quayle,
but it does seem to me
that Patricia was dead...
before the fire started. Do you
have some medical qualifications...
of which we are not
aware, Mrs. Fletcher?
Oh, no, no. It's just a
matter of common sense.
I mean, it must have taken quite some time
for the escaping gas from the basement...
to have reached the
open flame in the kitchen.
If Patricia were
alive or conscious,
she would have smelled
the gas, don’t you think?
The Crown must prove
that she didn't die in that fire.
It's not a matter of
proof. It's a matter of logic.
Madam, there are many ways
to defend a murder charge.
I happen to have chosen the one
that I deem most likely to succeed.
Your ex on line one, Mr. Quayle.
Oh, Dierdre. Ruth!
Ruth, my dear. Yes, how—
How lovely to hear your voice.
Yes. Where are you? Maui?
Quayle's pretty sharp, isn't he?
Oh, he is clever, but I am not at
all sure that he is on the right track.
I mean, if Patricia did
die before the fire started...
Well, you may need to
establish your whereabouts...
between the time that you dropped me
and the time that you returned for dinner.
Well, you remember, Jessica.
I took Monica to the airport.
Exactly. Monica Blane may be able to
help establish where you were before...
Well, before the fire started.
Yes, but Monica seems
to have disappeared.
Nobody has been able to make contact
with her since I left her at the airport.
Mr. Quayle, the last
thing in the world that
I would want to do is
to run your defense,
but have you made any attempt...
to contact Monica Blane?
I shall not require your
assistance, madam.
In fact, I have decided that
your testimony will not be needed.
Barnaby here will reimburse
you for any expenses incurred.
Have a pleasant journey
back to Maine, Mrs. Fletcher.
Jessica, I have no idea
why he changed his mind.
Well, I'm very confused myself.
I mean, I was hustled up
here to appear on your behalf...
and then summarily
given my walking papers.
I don't know. Mother says that
Quayle knows what he's doing.
Well, I hope so—
For your sake...
But he seems to be
hanging his entire defense...
on the theory that Patricia's
death was accidental.
Don't you think that
the jury will buy that?
But the jury heard what I heard—
The testimony of the gardener.
She had been going
through a lot of money.
Mother tried to warn
me about it, of course.
Not that I really cared
about the money,
but Patricia refused
to account for it.
We both said some
things that we didn't mean.
I didn't threaten her.
I would never have
hurt her. I loved her.
Well, in that case, the gardener
is lying. The question is, why?
Thank you.
Hello, Mr. McLeod.
Hello there. My name is Jessica
Fletcher, and I'm from Cabot Cove.
That's in Maine. Oh,
yeah. I remember you.
You were staying at the Harlans'
place a couple months back.
You're some sort of
writer or something?
Well, nothing important,
really. I mean, mostly
things that I type up
at the kitchen table.
But the editor of the
Cabot Cove Gazette...
has promised to print something
of mine if it is interesting.
Uh-huh. You mean,
sort of like a reporter.
Well, not official, really. I mean, I do
know the family— casually, of course.
Uh, reporters call
that "background."
But I thought I could start
off by taking a few notes.
You know, about the accident.
Only a fool would think
that was an accident.
Oh! But the family
says— Yeah, well, uh...
Look, I need a beer.
You wanna come inside?
You want a beer? Oh, thank you
very much, but I don't think I'd better.
I went out to the house.
I think it's so important when you're
writing to establish the feel of a place...
Colors, textures— You
know, set the scene.
There was nothing
much left but ashes.
Lady, I'm sorry. There's
nothing I can tell you.
You know, I thought your
testimony was so interesting.
I got the impression that more was
going on than what the family had told me.
I mean, Jim Harlan is
such a refined young man.
But you know what they say
about still waters running deep.
He's one of those
rich wimps. "Wimps"?
Yeah. His wife was more
woman than he could handle.
Oh. Well, I don't suppose the Cabot
Cove Gazette would want to print that.
Do you think that he actually
murdered her and then set the fire...
to cover it up? All I know is,
she was dead
before the fire started.
Oh, but how do you know that?
Unless you actually
saw him murder her.
I didn't see him do it,
but I'll tell you something.
I went back there to get
some wages that they owed me.
I looked in the window,
and I saw her
laying on the floor.
My goodness. You mean,
you saw her dead on the floor?
Oh, I think I
would have fainted.
But didn't you call the police?
Lady, I stay pretty
clear of the police.
Matter of fact, if anybody asked
me, I'd deny what I just told you.
Oh. The girls in Cabot Cove
are never gonna believe...
that I actually talked to the man
who actually saw a dead body.
Yes. Doctor, I believe you testified
there is no clinical evidence...
to determine the time
of death, is that right?
Well, the fire had almost
totally consumed the remains.
So you said. You also testified that
her skull was damaged. That's correct.
Isn't it possible that
the skull could have
been crushed by a falling
beam during the fire?
Oh, come now, Doctor.
Isn't it most likely that
the skull was crushed...
by the heavy beams in the
roof when they collapsed...
- during the conflagration?
- Yes, I suppose it's possible.
Thank you, Dr. Cornwall.
You are excused.
The Crown calls Nathan Klebber.
Now, Mr. Klebber, you are
the owner and operator...
of the Blue Sky Motel on Aviation
Boulevard, near the airport? I am.
On May 14 of last year,
did you rent a room...
to an attractive blonde
woman in her early 30s?
I did. I punched
the card at 6:53 p.m.
With everybody traveling,
sometimes we, uh,
rent by the hour.
Mm-hmm. Yes.
And what name did she
give on the registration card?
Monica Blane from Phoenix, Arizona.
At least, that's the name she put down.
Was she alone?
She came into the office alone, but
there was a man with her. I seen him.
And how long did Monica
Blane and her companion stay?
Don't rightly know.
She paid in advance. Cash.
This, uh, gentleman
companion of Monica Blane's...
Did you get a good
look at him? Sure did.
Do you see him anywhere
here in the courtroom?
That's him sitting right there.
Let the record show the witness
identified the defendant, James Harlan.
Cross-examine, Mr. Quayle?
If Your Lordship would permit
me to cross-examine at a later time.
I see no problem
with that, Mr. Quayle.
Does the Crown wish to
call any further witnesses?
The Crown calls
Jessica Fletcher.
Mrs. Fletcher, at what
time did you, the defendant...
and Monica Blane
leave the country house?
It was just before
6:00 in the evening.
And the decedent, Patricia Harlan, remained
at the country house when you left?
She had a hair
appointment. I see.
So you, the defendant
and Monica Blane...
left her there and proceeded
by car to the Harlan townhouse?
Yes, they dropped me there. We
were all having dinner together later.
Not Miss Blane, but Patricia was planning
to join us after her hair appointment.
I see. And what time
did they drop you off?
Just after 6:30.
And the defendant and
Monica Blane proceeded on?
Yes. Jim took
her to the airport.
So there was a period of
approximately two hours...
Between 6:30 and 8:30...
When you have no knowledge
of James Harlan's movements?
Well, yes. Yes. That is true.
Two hours.
Plenty of time for the defendant
to return to the country house,
murder his wife and get
back to the city for dinner.
Objection! The question
calls for a conclusion...
and supposes facts
that are not in evidence.
- Sustained.
- No further questions.
Mrs. Fletcher,
have you ever used
the alias "J.B. Fletcher"?
Yes, on my books.
They're my initials.
So you admit that
you are a writer?
Well, I've never felt
any need to deny it...
At least, uh, not so far.
And it was in the guise of a
writer that you wheedled your way...
into the confidence of the
Harlan family? "Wheedled"?
Do you deny that the plot for
your next book was stolen...
from an unfinished manuscript
by James Harlan? I certainly do.
That is a matter we will leave
for the civil courts to decide.
Mrs. J.B. Fletcher,
have you any recollection...
of being committed to the State of Maine
Institute for the Criminally Insane...
between the months of May
and July in the year 1985?
- Objection!
- Sustained.
I was never committed anywhere.
I entered the institution voluntarily.
Under the care of
Dr. Sidney Bachmann,
who is a specialist in the
field of criminal psychosis?
- Yes. I was researching a book.
- Indeed? What a perfect subterfuge.
The book was called Sanitarium of
Death. It was dedicated to Dr. Bachmann.
- Out of gratitude, no doubt,
for the excellent care you received.
- Your Lordship, I must protest.
Mr. Quayle is
attempting to smear...
with innuendo a woman of
impeccable reputation and character,
who comes from a respected
family in New England.
Mr. Quayle, I must
admonish you...
to refrain from vague
suggestions and innuendo.
My apologies, Your Lordship, if my
line of questioning was not quite clear.
I will now concentrate
on the facts.
Is it not a fact, Mrs. Fletcher,
that a niece of yours,
Victoria Griffin, was
arrested for murder
last year? Yes, but...
Is it not a fact that another niece, Tracy
McGill, was also arrested for murder?
Yes, but I can explain. And
that your nephew, Grady Fletcher,
was arrested not
once but twice...
Yes, I know how that seems.
Also on the charge of homicide?
"Seems"? Madam, it seems that one of
New England's most respected families...
is a breeding ground
for homicidal maniacs!
The charges were dropped in
every single one of those cases.
"Dropped"? Oh, yes, then
indeed, you must also be
one of the most powerful
families in your country.
I have no further questions.
They were innocent.
Oh, I'm quite sure they were.
You are dismissed, madam.
- Your Lordship?
- You may step down, Mrs. Fletcher.
Judge Valentine, please
come to your chambers.
Miss Doris Perry, please report
to the Superior Court number two.
Whew. I know.
It's like being mugged.
Is that kind of character
assassination legal?
Not very, but it's what
Oliver Quayle does best.
I'm no expert, but I thought I noticed
you landing one or two low blows yourself.
When a girl steps into the alley to
duke it out with the great Oliver Quayle,
she better have a set of
brass knuckles in her glove.
Miss Pirage, maybe I
shouldn't even ask you this,
but do you really believe that
Jim Harlan murdered his wife?
I'll tell you what I
intend to prove...
That James Harlan
conspired with Monica Blane...
to murder Patricia Harlan.
Then you think that Jim
went back, killed Patricia,
and Monica Blane set the fire
later so that he'd have an alibi?
You'd make a good lawyer.
Well, out of curiosity,
where is Monica Blane?
Good question. We've been
trying to find her for months.
Jim, you asked for my help.
I want to help,
but at every turn...
something pops up
that you haven't told me.
What would you like to know?
The truth about
you and Patricia.
All right.
We tried to keep up appearances,
but our marriage was sinking fast.
She went through money
like you wouldn't believe.
Even on the day she died
she took out 20,000—cash.
Cash? Was it ever found?
No. It must have gone
up in smoke in the fire.
Tell me about this business with
you and Monica Blane at the motel.
- Is that true?
- It's not something
that I'm very proud of.
Yes, it happened. Okay?
What time did you leave the motel?
- 00, just
in time to get back to
the house for dinner.
Monica took a taxi
to catch her flight.
I guess it's not a very
pretty picture. You can
see why I didn't want
to tell anyone about it.
I agree. It certainly won't
endear you to the jury.
But at least Monica
Blane can give you an alibi.
If anybody can find her.
Judith.
Please forgive this
late hour, but I wonder
if I could speak to
you for a few minutes.
Yes, of course. Come
on in. Thank you.
I always felt the mark of good
breeding was good manners,
so I simply must apologize for the vicious
way that Jim’s attorney attacked you.
I mean, it was unconscionable.
Well, I suppose that's what he's
paid to do, and very handsomely,
from what I can see.
I wouldn't want you to leave
Quebec harboring any ill feelings.
Well, I hadn't planned to leave.
I think it would be best for
Jim if you did— immediately.
Jim told you about our
conversation today, didn't he?
Of course he did, otherwise
you wouldn't be here.
I wonder why I get the feeling, Judith
that—that you're pulling the strings.
Jim is—is all I
have left, Jessica.
I would do anything
to protect him.
This whole trial must
be an agony for you.
I admit I was very upset
when Jim and Patricia eloped.
After all, he'd only
known her a few weeks.
Perhaps it was mothers'
instinct or whatever,
but I hired a
private investigator.
I got my money's worth.
He found out that Patricia had
spent a year in jail in Arizona...
for embezzling funds from
the bank where she worked.
I also learned that she was nothing
more than a common Las Vegas showgirl...
when he met her. And
her friend, Monica Blane?
I can guess.
They weren't schoolmates.
They were in jail together, right?
I see you have
good instincts too.
So that's where
all the money went.
Monica was blackmailing
her. Evidently.
At any rate, after
all this happened...
I paid Monica a great
deal of money to disappear.
I didn't want any of this
sordid business to come out.
And you gave her
the money yourself...
after Patricia died?
No, no. It was through an
intermediary— The private investigator.
Judith,
has Jim ever admitted to
you that he murdered Patricia?
No. No, he denies it.
I am his mother,
and as long as he
continues to deny it,
I'll continue to believe him.
Good morning, Barnaby.
I'd like to see Mr. Quayle.
Mrs. Fletcher, my goodness. We
all thought you'd gone back to Maine.
There's a little matter I'd like to
discuss with the great man first.
I do hope you realize
there was nothing personal...
in Mr. Quayle's
cross-examination. On the contrary.
I thought it was all very
personal. Is he in there?
Uh, no, no. I'm
afraid he's not here.
Really, Mrs. Fletcher, you
must understand it's all tactics.
Is there something I could
do? No, no, I—I don't think so.
I mean, I don't suppose that
you would have the authority...
to show me the,
uh, police report.
I have more authority
than most people suppose.
I am, after all, his assistant.
What were you curious about?
Well, I'm not exactly sure.
I guess I'm not quite clear as
to how you identified the body.
I mean, uh, I wonder if
you checked that closely.
Let me assure you,
nothing escapes
Mr. Quayle's attention...
Or mine.
Uh, her initials,
and Mr. Harlan's,
were engraved on the
inside of the wedding ring...
and the engagement ring.
Five karats. That's funny.
Where's the diamond
brooch that she was wearing?
No mention of any
brooch in the police file.
Barnaby? There's a man here to
see Mr. Q. Name's Rudy Planski.
A private investigator.
Says it's very important.
I'm afraid he's not here at the
moment. Could I possibly help?
Yeah. Tell him I'm waitin' for
him down the street at Marcel's.
May I tell him what
it's about, Mr. Planski?
Yeah. Just mention
the name Monica Blane.
Tell him to bring
along five large.
Five large what? Uh,
maybe Mr. Quayle will know.
Well, here I am going on and on,
and interfering with
your valuable time.
Ah, I must get to the post office. I
wonder, could you lend me an envelope?
Oh, certainly. Thank you.
Don't you think it was a little careless,
walking into the office like that?
- Where's Quayle?
- Tied up. I came instead.
Oh, yeah? Who, exactly, are you?
The name I use in
Quebec is Fletcher.
We want to be sure that the information
you're selling is worth five large.
Well, I seen you
up in his office, but...
how do I know you're
working for him?
Does the name Judith Harlan...
ring a bell with you?
Quayle knows about that?
You think Mr. Quayle is stupid?
You think he'd take this case
if he didn't know all the facts?
And what, may I ask,
are you doing here,
Mrs. Fletcher?
I thought I had made
it clear, Mrs. Fletcher,
that your interference
would no longer be tolerated.
Mr. Planski has information
about Monica Blane.
I know where she is, Quayle,
and it's gonna cost you five grand.
And why would Miss Blane's
whereabouts be worth $5,000 to me?
Because Jim was with her at the
motel when Patricia was murdered.
If we can find Monica Blane and
she'll testify, Jim will have an alibi.
From a convicted felon? That is
not the thrust of my defense, madam.
Well, maybe it should be.
Uh...
She's staying at that
address. New York City.
I must be running along.
Uh, just a minute. What's this?
Oh, uh, that's mine.
From my office?
It's just some recipes I was
clipping out of the local paper,
and Barnaby gave me
one of your envelopes.
These, I'm afraid, would
give me indigestion.
I'm sure you're well
intentioned, Mrs. Fletcher,
but you're also a
meddlesome busybody,
and you're sorely
trying my patience.
And you, Mr. Quayle, are trying mine
by mangling Jim Harlan's defense...
by not conceding that
his wife was murdered.
If we concede murder,
then we concede the case.
My client had both
motive and opportunity.
And by ignoring the
fact that Patricia Harlan...
withdrew $20,000 cash the
day that she was murdered.
Now, Monica Blane may
have been blackmailing her.
Blackmail? And that Judith Harlan
paid Monica Blane to disappear.
And if I'm not mistaken, that little
man to whom you just gave $5,000...
delivered the payment.
Mrs. Fletcher! We've
had an enormous break
in the case. That's
wonderful news, Barnaby.
Mr. Quayle got a tip, and I flew to New
York last night and located Monica Blane.
She's here? And
willing to testify?
I think you'll find that our client
has a very solid alibi, counselor.
Is the defense prepared
to proceed, Mr. Quayle?
We are, Your Lordship.
If it pleases the court, the Crown
has one further witness to call.
Well, I was under the
impression that the prosecution...
had rested its
case, but... very well.
The Crown calls Monica Blane.
No. I told you.
I never saw Jim Harlan in
my life before that weekend.
But you did go to the
motel with him, didn’t you?
What's the big deal?
We're both over 21.
At what time did you and
the defendant leave the motel?
I took a taxi.
I had a 7:40 flight.
So the defendant didn't
drive you to the airport?
No. He didn't have time.
He said he had to go
back to the country house...
and, uh, straighten
something out with his wife.
No! That's not true.
She's lying. Sit
down, Mr. Harlan.
It's a lie. Why would
Monica say such a thing?
Well, if she was
blackmailing Patricia,
maybe she was trying to cover
her own tracks by incriminating you.
Maybe she never
took that flight.
Maybe she went back
to the country house.
Mrs. Fletcher.
It is you, Mrs. Fletcher,
who are responsible
for this fiasco.
I will brook no further
interference from you, madam!
Mrs. Harlan, James— In here.
Jim.
Sometimes, when things aren't
going well, he forgets his manners.
When the jury brings in a verdict,
you'd better have a muzzle handy.
There's a call from
his ex-wife on line two.
You think I should interrupt?
Uh, maybe I'd
better talk to her.
Hello. Wilhemina.
No, he's not in. Can
I help? Wilhemina?
- His second wife.
- How many ex-wives
does Mr. Quayle have?
Three—all originally
his secretaries.
Yes, Wilhemina, I can see the problem.
How much do you think you'll need?
Did you lose
something? An earring.
Yes, I'll take care
of that myself.
Oh, gee, thanks.
I mean, it's not really
worth very much, but
for me it has a lot
of sentimental value.
Oh. Yes, Wilhemina.
I'll give him your love.
Bye.
Barnaby!
The diamond brooch. What brooch?
The diamond brooch that I told
you that Patricia was wearing.
It must have been very valuable,
and it was missing after the fire.
And you think
the killer stole it?
That's very astute
of you, Barnaby.
Sometimes I think that you
ought to be running the defense.
Actually, I make a bigger contribution
around here than most people realize.
But I don't quite follow.
You know, Barnaby, I have an idea,
but if I try to explain it to Mr. Quayle...
I don't think he's
gonna listen to me.
Suppose you bounce it off me.
Then, if it has merit...
Well, the handyman— Clay McLeod.
He more or less intimated to me
that he had gone back to the house...
long after we had all left.
And if he went back, he may have
killed Patricia and taken the brooch.
What are you talking
about, Barnaby?
Mrs. Fletcher told me that Patricia had
been wearing a distinctive antique brooch.
That's right. The
one I gave to her.
I checked the police file. It was
never recovered after the fire.
We may be onto something here.
Patricia and the gardener?
Infidelity, theft and murder...
McLeod will deny it, of course.
It would be stupid to sell
or pawn something like that.
At least for a while.
McLeod may be vicious,
but he's not stupid.
He probably still has the
brooch hidden somewhere.
Barnaby, find Judge
Mansard. Get a search warrant.
Mr. McLeod?
Mr. McLeod?
I would imagine that Mr. Quayle is
busily arranging for a search warrant.
Yes. That's the brooch
that Patricia was wearing.
How did you know?
When I admired it, Jim told
me that it was an heirloom...
That it had belonged
to his grandmother.
My mother was very fond of it.
A present from my father.
I had to ask myself,
"Who would take an antique brooch
and leave a five-karat diamond?"
Patricia's appointment
was not with her hairdresser.
It was with me.
I went out there to
confront her privately...
with what my
investigator had turned up.
I offered her a handsome
settlement to divorce Jim quietly,
without scandal.
But Patricia was not only
greedy, she was arrogant,
and she became very abusive.
She—She had the
audacity to—to hit me.
I grasped for whatever was near
me. It was the poker in the fireplace.
And I... I struck her down.
So you were the one who disconnected
the gas line in the basement?
It wasn't difficult.
I calculated I had enough
time to get back to the city...
before the fire consumed her.
And you couldn't bear to see
your mother's brooch destroyed,
so you removed it from the body.
I hope you realize...
that I never would have
let Jim be convicted...
for something I had done.
Yes, Jessica, our little
ploy worked brilliantly.
A clever piece of
work if I say so myself.
Well, I do hope that Mr. Quayle
appreciates what you did for him.
As of today, I have a new title.
"First Assistant."
Oh, that has a good, solid
sound. That's very impressive.
Barnaby!
What did you put in
the coffee this morning?
It tastes like— Mrs. Fletcher!
Oh, why didn't somebody
tell me you were here?
I just popped in to say good-bye.
Oh, not good-bye, dear lady.
Au revoir. Well,
perhaps sometime.
Oh, you'll be back here in
a few months— for the trial.
The trial? Oh, yes.
Didn't Barnaby tell you?
I'm defending Judith Harlan. Even the
guilty are entitled to their day in court.
And what a glorious
day it's going to be.
I'll get her off, you know.
I always get them off.
Well, if you don't mind, this is
one trial I would just as soon skip.
Skip? Oh, no. No,
no. You must appear.
I'm going to call
you as a witness.
or from the blow to the head?
Tonight on Murder, She Wrote.
Only a fool would think
that was an accident.
- They seemed so happy.
- We knew so little about her.
Oh, yes. She completely
captivated Jim.
Oliver Quayle is a genius. You
know, he's never lost a murder trial.
- I hadn't planned to leave.
- I think it would be best for Jim
if you did.
Madam, it seems that one of New
England's most respected families...
is a breeding ground
for homicidal maniacs.
Good morning. I’m
Jessica Fletcher.
I believe Mr. Quayle
is expecting me.
Oh, yes, Mrs. Fletcher.
Indeed, yes. Please follow me.
Sir? Oh!
Welcome to Quebec,
Mrs. Fletcher.
I've been traveling, and I only just
received your letter yesterday, Mr. Quayle.
Oh, dear me, no.
I'm not Oliver Quayle.
No, I'm merely his
assistant, Barnaby Friar.
Well, not merely, exactly.
Can I get you something?
Well, thank you,
Mr. Friar, I'm just fine,
but you could tell me
what this is all about.
The letter mentioned a trial...
The Crown versus James Harlan.
Why don't I let Mr. Quayle
fill you in himself?
No trouble at all, Sir Randolph.
I won't be needing it
again until next month.
Yeah, uh, you're most
welcome. Don't mention it.
Have an absolutely
splendid time. Yes. Bye-bye.
I'm so sorry, Mrs. Fletcher.
Dear friend of mine wanting to
borrow my jet for a couple of weeks.
So kind of you to come.
Please, uh— Please sit down.
I don't imagine we'll have to
impose on your valuable time...
for more than a few days.
Jim has told me
wonderful things about you.
Where is Jim? I more or
less expected him to be here.
Uh, Mrs. Fletcher, I preferred
to have our little chat alone.
Alone?
Oh, my—my tailor?
Yes, I find with a schedule
as busy as mine, I sometimes...
have to accomplish two
things at the same time.
Yes. I would now like to
hear from your own lips...
your best recollection
of the events that led up...
to that fateful
day his wife died.
You have my full attention.
Just a little more cuff
showing, don't you think?
Well, it was six months ago.
Jim was about to publish his
second novel, and he had invited me...
up to Quebec for
the weekend to, uh—
Well, to have a
look at the galleys.
I had shown encouragement
to him on his first book,
and, uh, well, we
became friends.
Well? Jim, I think you've
got a real page-turner here.
You're not just saying
that? Oh, no, no.
Your characters are richer, you
handle your narrative with more authority,
and it has a real
ring of truth about it.
Oh, thank you.
Would you be willing to
write the review for the Times?
I will if they ask me.
- Patricia's back.
- Oh.
Shopping all day...
Did you get something
nice? Let me see it.
Ooh, nothing that
you'd be interested in.
It's for Monica. A little
going-away present.
I'm afraid I have
to be getting back.
My wife's lovely ex-roommate
suddenly appears,
out of the blue, and
then steals away...
before I've had a chance to pump
her about old college romances.
He'd probably change the
names and put 'em in his book.
Well, I'm afraid writers are
accused of that, you know.
Mmm. Yes, speaking of writers,
Jessica has pronounced
my opus readable.
I'd tell you what I really thought,
but he'd need a larger hat size. Ooh.
Oh, my. Patricia.
What a lovely brooch.
A present— from my thoughtful
husband on our first wedding anniversary.
It's a family heirloom. It
belonged to my grandmother.
Monica, I insist
you stay for dinner.
Actually, I have a 7:40 flight.
I booked Maurice
to do my hair at 6:00.
Jim, would you be a dear
and run Monica to the airport...
on your way into
the city? Well, sure.
We'll stop and have a couple of
drinks, and get better acquainted...
before you slip away.
That evening we
gathered for dinner...
at the Harlan townhouse
in the city at 8:30 precisely.
We sat down to eat even though
Patricia hadn’t yet returned home.
As you must know, Jim's
mother Judith is a woman...
who lets nothing
disrupt her daily routine.
Jim tells me that you've been very
flattering about his book, Jessica.
I thought only mothers had
that kind of blind admiration.
It wasn't flattery—
And certainly not blind.
Well, I'm delighted, of course.
Not that I'm an expert,
or even much of a reader.
Jim, will you please stop
fiddling with that watch?
Patricia knows very well
we always dine at 8:30.
Well, no doubt she's been delayed
taking that friend of hers to the airport.
Actually, we took
Monica to the airport.
At least Jim did.
That was after he
dropped me off here.
Mother, what's the matter?
There's been a fire...
at the country house.
Jim was devastated when he learned
that Patricia had died in that fire.
A tragic accident. If it was an accident,
why is Jim on trial for her murder?
Have no fear, dear lady.
I, Oliver Quayle, will prove...
that there is not a shred of
evidence against him. Yes, but...
And you, madam, have a part to
play in this drama— small but vital...
When I call you as a
witness to tell the jury...
about the deep and abiding
affection that existed...
between James Harlan
and his devoted young wife.
Yes, of course, but— And you will
testify with clarity and conviction...
to the fact that he was with
you and his devoted mother...
at the time of the
unfortunate accident.
Mr. Quayle, you keep calling it
an accident, but surely the State...
Uh, the Crown must have
some evidence against him.
What an excellent witness
you're going to make.
"Mrs. Fletcher— national
reputation, no notoriety,
Cabot Cove, Maine."
The jury is going to love that
rustic— Do you have a hat?
An old straw with some violets?
I've never owned a
hat like that in my life.
Well, never mind.
Barnaby will get you one.
And an umbrella— Yes, an
umbrella will be a nice touch.
Mr. Quayle, I'm sorry, but I am not going
to play a countrified character for you...
or for anyone else.
Your ex on line two, Mr. Q.
Oh, yes. Fine, fine. Yes.
Dierdre. Dierdre, my darling,
how lovely to hear your voice.
Uh, where are you?
Corfu? Oh, that sounds
absolutely splendid.
Yes. How much? Not to worry, my
dear. I'll have Barnaby wire it to you.
Love you too, darling.
Love you. Bye-bye.
Oh, alas, Mrs. Fletcher, we
seem to have run out of time.
I'll rehearse your
testimony later.
Barnaby will make an
appointment for you.
But why were you charged
with murdering Patricia?
I couldn't get anything but pompous
platitudes out of your attorney.
The authorities believe that
the fire was deliberately set.
Arson? Oh, my Lord.
Jessica, my dear. How
sweet of you to come.
Of course we knew
we could rely on you.
Judith, I'm so terribly sorry it had
to be under these circumstances.
I would have come
sooner, but I had no idea.
What a travesty of justice.
Poor boy.
Jim, you really
should get some rest.
You can't look worried when you
go in front of that jury tomorrow.
You're right. I'm— I am
feeling a bit wrung out.
- If you don't mind, Jessica,
I'm going to turn in.
- Sure.
Good night, Mother. Good night.
Good night, Jessica.
Thank you. Thank you.
And now, Jessica...
What did you think
of Oliver Quayle?
Well, one word comes
to mind: overpowering.
Yes. He's the very
best man in Canada.
Oh, Judith. This
is such a shock.
I mean, it's hard to accept
that Patricia was murdered.
We knew so little about her.
They seemed so happy. Oh, yes.
She completely captivated Jim.
He was such a
serious, studious boy...
that he really had had no
experience with that sort of person.
And after the completion of
your laboratory investigations,
what did you determine
was the cause of the fire?
The gas line to the hot
water heater in the basement...
had been disconnected,
allowing gas to escape.
Deliberately disconnected?
Yes. And what did you determine
was the actual cause of the fire?
Gas jet had been left
burning upstairs in the kitchen,
inevitably causing a gas explosion
that engulfed the whole house.
Then it would be
your expert opinion...
- that the fire was deliberately set?
- Yes.
The learned counsel for
defense care to cross-examine?
Indeed I would.
A few simple questions...
to clarify the excellent
presentation...
so competently
elicited by Mrs. Pirage.
Uh, or is it "Miss"? Miss.
Thank you, Miss Pirage.
I'm a man who likes to be
precise about small things,
and I would hate to get off to a
bad start by giving you a husband...
if you don't have one.
When I decide I want one,
I'll remember your
generous offer, Mr. Quayle.
Thank you, Miss Pirage.
Uh, Mr. Fouchet,
if you arrived home from
the police lab one evening...
and you found that a
water pipe had burst...
and your whole house
was inundated by water,
what would you
do? Call a plumber.
And so would we all,
even Queen's Counsel...
Miss Pirage.
- You would not undertake
the repairs yourself?
- No.
Then you do not feel yourself
to be a qualified plumber?
Well, no. But you do feel
qualified to testify about matters...
that in the normal course of events
would be dealt with by a qualified plumber?
- Well, I— - No, there's no need
to answer that, Mr. Fouchet.
There is one other simple
point that I would like to clarify.
You testified that a gas jet had
been left burning in the kitchen.
- That's right.
- But wasn't the central gas main...
turned off by the
fire brigade in the
normal, routine
performance of their duties?
Yes, I suppose it was.
You suppose it was?
But you testified that a
jet had been left burning.
Did you see the jet
burning in the kitchen?
Well, no, of course not.
We found the valve on
the range open afterwards.
So your opinion as to the
actual cause of the fire...
- is merely conjecture, is it not?
- Well, yeah, there's—
Quite right. You see? It does
pay to call in a qualified plumber.
You are dismissed.
If the Crown would care
to call her next witness.
The Crown calls Clay McLeod.
Now, Mr. McLeod, let
me direct your attention...
to the weekend of
May 7 of last year.
That was the weekend before
the death of Patricia Harlan.
In the course of your duties,
did you observe any, uh,
exchange between
the defendant...
and his wife? Yeah.
I heard 'em fighting.
"Fighting"? Could
you be more specific?
Yeah. I mean, they
were yelling at each other.
I see. And what was the
nature of their dispute?
She wanted a divorce. And what
was the defendant's response?
Oh, he got real hot—
You know, uh, mad.
Can you recall
his specific words?
Oh, yes. I remember
'em real clear.
He said, "Before I
give you a divorce,
I'll see you dead."
Is it not true, Mr. McLeod, that
among your many occupations...
you are also employed
as an auto mechanic?
Yeah. I guess.
Oh, come now, Mr. McLeod.
Don't be so modest.
Did you not receive
a certificate of
completion for a course
of auto mechanics...
- from the Commonwealth Penitentiary
in Calgary?
- Objection.
Sustained. Please, Mr. Quayle.
You know better than that.
My apologies, Your
Lordship. An inadvertent slip.
The jury will disregard any reference
to the Commonwealth Penitentiary.
Would you say, Mr. McLeod, that
someone trained in auto mechanics...
would know how to disconnect
the gas line to a hot water heater?
Anybody could do
that with a pair of pliers.
And is it not true that the day after
Mrs. Harlan's unfortunate death...
you were discharged?
Yeah. There wasn't a lot left
for me to look after, was there?
What was the reason
given for your dismissal?
They said that, uh, some
stuff was missing. It wasn't.
- You were discharged for theft?
- That's a lie!
They were just trying
to make trouble for me.
I—I was about to ask if you
had any feelings of bitterness...
or hostility toward
the Harlan family,
but it would appear that you
have told us about that already.
Uh, no further questions.
The almost total destruction
of the cadaver by fire...
made the postmortem
very difficult.
In fact, there wasn't
enough left of the body...
to fill a large plastic bag.
As you know, identification was
only made by the jewelry recovered.
Yes, Dr. Cornwall, the engraved
wedding band and the engagement ring...
have already been
introduced into evidence.
But to return to the postmortem— Were
you able to determine cause of death?
Clinically, there was
very little left to go on,
other than— But wasn't
there something...
unusual about the victim's
skull? Yes. Quite right.
The skull— Or what
remained of it...
Showed a massive
fracture of the frontal lobe.
Consistent with a blow
from a heavy instrument?
Yes.
Is it your opinion that
such a blow would be fatal?
Yes. Quite fatal.
Then what is your
expert opinion?
Did the victim
die from the fire...
or from the blow to the head?
No question about it. She
died from a blow to the head.
Barnaby! Yes, sir?
Get me that list of doctors!
Who was that fellow we used
in the Rucklehous murder?
Dr. Ashcroft. But he's
testifying in Vancouver.
What about Snidden? His medical
license was revoked last month.
Well, don’t just stand
there. Bring me the list!
Excuse me.
I do realize that you probably have a
great deal on your mind, Mr. Quayle,
but it does seem to me
that Patricia was dead...
before the fire started. Do you
have some medical qualifications...
of which we are not
aware, Mrs. Fletcher?
Oh, no, no. It's just a
matter of common sense.
I mean, it must have taken quite some time
for the escaping gas from the basement...
to have reached the
open flame in the kitchen.
If Patricia were
alive or conscious,
she would have smelled
the gas, don’t you think?
The Crown must prove
that she didn't die in that fire.
It's not a matter of
proof. It's a matter of logic.
Madam, there are many ways
to defend a murder charge.
I happen to have chosen the one
that I deem most likely to succeed.
Your ex on line one, Mr. Quayle.
Oh, Dierdre. Ruth!
Ruth, my dear. Yes, how—
How lovely to hear your voice.
Yes. Where are you? Maui?
Quayle's pretty sharp, isn't he?
Oh, he is clever, but I am not at
all sure that he is on the right track.
I mean, if Patricia did
die before the fire started...
Well, you may need to
establish your whereabouts...
between the time that you dropped me
and the time that you returned for dinner.
Well, you remember, Jessica.
I took Monica to the airport.
Exactly. Monica Blane may be able to
help establish where you were before...
Well, before the fire started.
Yes, but Monica seems
to have disappeared.
Nobody has been able to make contact
with her since I left her at the airport.
Mr. Quayle, the last
thing in the world that
I would want to do is
to run your defense,
but have you made any attempt...
to contact Monica Blane?
I shall not require your
assistance, madam.
In fact, I have decided that
your testimony will not be needed.
Barnaby here will reimburse
you for any expenses incurred.
Have a pleasant journey
back to Maine, Mrs. Fletcher.
Jessica, I have no idea
why he changed his mind.
Well, I'm very confused myself.
I mean, I was hustled up
here to appear on your behalf...
and then summarily
given my walking papers.
I don't know. Mother says that
Quayle knows what he's doing.
Well, I hope so—
For your sake...
But he seems to be
hanging his entire defense...
on the theory that Patricia's
death was accidental.
Don't you think that
the jury will buy that?
But the jury heard what I heard—
The testimony of the gardener.
She had been going
through a lot of money.
Mother tried to warn
me about it, of course.
Not that I really cared
about the money,
but Patricia refused
to account for it.
We both said some
things that we didn't mean.
I didn't threaten her.
I would never have
hurt her. I loved her.
Well, in that case, the gardener
is lying. The question is, why?
Thank you.
Hello, Mr. McLeod.
Hello there. My name is Jessica
Fletcher, and I'm from Cabot Cove.
That's in Maine. Oh,
yeah. I remember you.
You were staying at the Harlans'
place a couple months back.
You're some sort of
writer or something?
Well, nothing important,
really. I mean, mostly
things that I type up
at the kitchen table.
But the editor of the
Cabot Cove Gazette...
has promised to print something
of mine if it is interesting.
Uh-huh. You mean,
sort of like a reporter.
Well, not official, really. I mean, I do
know the family— casually, of course.
Uh, reporters call
that "background."
But I thought I could start
off by taking a few notes.
You know, about the accident.
Only a fool would think
that was an accident.
Oh! But the family
says— Yeah, well, uh...
Look, I need a beer.
You wanna come inside?
You want a beer? Oh, thank you
very much, but I don't think I'd better.
I went out to the house.
I think it's so important when you're
writing to establish the feel of a place...
Colors, textures— You
know, set the scene.
There was nothing
much left but ashes.
Lady, I'm sorry. There's
nothing I can tell you.
You know, I thought your
testimony was so interesting.
I got the impression that more was
going on than what the family had told me.
I mean, Jim Harlan is
such a refined young man.
But you know what they say
about still waters running deep.
He's one of those
rich wimps. "Wimps"?
Yeah. His wife was more
woman than he could handle.
Oh. Well, I don't suppose the Cabot
Cove Gazette would want to print that.
Do you think that he actually
murdered her and then set the fire...
to cover it up? All I know is,
she was dead
before the fire started.
Oh, but how do you know that?
Unless you actually
saw him murder her.
I didn't see him do it,
but I'll tell you something.
I went back there to get
some wages that they owed me.
I looked in the window,
and I saw her
laying on the floor.
My goodness. You mean,
you saw her dead on the floor?
Oh, I think I
would have fainted.
But didn't you call the police?
Lady, I stay pretty
clear of the police.
Matter of fact, if anybody asked
me, I'd deny what I just told you.
Oh. The girls in Cabot Cove
are never gonna believe...
that I actually talked to the man
who actually saw a dead body.
Yes. Doctor, I believe you testified
there is no clinical evidence...
to determine the time
of death, is that right?
Well, the fire had almost
totally consumed the remains.
So you said. You also testified that
her skull was damaged. That's correct.
Isn't it possible that
the skull could have
been crushed by a falling
beam during the fire?
Oh, come now, Doctor.
Isn't it most likely that
the skull was crushed...
by the heavy beams in the
roof when they collapsed...
- during the conflagration?
- Yes, I suppose it's possible.
Thank you, Dr. Cornwall.
You are excused.
The Crown calls Nathan Klebber.
Now, Mr. Klebber, you are
the owner and operator...
of the Blue Sky Motel on Aviation
Boulevard, near the airport? I am.
On May 14 of last year,
did you rent a room...
to an attractive blonde
woman in her early 30s?
I did. I punched
the card at 6:53 p.m.
With everybody traveling,
sometimes we, uh,
rent by the hour.
Mm-hmm. Yes.
And what name did she
give on the registration card?
Monica Blane from Phoenix, Arizona.
At least, that's the name she put down.
Was she alone?
She came into the office alone, but
there was a man with her. I seen him.
And how long did Monica
Blane and her companion stay?
Don't rightly know.
She paid in advance. Cash.
This, uh, gentleman
companion of Monica Blane's...
Did you get a good
look at him? Sure did.
Do you see him anywhere
here in the courtroom?
That's him sitting right there.
Let the record show the witness
identified the defendant, James Harlan.
Cross-examine, Mr. Quayle?
If Your Lordship would permit
me to cross-examine at a later time.
I see no problem
with that, Mr. Quayle.
Does the Crown wish to
call any further witnesses?
The Crown calls
Jessica Fletcher.
Mrs. Fletcher, at what
time did you, the defendant...
and Monica Blane
leave the country house?
It was just before
6:00 in the evening.
And the decedent, Patricia Harlan, remained
at the country house when you left?
She had a hair
appointment. I see.
So you, the defendant
and Monica Blane...
left her there and proceeded
by car to the Harlan townhouse?
Yes, they dropped me there. We
were all having dinner together later.
Not Miss Blane, but Patricia was planning
to join us after her hair appointment.
I see. And what time
did they drop you off?
Just after 6:30.
And the defendant and
Monica Blane proceeded on?
Yes. Jim took
her to the airport.
So there was a period of
approximately two hours...
Between 6:30 and 8:30...
When you have no knowledge
of James Harlan's movements?
Well, yes. Yes. That is true.
Two hours.
Plenty of time for the defendant
to return to the country house,
murder his wife and get
back to the city for dinner.
Objection! The question
calls for a conclusion...
and supposes facts
that are not in evidence.
- Sustained.
- No further questions.
Mrs. Fletcher,
have you ever used
the alias "J.B. Fletcher"?
Yes, on my books.
They're my initials.
So you admit that
you are a writer?
Well, I've never felt
any need to deny it...
At least, uh, not so far.
And it was in the guise of a
writer that you wheedled your way...
into the confidence of the
Harlan family? "Wheedled"?
Do you deny that the plot for
your next book was stolen...
from an unfinished manuscript
by James Harlan? I certainly do.
That is a matter we will leave
for the civil courts to decide.
Mrs. J.B. Fletcher,
have you any recollection...
of being committed to the State of Maine
Institute for the Criminally Insane...
between the months of May
and July in the year 1985?
- Objection!
- Sustained.
I was never committed anywhere.
I entered the institution voluntarily.
Under the care of
Dr. Sidney Bachmann,
who is a specialist in the
field of criminal psychosis?
- Yes. I was researching a book.
- Indeed? What a perfect subterfuge.
The book was called Sanitarium of
Death. It was dedicated to Dr. Bachmann.
- Out of gratitude, no doubt,
for the excellent care you received.
- Your Lordship, I must protest.
Mr. Quayle is
attempting to smear...
with innuendo a woman of
impeccable reputation and character,
who comes from a respected
family in New England.
Mr. Quayle, I must
admonish you...
to refrain from vague
suggestions and innuendo.
My apologies, Your Lordship, if my
line of questioning was not quite clear.
I will now concentrate
on the facts.
Is it not a fact, Mrs. Fletcher,
that a niece of yours,
Victoria Griffin, was
arrested for murder
last year? Yes, but...
Is it not a fact that another niece, Tracy
McGill, was also arrested for murder?
Yes, but I can explain. And
that your nephew, Grady Fletcher,
was arrested not
once but twice...
Yes, I know how that seems.
Also on the charge of homicide?
"Seems"? Madam, it seems that one of
New England's most respected families...
is a breeding ground
for homicidal maniacs!
The charges were dropped in
every single one of those cases.
"Dropped"? Oh, yes, then
indeed, you must also be
one of the most powerful
families in your country.
I have no further questions.
They were innocent.
Oh, I'm quite sure they were.
You are dismissed, madam.
- Your Lordship?
- You may step down, Mrs. Fletcher.
Judge Valentine, please
come to your chambers.
Miss Doris Perry, please report
to the Superior Court number two.
Whew. I know.
It's like being mugged.
Is that kind of character
assassination legal?
Not very, but it's what
Oliver Quayle does best.
I'm no expert, but I thought I noticed
you landing one or two low blows yourself.
When a girl steps into the alley to
duke it out with the great Oliver Quayle,
she better have a set of
brass knuckles in her glove.
Miss Pirage, maybe I
shouldn't even ask you this,
but do you really believe that
Jim Harlan murdered his wife?
I'll tell you what I
intend to prove...
That James Harlan
conspired with Monica Blane...
to murder Patricia Harlan.
Then you think that Jim
went back, killed Patricia,
and Monica Blane set the fire
later so that he'd have an alibi?
You'd make a good lawyer.
Well, out of curiosity,
where is Monica Blane?
Good question. We've been
trying to find her for months.
Jim, you asked for my help.
I want to help,
but at every turn...
something pops up
that you haven't told me.
What would you like to know?
The truth about
you and Patricia.
All right.
We tried to keep up appearances,
but our marriage was sinking fast.
She went through money
like you wouldn't believe.
Even on the day she died
she took out 20,000—cash.
Cash? Was it ever found?
No. It must have gone
up in smoke in the fire.
Tell me about this business with
you and Monica Blane at the motel.
- Is that true?
- It's not something
that I'm very proud of.
Yes, it happened. Okay?
What time did you leave the motel?
- 00, just
in time to get back to
the house for dinner.
Monica took a taxi
to catch her flight.
I guess it's not a very
pretty picture. You can
see why I didn't want
to tell anyone about it.
I agree. It certainly won't
endear you to the jury.
But at least Monica
Blane can give you an alibi.
If anybody can find her.
Judith.
Please forgive this
late hour, but I wonder
if I could speak to
you for a few minutes.
Yes, of course. Come
on in. Thank you.
I always felt the mark of good
breeding was good manners,
so I simply must apologize for the vicious
way that Jim’s attorney attacked you.
I mean, it was unconscionable.
Well, I suppose that's what he's
paid to do, and very handsomely,
from what I can see.
I wouldn't want you to leave
Quebec harboring any ill feelings.
Well, I hadn't planned to leave.
I think it would be best for
Jim if you did— immediately.
Jim told you about our
conversation today, didn't he?
Of course he did, otherwise
you wouldn't be here.
I wonder why I get the feeling, Judith
that—that you're pulling the strings.
Jim is—is all I
have left, Jessica.
I would do anything
to protect him.
This whole trial must
be an agony for you.
I admit I was very upset
when Jim and Patricia eloped.
After all, he'd only
known her a few weeks.
Perhaps it was mothers'
instinct or whatever,
but I hired a
private investigator.
I got my money's worth.
He found out that Patricia had
spent a year in jail in Arizona...
for embezzling funds from
the bank where she worked.
I also learned that she was nothing
more than a common Las Vegas showgirl...
when he met her. And
her friend, Monica Blane?
I can guess.
They weren't schoolmates.
They were in jail together, right?
I see you have
good instincts too.
So that's where
all the money went.
Monica was blackmailing
her. Evidently.
At any rate, after
all this happened...
I paid Monica a great
deal of money to disappear.
I didn't want any of this
sordid business to come out.
And you gave her
the money yourself...
after Patricia died?
No, no. It was through an
intermediary— The private investigator.
Judith,
has Jim ever admitted to
you that he murdered Patricia?
No. No, he denies it.
I am his mother,
and as long as he
continues to deny it,
I'll continue to believe him.
Good morning, Barnaby.
I'd like to see Mr. Quayle.
Mrs. Fletcher, my goodness. We
all thought you'd gone back to Maine.
There's a little matter I'd like to
discuss with the great man first.
I do hope you realize
there was nothing personal...
in Mr. Quayle's
cross-examination. On the contrary.
I thought it was all very
personal. Is he in there?
Uh, no, no. I'm
afraid he's not here.
Really, Mrs. Fletcher, you
must understand it's all tactics.
Is there something I could
do? No, no, I—I don't think so.
I mean, I don't suppose that
you would have the authority...
to show me the,
uh, police report.
I have more authority
than most people suppose.
I am, after all, his assistant.
What were you curious about?
Well, I'm not exactly sure.
I guess I'm not quite clear as
to how you identified the body.
I mean, uh, I wonder if
you checked that closely.
Let me assure you,
nothing escapes
Mr. Quayle's attention...
Or mine.
Uh, her initials,
and Mr. Harlan's,
were engraved on the
inside of the wedding ring...
and the engagement ring.
Five karats. That's funny.
Where's the diamond
brooch that she was wearing?
No mention of any
brooch in the police file.
Barnaby? There's a man here to
see Mr. Q. Name's Rudy Planski.
A private investigator.
Says it's very important.
I'm afraid he's not here at the
moment. Could I possibly help?
Yeah. Tell him I'm waitin' for
him down the street at Marcel's.
May I tell him what
it's about, Mr. Planski?
Yeah. Just mention
the name Monica Blane.
Tell him to bring
along five large.
Five large what? Uh,
maybe Mr. Quayle will know.
Well, here I am going on and on,
and interfering with
your valuable time.
Ah, I must get to the post office. I
wonder, could you lend me an envelope?
Oh, certainly. Thank you.
Don't you think it was a little careless,
walking into the office like that?
- Where's Quayle?
- Tied up. I came instead.
Oh, yeah? Who, exactly, are you?
The name I use in
Quebec is Fletcher.
We want to be sure that the information
you're selling is worth five large.
Well, I seen you
up in his office, but...
how do I know you're
working for him?
Does the name Judith Harlan...
ring a bell with you?
Quayle knows about that?
You think Mr. Quayle is stupid?
You think he'd take this case
if he didn't know all the facts?
And what, may I ask,
are you doing here,
Mrs. Fletcher?
I thought I had made
it clear, Mrs. Fletcher,
that your interference
would no longer be tolerated.
Mr. Planski has information
about Monica Blane.
I know where she is, Quayle,
and it's gonna cost you five grand.
And why would Miss Blane's
whereabouts be worth $5,000 to me?
Because Jim was with her at the
motel when Patricia was murdered.
If we can find Monica Blane and
she'll testify, Jim will have an alibi.
From a convicted felon? That is
not the thrust of my defense, madam.
Well, maybe it should be.
Uh...
She's staying at that
address. New York City.
I must be running along.
Uh, just a minute. What's this?
Oh, uh, that's mine.
From my office?
It's just some recipes I was
clipping out of the local paper,
and Barnaby gave me
one of your envelopes.
These, I'm afraid, would
give me indigestion.
I'm sure you're well
intentioned, Mrs. Fletcher,
but you're also a
meddlesome busybody,
and you're sorely
trying my patience.
And you, Mr. Quayle, are trying mine
by mangling Jim Harlan's defense...
by not conceding that
his wife was murdered.
If we concede murder,
then we concede the case.
My client had both
motive and opportunity.
And by ignoring the
fact that Patricia Harlan...
withdrew $20,000 cash the
day that she was murdered.
Now, Monica Blane may
have been blackmailing her.
Blackmail? And that Judith Harlan
paid Monica Blane to disappear.
And if I'm not mistaken, that little
man to whom you just gave $5,000...
delivered the payment.
Mrs. Fletcher! We've
had an enormous break
in the case. That's
wonderful news, Barnaby.
Mr. Quayle got a tip, and I flew to New
York last night and located Monica Blane.
She's here? And
willing to testify?
I think you'll find that our client
has a very solid alibi, counselor.
Is the defense prepared
to proceed, Mr. Quayle?
We are, Your Lordship.
If it pleases the court, the Crown
has one further witness to call.
Well, I was under the
impression that the prosecution...
had rested its
case, but... very well.
The Crown calls Monica Blane.
No. I told you.
I never saw Jim Harlan in
my life before that weekend.
But you did go to the
motel with him, didn’t you?
What's the big deal?
We're both over 21.
At what time did you and
the defendant leave the motel?
I took a taxi.
I had a 7:40 flight.
So the defendant didn't
drive you to the airport?
No. He didn't have time.
He said he had to go
back to the country house...
and, uh, straighten
something out with his wife.
No! That's not true.
She's lying. Sit
down, Mr. Harlan.
It's a lie. Why would
Monica say such a thing?
Well, if she was
blackmailing Patricia,
maybe she was trying to cover
her own tracks by incriminating you.
Maybe she never
took that flight.
Maybe she went back
to the country house.
Mrs. Fletcher.
It is you, Mrs. Fletcher,
who are responsible
for this fiasco.
I will brook no further
interference from you, madam!
Mrs. Harlan, James— In here.
Jim.
Sometimes, when things aren't
going well, he forgets his manners.
When the jury brings in a verdict,
you'd better have a muzzle handy.
There's a call from
his ex-wife on line two.
You think I should interrupt?
Uh, maybe I'd
better talk to her.
Hello. Wilhemina.
No, he's not in. Can
I help? Wilhemina?
- His second wife.
- How many ex-wives
does Mr. Quayle have?
Three—all originally
his secretaries.
Yes, Wilhemina, I can see the problem.
How much do you think you'll need?
Did you lose
something? An earring.
Yes, I'll take care
of that myself.
Oh, gee, thanks.
I mean, it's not really
worth very much, but
for me it has a lot
of sentimental value.
Oh. Yes, Wilhemina.
I'll give him your love.
Bye.
Barnaby!
The diamond brooch. What brooch?
The diamond brooch that I told
you that Patricia was wearing.
It must have been very valuable,
and it was missing after the fire.
And you think
the killer stole it?
That's very astute
of you, Barnaby.
Sometimes I think that you
ought to be running the defense.
Actually, I make a bigger contribution
around here than most people realize.
But I don't quite follow.
You know, Barnaby, I have an idea,
but if I try to explain it to Mr. Quayle...
I don't think he's
gonna listen to me.
Suppose you bounce it off me.
Then, if it has merit...
Well, the handyman— Clay McLeod.
He more or less intimated to me
that he had gone back to the house...
long after we had all left.
And if he went back, he may have
killed Patricia and taken the brooch.
What are you talking
about, Barnaby?
Mrs. Fletcher told me that Patricia had
been wearing a distinctive antique brooch.
That's right. The
one I gave to her.
I checked the police file. It was
never recovered after the fire.
We may be onto something here.
Patricia and the gardener?
Infidelity, theft and murder...
McLeod will deny it, of course.
It would be stupid to sell
or pawn something like that.
At least for a while.
McLeod may be vicious,
but he's not stupid.
He probably still has the
brooch hidden somewhere.
Barnaby, find Judge
Mansard. Get a search warrant.
Mr. McLeod?
Mr. McLeod?
I would imagine that Mr. Quayle is
busily arranging for a search warrant.
Yes. That's the brooch
that Patricia was wearing.
How did you know?
When I admired it, Jim told
me that it was an heirloom...
That it had belonged
to his grandmother.
My mother was very fond of it.
A present from my father.
I had to ask myself,
"Who would take an antique brooch
and leave a five-karat diamond?"
Patricia's appointment
was not with her hairdresser.
It was with me.
I went out there to
confront her privately...
with what my
investigator had turned up.
I offered her a handsome
settlement to divorce Jim quietly,
without scandal.
But Patricia was not only
greedy, she was arrogant,
and she became very abusive.
She—She had the
audacity to—to hit me.
I grasped for whatever was near
me. It was the poker in the fireplace.
And I... I struck her down.
So you were the one who disconnected
the gas line in the basement?
It wasn't difficult.
I calculated I had enough
time to get back to the city...
before the fire consumed her.
And you couldn't bear to see
your mother's brooch destroyed,
so you removed it from the body.
I hope you realize...
that I never would have
let Jim be convicted...
for something I had done.
Yes, Jessica, our little
ploy worked brilliantly.
A clever piece of
work if I say so myself.
Well, I do hope that Mr. Quayle
appreciates what you did for him.
As of today, I have a new title.
"First Assistant."
Oh, that has a good, solid
sound. That's very impressive.
Barnaby!
What did you put in
the coffee this morning?
It tastes like— Mrs. Fletcher!
Oh, why didn't somebody
tell me you were here?
I just popped in to say good-bye.
Oh, not good-bye, dear lady.
Au revoir. Well,
perhaps sometime.
Oh, you'll be back here in
a few months— for the trial.
The trial? Oh, yes.
Didn't Barnaby tell you?
I'm defending Judith Harlan. Even the
guilty are entitled to their day in court.
And what a glorious
day it's going to be.
I'll get her off, you know.
I always get them off.
Well, if you don't mind, this is
one trial I would just as soon skip.
Skip? Oh, no. No,
no. You must appear.
I'm going to call
you as a witness.