Murder, She Wrote (1984–1996): Season 6, Episode 18 - O'Malley's Luck - full transcript

Oh, Uncle Jim! Uncle Jim!

Now, here! Now, here! Detectives
don't kiss Detective Lieutenants!

FEMALE NARRATOR:
Tonight on Murder, She Wrote.

What's her name,
Roland? Do I know her?

Well, that's hard
to say, darling.

You have such a
wide circle of friends.

You...

You can kiss half of
everything you own goodbye.

He neglected her shamelessly.

His wife was frigid.
She treated him like dirt.

First thing in the morning, I want
you to call this Captain Cohen.



About to get yourself a one-way
ticket off the force, for good.

Now, I've got you!

Oh.

"May your neighbors respect you,

"trouble neglect you,
the angels protect you,

"and heaven accept you.

"As if there were any doubt.

"Happy birthday, love O'Malley."

(LAUGHS)

That's Jim O'Malley for you.

You know, he never lets a
birthday go by unrecognized,

even if it is a month late.

Let's see what he's been up to.

"Dear Jessica, thought
I would take a moment



"to give you the details of
my latest brush with dismissal.

"You may have read
about it in the papers.

"It was a case involving Roland
Trent, the real estate entrepreneur."

TRENT: I don't
care how you do it.

Condemn the damn
building if you have to.

Just make sure the property is in my name
by close of business on Friday. Period.

Damn.

Finished, darling?

Now maybe we can talk.

Gretchen, I'm sorry. I'm working on
something important now, all right?

Oh, of course. Silly me. I should
have phoned for an appointment.

If you're gonna play
the neglected wife,

you might start by
dressing down for the part.

Roland, please,
let's not fight, okay?

(SIGHING) Look,
why don't we take a trip

on our 10th
anniversary next month?

We can go to Paris. We can
go back to that little place...

Paris? What, are you out of
your mind? I told you I'm busy.

Look, if you wanna go,
go. Take one of your friends.

You just don't get it, do you?

I don't care about Paris.

I just wanna be with
you. Just the two of us.

Anywhere but here. Away from
your office and your business.

(CELL PHONE RINGS)

(SIGHS)

And especially
your cellular phone.

Trent.

Yeah, Bert.

Roberts, let me out
at the next corner.

No! That's ridiculous.
Tell him, no.

Look, Bert, we both
know he's overextended.

I'll tell you what,

give him a few days to stew and then
come back with a new offer, 10% less.

(CHUCKLES)

Don't worry about City
Hall. I can handle them.

Taxi!

ABBOTT: Yes, sir.

I think we can put this
thing to bed by the weekend.

No, the councilman
was very cooperative,

especially after a few martinis and a
nudge from that stack of Ben Franklins.

(CHUCKLES)

Thank you, sir.

Always happy to help.

Please, call on me anytime.

Thank you.

Good morning, Mr. Abbott. Brought
the files you were asking about.

Doesn't a closed door mean
anything to you, Officer Rawley?

Oh, I'm really sorry.

Ruth wasn't at her desk, and I thought you
were waiting for me, but I can come back.

No, no, no! Frances, I'm sorry.

It was my fault. I asked
you to rush over here,

and then I forgot to warn
Ruth you were coming.

Oh. Well, they're all here.

Staten Island's crime stats for
the past 12 months, cross-indexed,

complete with graphics.

Good girl.

If you'd like me to go
over them with you...

Frances, I have a
confession to make.

Sir?

I asked you to bring these
statistics personally, because...

Well, frankly, I wanted
to see you again.

I have been thinking about you
ever since dinner the other night.

I enjoyed it, too, sir.

I was very flattered to
work with the Deputy Mayor.

And you, of course.

Work? Is that all
you ever think about?

Look, Mr. Abbott...
Paul. Please.

Look, I have a friend who's got
a great place in the Hamptons.

He's asked me down
for the weekend. I...

I hope you're free.

As a matter of
fact, I am tied up.

Nothing you can't
wiggle out of, I'm sure.

(EXCLAIMS)

(GROANS)

I said, no thanks, sir.

(SIGHS)

So, you wanna get physical?

Sounds like fun.

You're quick.

(LAUGHING)

Ruth!

Get this little tramp
out of my office.

Little what?

She barged in here
and propositioned me.

She thought she could
buy a promotion with sex.

What?

Maybe you'd better leave.

I didn't do anything!

Don't make it any worse, honey.

This is Paul Abbott. Get
me the Police Commissioner.

Don't let it get to you. You're not
the first. You sure won't be the last.

Am I supposed to just ignore it?

I'd do my best, if I were you.

I don't know what went on
in there before I showed up,

but I can tell you
this, he's got it on tape.

Tape? Are you kidding?

(LAUGHING) Honey,
the man tapes everything.

Loves to hear the
sound of his own voice.

Now, just go back to work and
try to forget you ever met this man.

Thanks.

O'MALLEY: Frances Xavier Rawley.

And a good morning
to you, too, O'Malley.

I repeat, Captain,

Frances Xavier Rawley.

I heard, I heard.

Then perhaps you'd be
kind enough to explain

why, in the name
of all that's holy,

she went from a liaison assignment
with the Deputy Mayor's office,

to desk duty in the South Bronx!

She got a poor
rating. It happens.

The daughter of Mike Rawley,

the best partner a man ever had?

BOTH: And the best
officer this city ever saw.

I know, I know.

Frances Rawley is a chip off the
old block, and always has been.

She has never had a poor
rating, not even at the Academy.

So, if she's got one now,
I intend to discover why.

Then go. Discover.
You have my blessing.

The man's a saint.

(SIGHS)

Roland, please,
don't do this to me.

Gretchen, I don't know what you're
getting yourself so worked up about.

I'm having dinner with David Kingston,
you're more than welcome to come along.

(SCOFFS) Doesn't
that sound like fun?

Spending an entire evening
listening to you and your lawyer

come up with new
ways to cheat the IRS.

If you'd rather stay home
alone, that's up to you.

What's her name,
Roland? Do I know her?

Well, that's hard
to say, darling.

You have such a
wide circle of friends.

You...

At least have the
decency to deny it.

I don't know what
time I'll be home,

so you don't have
to wait up for me.

Unless, of course, it gives you
some sort of perverse pleasure.

Don't be surprised if I'm
not here when you get back!

If I didn't know you so well, I
could almost take that seriously.

Roland!

Roland!

(DOOR CLOSES)

(KNOCK ON DOOR)

Come in.

Everything all right?

(SIGHS)

Yes, Alice, everything
is just dandy.

I was wondering,

maybe you'd like to go to the
office and finish off those letters.

I'll meet you downstairs in 15.

All right.

Thanks.

TRENT: David, the woman is a millstone
around my neck. I've gotta get rid of her.

(HARP MUSIC PLAYING)

That would be simple,

if you hadn't made her a full partner
in your business as a wedding gift.

Yeah. Not the wisest
move I ever made, huh?

That was on your
advice, as I recall.

On the contrary,

I tried to talk you out of it, but
you were too starry-eyed to listen.

Yeah.

So, what can I do?

Well, you have two options.

You can crawl back to Gretchen
and beg her forgiveness...

Skip to number two, huh?

Or you can kiss half of
everything you own goodbye,

because that's what she's
gonna get if you leave her.

I don't suppose
there's a number three?

Looking beautiful.

Thank you, darling.

Hi. Hi.

Oh, I've wanted
to do that all day.

(BOTH GIGGLING)

I'm glad you waited to do
it with me. Oh, hi, David.

Cindy.

Well, look what time it's
gotten. I must be on my way.

David, relax, relax.

Yeah, we're just having dinner.
We're not doing anything wicked. Yet.

I still have to go over the papers
for the Phillip's acquisition tonight.

The meeting's at 9:30 tomorrow.

I left my briefcase
at the office.

O'MALLEY: Yeah, so, go on.

You and Mr. Abbott
were working late, and...

Mmm-hmm. And he suggested
that we get a bite to eat.

I was thinking something
casual, you know...

Take out. Like this.

Right, but instead we
ended up at Chez Marin.

My, my.

Mr. Abbott must have a
formidable expense account.

I guess.

You know, he was very nice.

He was very much the gentleman.

I was actually
beginning to like him.

Oh, I've heard French
wines can have that effect.

No kidding.

But then today came.
Broad daylight. No wine.

I guess he was kind
of surprised to find out

I didn't care for his
brand of office politics.

Which explains how you
ended up in the South Bronx.

Why didn't you tell me
about this when it happened?

Because I'm old enough
to fight my own battles.

If you get involved, Abbott
might cause trouble for you, too.

An errand boy for
the Deputy Mayor?

What the fellow needs
is a good spanking.

Don't give it another thought.

Now, my darling, do you remember
Officer Quintero, my assistant?

Oh, sure.

Bright young lad.

He's got himself promoted to the
district public relations office, you see,

and I gotta replace him.

So, I thought maybe this time, I'd break
in someone of the female persuasion.

Are you kidding?
You'd do that for me?

Doing it for myself.

You come from fine stock,

South Bronx will just have
to get along without you.

Oh, Uncle Jim!

No, no! Now, now, no kissing
superiors there, while on duty.

Our shift was up two hours ago.

Oh, well, wee bit of a hug then.

(GIGGLES) So, what are
we gonna be working on?

To tell you the truth,
girl, things are a bit slow.

But I've got an awful, itchy
feeling in the back of my neck,

something's about to happen.

(SIGHS)

(SIREN WAILING)

(POLICE RADIO CHATTERING)

Well, now, what's all this?

Still itching?

Like a case of the hives.

Evening, Billy.

What have we here?

Pretty cut and dried,
Lieutenant. Jumper.

O'MALLEY: That's
fine, Billy. Thank you.

Looks like she took a swan
dive from the penthouse office.

That's the only
one with a terrace.

How might we get up there?

Well, you can go in here
and use the lobby elevator,

or go through the garage
to the private elevator.

Private elevator, you say?

I don't suppose anyone was
seen using it this evening?

No such luck.

No such luck. Thank you, Billy.

Marvelous what a man can do

if he has the money
and the inclination.

Oh, great, here
comes Gorilla Grillo.

Should've saved yourself
the trip, Lieutenant.

This is a suicide,
open and shut.

Or should I say, over and down?

If it's as clear cut as
all that, Detective Grillo,

why are the lab boys
crawling all over the premises?

Procedure, sir. Just
going by the book.

Well, there's a note
here in the typewriter,

if you'd like to
see for yourself.

"Life has lost its
meaning for me.

"Forgive me, my
darling. Love, Gretchen."

GRILLO: This ought to stir up
some headlines tomorrow, boy.

You know, this isn't just
any office. This is Roland...

Roland Trent's office. I know.

Did you also know that
the jumper was his wife?

Thank you for that
little tidbit of information.

I'd guess that the lady
was a secretary at one time.

Her? Nah.

She went right from being
Miss July to Mrs. Trent.

What's the matter? You two
ought to read The Enquirer,

you might learn something.

Weird.

What is it, Frances?

I don't know, but...

Wouldn't a woman who's
about to take a high dive

make at least one
mistake in the note?

Especially somebody with
acrylic nails at least an inch long?

You noticed that, did
you? Well done, Frances.

Well, let's locate Mr. Trent
and give him the sad news.

I already took care
of that, Lieutenant.

Oh, you did, did you?

Well, I figured I should
handle it right away, sir,

seeing as it's Roland Trent.

You can save that reverential
tone for church, Vinnie.

(CAMERA CLICKS)

Where, by the way, I
haven't seen you lately.

So, I hear congratulations
are in order.

Well, congratulations.

Thanks.

Yeah, I kind of figured O'Malley
would tap me to be his assistant.

But then I don't have your
qualifications, sweetface.

Grillo,

just a couple things, so
we understand each other.

First of all, my name isn't
sweetface, it's Frances.

Only, you can call
me Officer Rawley.

And second,

if I hear you say anything like
that again, to me or anybody,

I will show you what I just learned
in my last self-defense class.

Oh, yeah? What's that?

Well, let's just say it might seriously
impair your social life for a few days.

Hope I'm getting through to you.

Pardon me, who's in charge here?

Detective Lieutenant
James Ignatius O'Malley.

And who might you be, sir?

Oh, Lieutenant,
this is Roland Trent.

But of course it is.

Forgive me, sir, I don't know
where my mind is tonight.

My sincere condolences to you.

I lost my own dear
wife a few years back...

Lieutenant, I don't quite
understand what you're doing here.

I'm sorry, sir, I
thought it was obvious.

We're investigating the
death of your late wife.

What is there to investigate?

Gretchen took her own life.

My, my,

you're a remarkably
perceptive man, Mr. Trent,

to walk in this room and
know at once it was suicide,

without so much as a
glance at the farewell note.

I knew it was suicide because
some insensitive clod of a sergeant

left a message to that effect
on my answering machine.

You've suffered a dreadful
shock this evening, sir,

but if you don't mind, I
have a few questions.

O'MALLEY: Could you tell me, sir,
when was it that you last saw Mrs. Trent?

Earlier this evening,
around 7:30.

I was getting ready
to go out for dinner.

Alone?

No, with my attorney.

I couldn't cancel.

I urged Gretchen to come along,
but as usual, she turned me down.

As usual?

She always felt inadequate
around my business associates,

even though most of them would
have preferred her company to mine.

Especially Kingston,
he adored her.

Kingston?

Yes, David
Kingston, my attorney.

O'MALLEY: Was there anyone
else at dinner with you, sir?

No, it was just the two of us.

How long have you
had this office, Mr. Trent?

As long as I've owned
this building, several years.

Well, sir, perhaps then you need to
have a few words with your cleaning crew.

I don't... My cleaning crew?

I was noticing these bookends
over here on the side table here, sir.

Well, this one is
dull, sir, if you'll...

If you'll pardon
me, a bit grimy.

But this one, bright
as a new penny.

Isn't it odd that only the
one of them should be clean?

Yeah. That was careless.

And this felt here that's on
the bottom, sir. That's wet.

That's very bad, sir.

Water can do terrific
damage to a fine wood finish.

Thanks for pointing that out.

I'll speak to my building
manager about it.

Is there anything else?

Yes, there is just one thing.

And you know,

it is really strange, sir.

I mentioned the farewell
letter to you from your wife

that's on the typewriter there.

You've not asked to see it.

I know if my dear
Jenny, rest her soul,

had been able to
leave me a note,

I'd have snatched it up straightaway,
committed every blessed word to memory.

You want me to be honest
with you, Lieutenant?

I didn't ask to see it because
I'm afraid of what might be in it.

I loved my wife very much,

but our marriage
was far from perfect.

(SIGHS)

I'm afraid she may
have blamed me.

Well, I can put your mind
at ease on that one, sir.

No blame is given.

(SIGHS)

I'd like to have this when
your people are through with it.

(PHONE RINGING) Of course, sir.

Is it okay to get this?

Yeah, it's been dusted.

Hello, Officer Rawley speaking.

Oh, hold on. Lieutenant?

There's a man downstairs demanding to
see Mr. Trent, says his name is Kingston.

Did you feel you'd be
needing your lawyer, sir?

Poor David,

he must have heard
about Gretchen.

I'll speak to him downstairs.

He'll be right down.

Lieutenant, do you think it's possible
that someone was up here, handled it,

and then wiped it
free of fingerprints?

That might be
a possibility, sir,

but the question
then is, who handled it

and why did they feel the
need to cover up the fact?

Just a thought. Keep me posted.

I'll do that, sir.

What did you get from that?

I think Mr. Trent
is a cold fish.

That, too.

O'Malley's been around
since Wagner was mayor.

Dozens of citations, honors.

His arrest record is the
best in the department.

I sincerely hope
you're coming to a "but".

But he has a reputation as a
hard-nose under all that Irish malarkey.

Gotten him into hot water
with the brass from time to time.

Let this be one of those times.

Here, here, what's this?

Oh, I'm sorry, I thought
you took it black.

I do, but I'm perfectly capable
of getting my own coffee.

You weren't hired to
fetch and carry, girl.

I know that.

See that you do.

Talking to your
mother last night.

She's upset you've
run away from home.

I am 26 years old. I
took my own apartment.

And praise be
that you did, girl.

Your mother's a
dear, sweet woman,

but she'd try the
patience of a saint.

(GIGGLES)

Still now, it wouldn't
hurt to go by of a Sunday,

maybe even with a
young man on your arm.

(SIGHS) Now, don't you start.

I'm starting nothing, girl.

But a Smith &
Wesson police special's

poor company on a cold
winter's night, I can tell you.

COHEN: O'Malley.

Oh, the top of the
morning to you, Captain.

O'Malley, I need six more years
before I can collect my pension.

You seem hell-bent
on preventing that.

Do I understand correctly

that you actually interrogated
Roland Trent about his wife's death?

Well, it wasn't exactly an
interrogation, sir, it was more of a...

Information gathering.

I don't care if you call it Final
Jeopardy, I want it stopped.

Captain, are you ordering
me to stop this investigation?

There is no investigation. The
woman's death was a suicide.

We haven't heard from
the coroner about that, yet.

Rawley, can you talk
some sense into him?

No, sir.

Sam, at the risk of spoiling
a perfectly lovely day,

I must tell you that Gretchen
Trent's death looks like a suicide

because someone went to great
pains to make it look like that.

She was murdered?

Very strong possibility,
sir. The very strongest.

I see.

And this "someone"
you just mentioned,

I mean, it wouldn't
be... It couldn't be...

Oh, but it would be, sir.
Mr. Roland Trent himself.

Be back here at 12:15. I've
got a 12:30 lunch at La Tiara.

Hey, darling.

La Tiara, 12:30.
Don't be late, huh?

I trust you were talking to an
answering machine, Mr. Trent?

Otherwise, that was
something of a chilly invitation.

Good morning, Lieutenant.
What are you doing here?

I was just about to ask
you that same thing, sir.

You seem to have avoided that tape we
had across the elevator door downstairs,

the one that says, "New York
crime scene, do not enter."

What crime are you
talking about, Lieutenant?

My wife killed herself.

Perhaps so.

Even then, suicide
is against the law.

What are you gonna
do, prosecute her?

It's obvious to me, sir, that you don't
appreciate the nature of police work.

Paper pushing, mostly.

Writing reports, filing
reports. A dreary business.

Although...

Although?

One thing, very strange.

Your wife's fingerprints.

They didn't show up on either
the typewriter or the suicide note.

Now, how do you
suppose that happened?

I can only imagine that one of
your technicians bungled his job.

Oh, yes. Well, that does
happen from time to time.

But then there
was this other thing.

And what is the other thing?

The bookends, sir.

You recall I pointed
them out to you last night.

Where are they?

Not to worry, sir. They're safe
and sound, down in the police lab.

You gave me the
idea yourself, sir,

when you suggested last night that perhaps
somebody was up here that handled them.

I had them tested.

And this one was
covered with fingerprints:

yours, Mrs. Trent's, her
secretary, your secretary,

just as you might expect.

But then this other one, as clean
as the day it came out of the mold.

Not a print on it.

That's very odd, isn't it?

And I can't imagine how
that happened, can you?

No, it's got me puzzled,

as well as the
matter of the scream.

Excuse me, the
scream? What scream?

That's just the point,
sir. There was none.

At least, according
to Mr. Donatelli.

Donatelli?

Oh, he's an
unfortunate case, sir.

I mean, it was sad.

Mr. Donatelli was a
former stockbroker, sir.

He's had to sleep in
the alley ever since the

Dow Jones took its
big plunge a while back.

Lieutenant, about
the scream... Oh, yes.

Mr. Donatelli was dozing in the
doorway of the building next door

at the time of your
wife's unfortunate death,

and he heard no scream.

So what? People
scream from terror.

According to my wife's note,
she went to her death willingly.

You'd think that,
wouldn't you, sir?

But I've had to deal with dozens
of jumpers, if you'll pardon the term.

And as sure as God made
the blue lakes of Killarney,

when they take that final step

and realize the absolute
certainty of death,

every blessed one
of them screams.

What is your point?

My point, sir,

is that either your wife

was a woman of
remarkable resolve,

or else she was unconscious
when she fell off that terrace

and therefore was
unable to scream.

Because even if
she'd fainted out there,

she couldn't get over
that rail without help.

Where the hell is my staff?

Well, they're not here today.

You remember, sir,
this is a crime scene.

But I've got to be going
on to my next appointment.

You'd best come
along with me, sir,

otherwise you're gonna be late
for your luncheon engagement.

Thank you.

Lieutenant.

MONTROSE: Milk and sugar?

Artificial sweetener, please.

Miss Montrose, how long were
you Mrs. Trent's personal secretary?

For almost five years.

And did she spend much
time on company business?

No, hardly any.

Just signing papers and the like,
whenever her husband asked her to.

Mrs. Trent devoted most
of her time to charities.

In fact, I still have some letters
to type that she dictated that night.

She was a very generous person.

And Mr. Trent?

Miss Rawley, I'm not
sure that I should comment.

Technically, he is
still my employer.

It's Officer Rawley, and I'm not
here digging up dirt for the tabloids.

I'm conducting an investigation.

Of course.

What do you want to know?

Why don't you tell me about
the last time you saw Mrs. Trent?

Well, it was that night,

the night she died.

We frequently worked
evenings at the office.

Mr. Trent was hardly
ever there himself,

and it had
typewriters, computers,

and it was so much more convenient
than working here at the townhouse.

Was there anyone
else there that night?

No, it was after 8:00
and everybody had gone.

Mrs. Trent was dictating
the letters I mentioned.

She hated to type and
her writing was atrocious,

so she always dictated to
me or into a cassette recorder.

All of a sudden,
Mr. Trent was there.

He'd left his briefcase, and
he said he'd come back to get it.

And when he saw Mrs. Trent
sitting behind his desk, he got ugly.

He asked her if she
was planning to take over.

And she said, "Why not?"
Since she was already half-owner.

That look in his eye...

I thought he was
actually going to hit her.

(STAMMERING)

I told him that we'd
be finished with work

and out of the
office within an hour.

That seemed to calm him down.

Then he left by the front,

instead of the private
elevator to the garage.

After he left, I...

I realized that he'd
forgotten his briefcase again.

And so, I offered to try
and catch up with him,

but Mrs. Trent said no. If he really
needed it, he'd come back and get it.

Well, we worked for
another hour or so,

but I hadn't slept the
night before, and I...

I was tired. I could
hardly keep my eyes open.

So, Mrs. Trent said that I
was to go home and go to bed,

she'd dictate the rest on tape.

If only I hadn't gone...

Miss Montrose,

how would you describe
Mrs. Trent's state of mind

after the confrontation
with her husband?

Well, she was... She
was upset, of course, but...

Upset enough to
take her own life?

No.

No!

If I thought that, I'd
never have left her alone!

But I can tell you one thing
for certain, he is responsible.

Her husband?

He never knew what a
wonderful woman she was.

He was so mean and selfish.

He never gave her
any time or thought.

He neglected her shamelessly.

Do you think he neglected
her because of another woman?

I wouldn't know
anything about that.

Something doesn't add up.

Alice Montrose
obviously hates Trent,

but the minute I suggested that he
may be involved with another woman,

she almost seemed insulted.

Reminds me of my dear
old Aunt Kate, rest her soul.

She was that way
about Uncle Jack.

Rest his soul.

Kate would call him
every name in the book,

and a few she invented herself,

but you let anyone else
suggest he was a lazy bum,

she'd scratch their eyes out.

So, what are we
talking about? Loyalty?

Protecting the memory
of someone we love?

I wasn't listening to
you, girl. What'd you say?

Well, is it loyalty?

Sure. I'd say... I'd say that.

(HONKING)

Hey, Lieutenant,

Captain wants to see you now.

From the smug expression you're wearing,
Sergeant Grillo, I'll bet you know why.

Sorry, it's confidential.

Grillo, grow up.

All right. Okay.

You're gonna be
the star attraction

at a press conference
this afternoon, Lieutenant.

You're gonna
squelch these rumors

about Mrs. Trent's death
being anything but suicide.

That's crazy. I haven't
finished my investigation yet.

That's not what
the Captain says.

(CLEARS THROAT)

Ladies and
gentlemen of the press,

Detective Lieutenant O'Malley has
a statement to make relating to a...

A certain ongoing news story.

Statement? This is
barely a sentence.

Watch it, O'Malley.

Good afternoon,
ladies and gentlemen.

I've been asked to
read you this statement.

"Following several days
of intense investigation,

"there is no clear evidence that Gretchen
Trent's death was anything but suicide."

At this point in time.

I'll take questions now. Dave.

Lieutenant, what does "at
this point in time," mean?

It means "now."

FEMALE REPORTER:
Do you mean to suggest

that there could be proof at some
later time that this wasn't a suicide?

O'MALLEY: I certainly hope so.

FEMALE REPORTER: Are you
saying you have a suspect in mind?

Oh, yes.

Lieutenant, can you
reveal that suspect's name?

It is my belief

that the late Mrs. Trent was
tossed from that penthouse terrace

by her husband, Roland Trent.

You old fool! Now, I've got you!

Uncle Jim, what
were you thinking?

Oh, Frances,

the way those reporters were
badgering me with their questions,

I had no choice but to
tell the truth, now did I?

Well, you just couldn't
let it go, could you?

Well, my old friend, this time you have
bitten off more than the brass can swallow.

You're about to get yourself
a one-way ticket off the force,

for good.

REPORTER 1: Here they come!
REPORTER 2: Here they are!

Gentlemen, ladies, please!

Mr. Trent will have
no comment... David.

It's all right, David.

Mr. Trent, what about
Detective Lieutenant O'Malley's

claim that you
murdered your wife?

It's absolute nonsense.

Frankly, I'm really puzzled as to
why a veteran officer like O'Malley

should resort to slander to
try to build a case against me.

Are you saying that
he's deliberately lying?

What else can I say?

(REPORTERS CLAMORING)

Are you planning
to sue? Mr. Trent.

I'd rather not. I'd rather not.

I just think it would
be best for everyone

if the Lieutenant simply
turned in his resignation.

Mr. Trent, are you able to prove
O'Malley's accusations are false?

Of course.
Roland, this is not...

I was nowhere near my office
the night of my wife's death,

and I have a witness
who'll swear to that.

And who is he? It's a she.

And, for the moment, I'd prefer

that she was not exposed
to this type of publicity.

I have to go now.
If you'll forgive me.

No more questions!

(REPORTERS CLAMORING)
No more questions! That's all.

FEMALE REPORTER:
Mr. Trent! No more questions.

MALE REPORTER: It's either your
side or O'Malley's, sir. Mr. Trent, sir?

(TIRES SCREECHING)

That should make "Film
At 11", don't you think?

Roland, what the
hell was that all about?

That, my dear David, was
the beginning of the end

for Detective Lieutenant
James I. O'Malley.

Tomorrow, you and I will
deliver our coup de grâce.

First thing in the morning, I want
you to call this Captain Cohen.

(WHOOPING)

(CHUCKLING)

Beetle Bailey.

What'll he get into next?

COHEN: Right this
way, Mr. Kingston.

Miss Marsh.

Sorry to make you come
all the way down here.

I hope it's not
too inconvenient.

We very much wanna get
this thing settled, Captain.

As quickly as possible.

Oh, of course.

(CHUCKLING)

That's funny.

Indeed, it is. I love to start
the day with a good laugh.

No, no, no.

I'm talking about this man
I just ran into in the hall.

He would visit Paul
Abbott several times

when I was working in
the Deputy Mayor's office.

I never caught his name.

What's funny, Uncle Jim, is that it's
David Kingston, Roland Trent's attorney.

Is that so?

Roland Trent's private attorney, hobnobbing
with an aide to the Deputy Mayor.

And what did Mr. Abbott and Mr. Kingston
talk about in these little meetings?

I don't know. It was
always behind closed doors.

But his visits
were pretty regular,

around the first of the month.

When all the other
bills were paid.

Mmm.

Just thought you'd
like to know, Lieutenant,

Trent's witness is about to give a
statement in the Captain's office.

Have a nice day.

I'd like to give that
clown a nose transplant.

Excuse me, my darling,

there's a meeting I
have to barge into.

Cindy Marsh, M-A-R-S-H.

COHEN: And your
occupation, Miss Marsh?

Part-time model.

I was thinking about
what you said...

Oh, forgive me, Captain Cohen,

I had no idea you were busy.

O'Malley, come in.

You of all people
should hear this.

Oh? Well, if I wouldn't
be intruding, sir.

Thank you very much.

Go ahead, Miss Marsh.

It's like I told Mr. Kingston, Roland
couldn't possibly have killed his wife.

He was with me that night.

He came to my apartment after he'd had
the argument with his wife at his office,

and he stayed. Well, that
is, at least until he heard

the news bulletin about the woman
jumping from his office balcony,

then he immediately called home.

There was some message on his
answering machine from some Police Sergeant

saying that Gretchen
had committed suicide.

And how did he react to that?

Oh, he was devastated.

It took him a few
minutes to get himself

together, and then he
went back to the office.

Miss Marsh, how long...

Oh, I'm sorry, sir,
is it all right if I...

Please, be my guest.

Miss Marsh, how long has this relationship
between you and Mr. Trent been going on?

You don't have to answer that.

What's the difference?

We've known each
other for several months.

I assume you're
speaking in biblical terms?

So what? Roland was
trapped in a lousy marriage.

I mean, his wife was frigid.
She treated him like dirt.

Did he tell you that?

No, I was an eyewitness
in their bedroom.

Of course he told me that!

It was the truth.

Odd, Miss Marsh, that neither Mrs.
Trent's secretary, Alice Montrose,

or any other employee of
Roland Trent knew about you.

We didn't make it a habit of
meeting at his place of business.

In fact, I've never
even been in his office.

May I remind you, Lieutenant,
that Miss Marsh is not on trial here.

She's come of her own free
will to offer her statement.

And we appreciate
that, Mr. Kingston.

May I go now?

Oh, of course.

Thank you very much, Miss Marsh.

I know it's been
difficult for you.

We'll be in touch
if we need you.

O'Malley.

Close the door.

Now, I'm telling
you this as a friend.

If you care about saving
what's left of your rear end,

not to mention your job,

swallow that Irish pride and
apologize to Roland Trent.

Oh, you don't need to
worry about me, Captain.

I'll do whatever it takes to spare this
department any further embarrassment.

You can take
my word for it, sir.

What the hell is all this?

Lieutenant O'Malley, Mr. Abbott.

I have a court order here, sir,

directing you to turn over certain tapes
you've made of some telephone calls.

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

Sure you do, Paul. The tape
recorder that's in your top drawer.

Obviously, the South Bronx wasn't
far enough for you, Officer Rawley.

This time, I'm gonna have
you shipped right off the force.

Ruth, get the Mayor's office
on the phone for me, would you?

Get it yourself, baby.

Yes, indeed, sir. Call the Mayor.
He's expecting you to phone.

I think he wants to
tell you you're fired.

ABBOTT: I had lunch with
the Commissioner today.

I think, with a
little enticement,

he'll be willing to play ball on
that Long Island City project.

TRENT ON TAPE: Do
it. Handle it the usual way.

ABBOTT: He said no cash.

TRENT: That's no problem. Deposit
the funds to his Geneva account.

ABBOTT: And what
do I get out of it?

Your usual cut, Paul.
Don't go greedy on me now.

I'd hate to spoil a
good arrangement.

(STOPS TAPE)

And it goes on like that.

These tapes will never see
the inside of a courtroom.

David, I don't think
the Lieutenant's here

to investigate my
business practices.

Just a way to get
my attention, right?

Actually, Mr. Trent, these tapes
indicate the motive for your wife's murder.

You see, sir,

if Mrs. Trent had divorced you and
demanded her share of the business,

the books would
have had to be opened.

And she knew far too
much about your affairs,

your business affairs, that is,

to have let you off the
hook if you had divorced her.

So, a dilemma.

You couldn't leave your wife,
you couldn't let her leave you,

but that left Miss Marsh
there on rather shaky ground.

So, that left one
alternative, murder the wife.

That's very imaginative,
isn't it? Go on.

I was asking myself,
sir, was it possible

that you could have seen your wife's
secretary leave by the front entrance,

and then you come up
on that private elevator,

knowing that Gretchen
would be here alone?

You know something, O'Malley?
You really missed your calling.

You should be writing
murder mysteries.

I have here, sir, a lab report on
that bookend I took from your office.

The tests reveal that
microscopic traces of hair

were found caught
up in the crevices,

along with blood that was
on the felt pad on the bottom.

They match your wife's, sir.

Doesn't mean anything to me.

I wasn't here, remember?
I was with Miss Marsh.

Maybe you were, sir,
and maybe you weren't.

But I have a statement from Miss Montrose
that says that you left your briefcase

right here in the office on
the night of your wife's death.

When I got here,
there was no briefcase.

But then, when you
arrived the next day,

you were carrying that
self-same briefcase.

I'm sure that Miss
Montrose will identify it.

Well, you can see my point, sir.

The only time you could have
retrieved it was at the time of the murder.

Roland, don't say another word.

Shh. Relax, David.

I have no intention of
answering this insane charge.

Well, if you'll forgive me,
Mr. Trent, I've made no charge.

The risk you'd have been
taking murdering your wife,

that's not the sort of thing a
shrewd businessman like yourself

would have been
willing to chance.

But you, Miss Marsh.

Now, you're a different story.

You're the one that stood to lose
the most if you were sent packing.

You're the one most
likely to lose your temper,

strike out at your enemy
with the nearest heavy object.

That's a pack of lies!

And I'm not going to stand around
here and let you drag me through the mud.

Sorry, not going down.

Miss Marsh, I'm
placing you under arrest

for the murder of
Gretchen Trent.

Well, that's ridiculous.

I told you, I was with
Roland all evening.

You also told me you'd
never been in this office before.

If so, how did you know which one
of these doors led to the elevator?

They all look alike.

Well, I...

Roland. Cindy, shut up!

Perhaps he's right,

just say nothing till you've had
a chance to talk to your attorney.

CINDY ON TAPE: Roland came up
on the private elevator after I called him.

He told me just to get out of there,
that he'd take care of everything.

(SOBBING) I didn't mean to hit her,
I just wanted to have it out with her,

and when she said she'd never
leave Roland, I just freaked.

I just wanted to wipe that
smug smile off her face.

(STOPS TAPE)

Well done, Frances. Your dad
would have been proud of you.

Oh, what for? You're the
one who solved the case.

Wrong, girl. I only
picked up the trail

once you'd found
out about Miss Marsh.

Oh, by the way,

the Captain wanted
you to have this.

Now, normally he'd
present it himself,

but, in this case, he
made an exception.

Oh, my gosh.

Welcome to Homicide,
Detective Rawley.

Oh, Uncle Jim! Uncle Jim!

Now, here! Now, here! Detectives
don't kiss Detective Lieutenants,

especially when on duty.

5:01.

Oh.

Well, do this side.

Oh, that's lovely.
Thank you, girl.