Kolchak: The Night Stalker (1974) s01e18 Episode Script
The Knightly Murders
Tuesday, 11:15 p.
m.
If you know anything about Chicago politics, you'll understand why a 63-year-old ward captain was braving the ungentle hour and the less-gentle streets.
You see, Ward Captain LeoJ.
Ramutka was returning home from a wake- an auf Wiedersehen to a loyal registered voter he knew would one day meet him in that great polling station in the sky.
What Ward Captain Ramutka failed to foresee was just how soon that meeting would be.
No! No! No! Roger, David-Niner.
Your request is a roger.
Coroner's unit at 113 Petrosky, North Side.
See Captain Rausch.
Over.
Wednesday, 11:42 p.
m.
It wasn't a celebrated address, the sort one gets excited over or stores in his mental trousseau, but the name on the radio was- Captain Vernon W.
Rausch.
To a reporter, he was the Edward R.
Murrow ofhomicide.
His list of credits reach back into the mid-'50s and the infamous Mercer-Dobrantz murders.
He was a good cop, allegedly great.
So what do you say to a living legend? Hi there.
Mmm? Hey.
Carl Kolchak, I.
N.
S.
Carl.
I was wondering, just what's underneath there? Leo Ramutka, ward captain, 44th.
Ward captain? Really? Please, no political questions.
I'm not an authority.
Yes, but- Yes, Carl, an arrow.
An arrow? It looks like a V-2.
On the face of it, a crude atavistic device.
Retrogression, one might suppose.
But you consider this, if you will.
Yes, yes, sure.
Good.
A missile this size can be as deadly as it is silent.
Recall, if you would, its extensive use by British commandos throughout the Second World War.
Oh! You mean, you suspect some guy who thinks he's a British commando? No.
Well- Oh.
I guess I'm a little confused.
You think you know who did it, don't you? Yes- Uh-huh.
And no.
Eh? As you well know, Carl, Leo Ramutka was a ward heeler, and like any human being in public life, he was prone to antagonism.
They collect like river silt.
Mmm.
Not that I'm speaking ill of the dead, you understand.
Oh, certainly not.
Certainly not.
Let me tell you something, Carl.
Think of Greater Chicago.
Six million personalities pressed together in a configuration - Could I get this on tape? As complex and- Excuse me.
Just-There we go.
Would you mind? Six million personalities pressed together- No.
"Think of Chicago"- Think of Greater Chicago.
Six million personalities pressed together in a configuration as complex and as dynamically rigorous as it is alienating.
Six million sets of needs, wants, desires, cries in the night.
"Want me.
I want you.
Understand me.
I am a person.
" Disintegration of the family, unbridled vertical mobility- the pressure cooker of human disappointments.
Carl, understand the apathetic atomized personality.
And, well, sooner or later, he or she erupts.
"She, she.
" You said she.
You think it's a woman? Well, I like to call him or her Mr.
X.
Mr.
X? Why Mr.
X? John Doe? Yeah.
It's a lot more professional than calling him a nut or a freak or something like that.
No, you've gotta respect people's feelings, Carl.
Yes.
The next night, 10:20 p.
m.
If Leo Ramutka's popularity, or lack of it, was born ofballots and political patronage, Rolf Danvers got his more directly.
His was the allure of ready cash and the deeds to several square blocks of prime Chicago real estate.
However, within seconds, the only real estate that would matter to Rolf Danvers would be a small plot he owned in a memorial park near Old Town.
Negative.
Last night's statement is no longer functionally descriptive.
And a negative is also appropriate to the second part of the second question you asked.
There is no- I repeat- no reason to believe that the death- Did you know that there's a rumor going around the pressroom? Homicide is a very democratic institution.
One more question.
Allow me to rephrase that- Negative.
One more question.
Captain, regarding the death of Ward Captain Ramutka.
It has been rumored among the press that you're combing the 14th Precinct looking for a woman disguising herself as a British commando? What do you have to say about that? Any explanation? Is that true? Captain, please, I need something.
That'll be all, ladies and gentlemen.
Thank you very much.
Please, no more questions.
Carl, I see you're making yourself at home.
Yeah.
Coffee? I imagine you're here by way of journalistic endeavor, right? Uh, yes, as a matter of fact- those murders, remember? You've got a quick wit, Carl.
I like that.
It shows a proclivity to cope.
Yeah, well, thank you, Captain.
Don't mention it.
Now if I read your body language correctly, you want to ask me what killed Rolf Danvers.
- Right.
- He was stabbed.
- Stabbed.
- You know.
Yes, of course, but stabbed by what? Fair question.
Something round and sharp.
I'd say a structural facsimile to an ice pick.
Ice pick.
Uh-huh.
There is, however, one disconcerting wrinkle to that premise.
This particular instrument would have to have a three-inch diameter.
- Then it isn't an ice pick.
- All right.
I'll buy that.
I can buy a direct question, and I respect you for it.
Thank you, Captain.
Now then- what killed him? Captain? Hmm? What killed him? Society.
Soc- In a manner of speaking, naturally.
Captain, in a manner of speaking, two gentlemen are dead of two very bizarre means- an oversized arrow and an obese ice pick.
Now I cannot minimize the concern that I have that these murders are somehow interrelated if for no other reason than that you're handling the investigations of both.
Ah! That last one is an excellent point.
Excellent point.
It shows an inherently lucid administrative insight, Carl.
Yeah, but how about the first one, huh? That the murders are intertwined, interlocked? Do you know there were one-seventh as many ice-pick killings last year as there were in 1942? - In 1942? - Technology, Carl.
Um, ice comes in cubes these days.
Ready-made, you see? Wait a minute.
Are you telling me that there were ice cubes at the scenes of both murders? No, not at all.
Then what? Not at all, Carl.
Look.
All right.
Perhaps we can approach this a little less directly.
Less directly? Thursday, 2:12 p.
m.
Extricating myself from Captain Vernon W.
Rausch cost me two hours of precious time wherein I learned that the only thing more maddening than certain cops was certain educated cops.
I was in the mood for some fast straight answers, so I headed for the straight arrow himself, Pop Stenvold.
Hi, Pop.
What do you want this time, Kolchak? Oh, Pop, is that any way to talk to me? Look, it's your old collaborator, your old friend Carl.
Something's new around here.
What is it? Oh, you've got a new eagle, right? Same old eagle, same old line of bushwa.
When do we start, Kolchak? Later, later.
- Could you tell me what this is? - It's an arrow.
I know it's an arrow, but what kind of an arrow? All right.
Chapter three.
In the 11 th summer of my life- You don't know, right? Okay.
If you don't know, you don't know.
Harry Truman said that in 1949.
Ol' Harry really say that? Ol' Harry really said it.
- All right.
I do know.
- Aha! It come from a crossbow, Middle Ages.
I couldn't sell that item in here if I tried.
You know what they want? They want guns and elevator shoes and karate lessons.
- Suppose I want a crossbow? - Use your head, will you, Carl? You see the size of that arrow? Yeah.
It'd take a winch to cock the mechanism.
About 300 pounds of pressure at least.
- I don't care about that.
I want one.
- Nah, no, you don't.
Yes, I do.
Where do I get one? All right.
I'll tell you what you do.
You walk out that door.
Yeah? You get in your car.
Yeah? And you start driving.
Uh-huh? And when you come to the 14th century, - ask your social worker.
- Social worker? Yeah, a social worker.
A little 23-year-old chippie comes in here and tells me, "Any man can afford his own business can afford his own teeth.
'" That's what's got your nose out of joint! Why didn't you tell me? Here, you need some dollars for some molars.
No, no.
Keep it, and we'll do a couple more chapters of my biography.
Anything but that.
Here, take the money for the teeth.
As you may recall in our last chapter- As you may recall in our last chapter, Cousin Rusty and me was spending our 11 th summer in Green Lake, Wisconsin.
Thursday, 11:59 p.
m.
There was a saying amongst the hallowed data banks of industry that when Brewster Hocking slept, so did "K.
A.
L.
C.
, '" an acronym for the Canadian-American Leisure Corporation.
In 12 short years, CALC- C.
A.
L.
C.
-and Hocking had risen from a humble catering truck company to the world's 14th fastest rising conglomerate, digesting a plethora of diverse industries from whiskey distilleries in Scotland to that nationally famous analgesic for the morning-after.
Charles.
Charles, stop that blasted clanking.
What is this? Is this some kind of joke? Charles! Charles! Oh, my God! No, please! For the Lord's sake, don't! Take anything you want! Look, I'll give you money.
Charles! Oh, no! Don't just stand there, you idiot! Help me! One does not mix one's centuries, madam! You're destroying continuity, all of it! You're telling me about continuity? Me? That's genuine Provencal, Provencal, schmovencal! That thing is blue.
That thing is black.
I will not tolerate a black-and-blue cocktail lounge.
Unless someone has decided to rename the Camelot Bar the Bruise Room.
Hi.
What do you want? I'd like to come in.
Who are you? A recorder of events great and small, an instrument of the free press.
I'm a reporter.
More of that wretched prepublicity, huh? Prepublicity? No, no.
All I'm interested in is to get some information about arrows.
"The steady hand upon the string, the silver shaft about to spring.
" - Sir Walter Scott.
- Mendel Boggs.
- Huh? - Mr.
Boggs! Oh.
Now, our sound engineer will be arriving today, and you will let him in this time, and you will tell him for me that the stereo components will go in here.
Inside? Inside Garrick of Orange? Mm-hmm.
I protest! I will protest! You do that.
And while you're protesting to whomever you protest, I will be seeing about your removal to whomever removes custodial help.
My title is curator! Have a nice day, Boggsy.
What was that? Minerva Musso.
What's a Minerva Musso? An interior decorator of ill repute.
- What's happening around here? - I thought you were here to write it up.
Me? No, no.
The grand march of progress- How some soda pop company is transforming all this into the Camelot Discotheque? - May they all rot in Camelot.
- It's gonna cost you your job, huh? Unless I learn how to be a bartender or operate a strobe light.
Oh, one must have faith and hope.
- They all did, you know.
- Who's "they"? "The knights of yore, though ten on one, a lance they bore.
" Oh, that's terrific! That's really very good.
Tell me.
Would you consider this to be an authentic medieval arrow? The collection here was so extensive.
They've taken away the best, the oldest armor, to paint it.
Paint it! They want me to put in speakers, tweeters, woofers.
That's absolutely dreadful.
The arrow.
Bolts.
A crossbow arrow's called a bolt.
Bolt.
If this was focused properly, I might be able to make an intelligent comment.
- Well- - It has medieval styling.
It's probably a replica.
But, uh- Uh- What happened to the arrows in here? Attrition over the years.
High school field trips.
Little thieves, nasty gum-chewing ferrets.
Please don't touch.
Excuse me.
I'm sorry.
Let me ask you.
Would a bow and arrow - a bolt like this fit on a crossbow like that? Bows are built to shoot bolts, aren't they? I'm very busy.
If you'll excuse me, Mr.
- Kolchak.
Yeah, whatever.
Easy there, boy.
Easy.
I asked you not to touch! All right, all right, all right! Hi there.
Real good to see you again, uh, "Lester.
" Good to see you too, man, except I don't know you.
- I bet you know him.
- Oh, yeah.
He used to be some kind of federal employee, didn't he? - Yeah, president.
He made out pretty good too.
- That's right.
Ah, ah.
Brewster Hocking checked in here last night, didn't he? Didn't he? Huh? Eh? Attaboy.
Brewster Hocking.
Oh, yes.
What hit him? That, my friend, is the $64 question around here.
Even the big medical minds are stuck.
Yeah? If I had to say, I'd say he was stomped on by a thousand-pound football shoe.
- Or a mace.
- Mace comes in a little can.
It doesn't weigh anything.
Mace, M-A-C-E.
You know, Robert Taylor, Errol Flynn, King Arthur.
It's a spiked ball at the end of a chain that swings around and ar- Yeah.
Friday, 11:39 a.
m.
I heard a brief radio interview with Brewster Hocking's butler.
I say briefbecause butler Charles Johnson refused to make any comment, except that he loathed and despised the press.
Rather than face an ugly confrontation, I made a detour to the telegraph office, where an old and mercenary friend came through for me.
"Dear Carl.
Stop.
Please come to Chicago as soon as possible.
Stop.
"Need to talk to you in person.
Stop.
Fraternally yours, Hock.
" Hock.
Odd, isn't it? In my 10 years with Mr.
Hocking, I never heard him referred to as "Hock.
" Well- As a matter of fact, I don't recall him mentioning your name either.
Well, Hock was Hock.
There's no doubt about that.
That hard-boiled old son of a gun.
I'll never forget our 11 th summer on Lake Wisconsin.
And now to find that he is dead.
Uh-huh.
Yeah, yeah.
Anything stolen? No.
This is the age of senseless violence.
Look at the room.
It's hardly touched.
Mm-hmm.
Yeah.
Oh, yeah, hardly at all.
What happened to this? The police theorize that the murderer smashed it to prevent Mr.
Hocking from calling for help.
Aha! Of course.
Certainly.
Yeah, that's why the phones on the nightstand there weren't smashed.
Tell me, Charles.
Was Hocking- Hock- Was he worried about anything? He was somewhat concerned about a class action suit against his diet drink subsidiary.
A man in Michigan was claiming that the sugar substitute was causing vertigo and excess hair loss.
Uh-huh.
A diet drink? Really? I thought that Hock's fortune came from cigarette vending machines and theater lobby concessions.
Mr.
"Kolchuck"- Chak.
Kolchak.
Mr.
Kolchak, a full five years ago, Mr.
Hocking's company bought out most of the independent soft drink bottlers in the Midwest and became known as the Canadian-American Leisure Corporation.
Oh, of course.
Certainly.
Now it was Mr.
Hocking's custom to send his friends case upon case of mixers at Christmas.
Quinine water, club soda, ginger ale.
Now why didn't you ever receive any? I guess that Hock knew that I only drank my milk straight.
Oh, sometimes on the rocks, of course, but usually straight.
Just who are you, Mr.
Kolchak? I told you.
I'm an old fraternity brother of Hock's.
Alpha Beta- Over and out.
Good afternoon.
I'm from the telephone company.
Oh, yeah.
Down here.
Are you the gentleman with the problem? Yeah, here.
No dial tone.
Okay.
That's right.
No dial tone.
Listen, as long as you're here - would you mind answering a few questions for me? I'm trying to ascertain just how much pressure it would take to crush one of these telephones.
You mean to destroy telephone company equipment? Hypothetically.
Unless you don't know, of course.
I know.
Company specs says 420 pounds.
- P.
S.
I? - P.
S.
I.
Huh.
This equipment has been tampered with.
What? Bugged? We've been bugged? Don't give me that "bugged" stuff.
You're a con man.
You got me up here just to answer a few questions.
Why, I-You ever try to call that business office? They're always busy.
The least you can do is put it back together again.
- Well, what have we here? - What are you doing there? I see you have some unauthorized equipment on these premises.
I had nothing to do with it.
Wait a minute.
What's the problem? It's all over.
Well, Carl, what's going on here? Two of our bootleg telephones just walked out that door.
We've had a good thing going.
Yeah.
Forget about the telephones.
That's not important.
What is important is that it takes 420 pounds pressure- P.
S.
I.
- To crush a telephone.
Now it says right here that a medieval knight in full armor and in full weaponry weighs well over 400 pounds.
I feel much better.
All my life I wanted to know that a medieval knight could crush a telephone.
I think three murders were caused by medieval weapons.
Maybe by a guy in armor.
I don't know.
Anyway, I know a place where there's a whole slew of medieval armor and weaponry, and it's all run by a very angry man.
So what? "So what?" Yes.
Well- So Brewster Hocking, last night's victim, owns a soda pop conglomerate, and they recently acquired Hydecker Wine Importers and the Hydecker Museum.
Carl, I didn't understand anything you just said.
Don't worry about it.
You will as soon as I get through talking with Minerva Musso.
- Minerva Musso.
- The interior decorator? You? Yes.
We're thinking of brightening up the office.
You are gonna be replaced by a Boston fern, and you, a snapdragon.
Why do I always feel like I don't belong here? Friday, 8:58 p.
m.
When you're hot, you're hot.
And as I saw a mass of seemingly unrelated facts starting to come together, I knew I was at least getting warm.
Hello? Pamela, dear naive Pamela.
Now you have been with enough ski instructors to realize they're always in a hurry.
- It must be something terribly Freudian and terribly boring.
Hello? Oh, just a moment, dear.
A strange man has just walked into my boudoir.
No.
No, really.
Come in, dear, and shut the door.
There's a draft.
Oh.
Robbery or rape? - What? - No, I'm asking him, robbery or rape.
Uh- He hasn't said.
Neither one, so don't get excited.
Oh, he says I shouldn't get excited.
Depressing little man.
Karl Kolchak, I.
N.
S.
Oh, he's a newspaper man.
That explains it.
Ring you back, kiddo.
Warning, Mr.
Reporter.
I shoot from the hip.
The door was open, so I didn't break in.
I'm not talking about doors.
I'm talking about David Bowie.
You press people are always pestering me about whether or not I'll do his house.
I'm not sure.
I've met David, and he's charming.
But I'm not sure our ideas would gel.
Well- Next question.
I'm not here about David Bowie actually.
I'm here about the Hydecker Museum.
Yuck.
That junkyard? If it wasn't for being audited last year, no amount of money could get me to take the job.
I'm interested in the curator, uh, Men- Men- Mendel Boggs.
What do you know about him? Mendel? Mmm.
With diligence, he might make village idiot.
Do you know that he talks to those iron things? Really? Those knights, yes.
What does he say? Well, poetry.
He spouts that doggerel of his.
I came in one morning, and he was standing there in front of a mirror, waving a pike and frothing about "cleaving things in twain.
'" Whatever that means.
"Cleaving things in twain.
" Well, I know he's really pretty upset about the remodeling plans.
Did you ever hear him threaten anybody, like Brewster Hocking? Hocking? He owns the Hydecker Museum.
He pays your salary.
Oh, yes.
But I'm not salaried.
I've never met Mr.
Hocking.
I work with the architect.
Uh-huh.
Uh- Did you hear that? Huh.
- You got bad pipes or something? - I beg your pardon? I mean, is your dishwasher broken or- Oh, who knows? Friday night, party night.
What is that noise? - Don't you have a lock on this door? - What's out there? Now just a minute! What's going on here? Get in the bathroom! I beg your pardon! Get in the bathroom, you dumb broad, and lock the door! No! That's enough, John.
Thank you.
Well, Carl, where's the pain? The base of the skull? Yeah.
Just rub back here.
Right back here.
- Just loosen up the trapezius muscle.
- Trapezius? Mm-hmm.
No, no.
Go easy.
Easy with the light.
Most forms of headache are accompanied by photosensitivity.
Just keep on rubbing.
Best thing for a tension headache.
Tension-Tension headache? What tension headache? My head got bashed in.
Carl, neighbors heard screams, and we find you camped out here on the floor and a woman ax-murdered right in there.
If I was you, I'd have a big tension headache.
Oh, no.
No, you can't possibly think that I killed her and then knocked myself out to wait for you to get here.
- You couldn't possibly think that.
- Of course I don't think that.
No.
What about my photosensitivity? This isn't third degree, Carl.
It's only the first.
Can you intuit my meaning? I got knocked out before I knew what hit me.
- What transpired here? - What is that stink? - You're the stink.
- What? Me? Oh! The perfume must have spilled all over me.
My lab man tells me it's called Temptation of Adam.
- Temptation of Adam.
- Pretty strong medicine, isn't it? But to the point, you are a material witness to murder.
- What? - Ah.
I intuit your problem, Carl.
Feelings of persecution, ah? Paranoia.
A sense that I, as an authority figure, will take away your angle and give your big story to other members of the press.
Listen, that's not paranoia.
That's fact! All right.
You just be straight with me, and I'll give you an exclusive.
I've been watching you, Rausch.
For the past two years, you've been sitting on your laurels, not to mention your brains.
You're lazy.
Police work bores you.
Those long, thoughtful pauses of yours- You're not thinking, you're sleeping! That's what you're doing.
You're sleeping.
And you don't do any investigation anymore at all.
You rely on informants and tips and ripping off angles from newsmen.
I wanna know what you got on those murders.
Do your own legwork, you phony.
Phony? Picture two weeks in a drab room downtown, filling out affidavits, depositions, forms.
Your traffic record is pulled.
We go over it with a microscope.
We send your car through safety inspection.
I didn't see a thing.
Carl, I don't want to work this weekend.
My wife's chamber music society has a supper concert, and I'm supposed to write an article for the police newsletter.
Now, please.
Nothing.
Spencer.
Fill that tub in there with cold water as soon as Forensics finishes up.
You wouldn't dare.
You'd dare.
All right.
If I told you, you wouldn't believe it.
She was killed by a knight in armor.
A knight in armor? I told you you wouldn't believe it.
Merely because you've been unreliable in the past doesn't mean that your words have no value.
After all, as the Bard said, "There are more things under the sun than are dreamed of in your philosophy, Horatio.
" No, Kolchak.
Carl Kolchak.
But a knight in armor? Make me believe that, Carl.
Because if I find you're shooting me through the grease, it'll have a definite detrimental effect on how we interface with each other.
You know what's funny? I intuited that.
I suppose this creature came squealing to you that I was arguing with that wretched woman, eh? That I'd uttered epithets against her? I'm sorry, but they fried my eyeballs.
Are you sure you don't want an attorney? For what? To hold my pants while I change into that? This is preposterous.
There's no blood on the ax, the lance or the mace.
It's been wiped or cleaned lately.
Did you clean these lately? I don't mean with polish.
You see, we found that in Miss Musso's murder, the killer wiped the weapon off on a silk pillowcase, and with Mr.
Danvers, on a piece of his sport jacket.
You mean you actually did some work in between yoga classes and book reviews? I never even knew a Mr.
Danvers or a Mr.
Hocking.
Buxbaum.
Buxbaum, will you please help Mr.
Boggs off with his apron? Give the boys a hand with the helmet.
Are you sure this is the armor you saw? Yes, that, I am sure, is the armor I saw.
Oh, enough! All right, boys.
Thank you very much.
Mr.
Boggs, anyone else have access to this museum at night but you? I have the only key.
I have nothing to hide.
That's the one I saw.
Who else could've been wearing it but h-him-you? Maybe it wasn't a knight you saw at all.
Maybe it was the Tin Woodsman.
Did it dance, sing? Did Jack Haley's voice come out of it? Careful with that! All right.
Then who's committing these murders? - How do you account for what I saw? - I account for it thusly.
You are a man who has resorted to lies and chicanery to the point of being pathological.
I believe that you suffer from autosuggestion.
And in an obsessive desire to win approval, expressed through the need for a big story, you convince yourself that what you want to be true is true.
In short, I believe your brain has turned to onion dip.
Mr.
Boggs, I'm sorry for the trouble.
You've been very cooperative, and I thank you.
I told you from the beginning it was laughable.
Unfortunately, I have to check out all the leads.
It's my duty, you know, in spite of the source.
Don't go far.
We'll still want to talk to you.
But, uh, I think I'll consult with our police psychiatrist.
Buxbaum.
I'm sorry about this whole thing.
I really am.
But I did see that armor.
Who was this Black Cross Knight? Where did this armor come from? I wouldn't give you another piece of information if you held me down and let a pack of rats run through my clothes willy-nilly.
Not if you made me drink the oil slick off Lake Michigan would you get anything out of me.
Now please leave here, and take that sickly stench with you.
Hello.
My name's Carl Kolchak.
I'd like some information about coats of arms.
Kolchak.
That's an old and revered Russian name, isn't it? - Actually, no, it's Polish.
- Polish? Oh, yes, of course.
Kolchak.
An ancient lineage there.
You must be descended from Archbishop Kolchak of Krakow, who defended the church from the Magyar onslaught.
Really? Oh, it's a proud line you're from.
That's terrific.
I didn't know that.
My grandmother always told me that we were descended from Slavs.
Oh, no, Archbishop Kolchak.
Maura, you have the Kolchak crest back there, don't you? I'm sure we do, honey.
No.
Wait.
That's very interesting, but, you see, I'm not interested in buying a coat of arms.
I'm a reporter.
I need some information about a shield.
We're in the business of selling coats of arms.
Mostly mail order.
We're very busy today.
Yeah, well, I guess I'll buy a coat of arms.
Twelve dollars for the pine plaque.
Twelve bucks, huh? Listen, the shield I saw was red, with a black lion sitting on top of it, and then there was a diagonal stripe of black down across it.
We call that "the lion rampant and the black bend sinister.
" Uh-huh.
What you're describing is a heraldic design of the infamous Mettancoeur family of Burgundy.
Infamous? Oh, bad people.
The last of the line, Guy de Mettancoeur, was particularly a pig, even by today's standards.
He stayed behind in Burgundy.
He didn't go to the Crusades.
He amassed a fortune, slaying even women and children.
Here we are.
Of course, when we mail it to you, it will have "Kolchak" emblazoned beneath, hand-lettered by one of our artists.
Oh, it has such striking colors.
I think it really deserves a walnut plaque for only $60.
- Pine'll be fine.
- Oh, but if I had your ancestry, I'd flaunt it.
Did Roger tell you about Baron the GeneralJoachim-Meinz Kolchak? He was the military adviser for the Emperor FranzJoseph.
They called him the Lion of Warsaw.
Mm-hmm.
I got a hunch it'll be a walnut.
Uh- Hmm.
Could you take a check? Oh, of course.
You were talking about Guy, Guy, the- Mettancoeur.
Yeah.
His family had the finest vineyards in Burgundy.
Chateau Mettancoeur.
But Guy himself hated human pleasures.
He became a pariah in his own time.
Yeah, I've known a few like that myself.
What do you mean he hated all human pleasures? He consorted with dabblers in the black arts.
He became, uh, "legendary for his invincibility and his unchivalrous acts.
" Here.
Here we are, like here.
Oh, yeah.
"After he had killed a foe, it was his custom "to wipe the blood from his weapon on the flying colors of the dead foe, as a gesture of contempt.
" What are flying colors? A silk scarf, a bright piece of clothing.
How about a pillowcase or a sport jacket? I beg your pardon? Yeah.
Thank you very much.
Guy de Mettan- There he is- the black knight.
Uh-huh.
Yeah, yeah.
No, no, no, no, no.
The Hydecker Company Importers.
Yeah, right, Ernie.
They were bought out by Canadian-American Leisure.
What were the fancy French labels they used to import? You mean they did import Chateau Mettancoeur.
Oh, that's terrific.
I'd send you a case of scotch, only you're already in the liquor business.
I got it, Tony.
Carl, did you have to use the whole bottle? Hmm? Whew! Oh.
Uh- Carl, look.
You were supposed to be covering, among other things, the death of Brewster Hocking of Chicago of the 20th century.
As I read your notes here, you're trying to pin this killing, and several others, on a 12th-century French knight.
- Am I correct there, Carl? - Oh, it's bizarre, Tony.
It's incredible, but I do believe that's what's happening.
What rot.
And I have to sit here and write financial news, and he- Uh, Ron, Ron.
Look, Carl, I saw my sister-in-law have a nervous breakdown, and it was messy.
- Now I recognize all the symptoms, Carl.
- Oh.
Fantasy, the inability to concentrate on real issues.
Well, it probably runs in the family, Tony.
Listen, just because it sounds strange doesn't mean there's any reason for me to go to the lollipop factory.
Guy de Mettancoeur was an ogre.
He had a suit of armor fashioned by a necromancer, a sorcerer.
It made him impregnable to attack.
You see what I mean? Fantasy.
So there's armor at the Hydecker Museum.
So what does that mean? It's an empty suit.
It's just a glorified set of drainpipes.
That's all.
Now you come in here rambling about some blessed battle-ax and Pope Gregory and smelling like a vase full of dead begonias.
No, that's Minerva Musso's perfume.
Carl- Carl, what is happening in your life? Okay.
All right.
The armor and the battle-ax are both out of the museum.
The whole story is there.
Pope Gregory blessed that battle-ax and asked the Knight of Strasbourg to do battle with Mettancoeur.
The holy ax was the only thing that could pierce Mettancoeur's armor, and it did.
Mettancoeur died, but he swore with his last breath that music and human gaiety would never be permitted around his resting place.
See, he was a misanthrope.
What beef could he have with Brewster Hocking or Minerva Musso? Their great-grandfathers hadn't even been born yet.
Can you understand that? Can you see that? You see, Brewster and Minerva were both parties to a plan to turn the Hydecker Museum into a medieval steak-and-lobster discotheque.
And this misanthropic knight took issue with that? It's all part of a curse, Tony.
I saw this knight walk into Minerva's bedroom and kill her.
I saw it, man! He walked in, and I saw it! All right, Carl.
Let us say that you saw this knight walk into her bedroom.
- Just let's suppose that.
- That's right.
Must we also assume that it had to be a Frenchman out of the year 1227? Does our logic dictate that it had to be some superhuman ghost? I know where you're heading, Tony, and you're wrong.
- I've already been there.
- Leo Ramutka.
He's a ward boss.
What does he know about museums and discotheques? Tony, the Hydecker Museum is too old to be remodeled.
You see, it's below building codes.
- Guess who was interceding with the building department to get a variance.
- Leo Ramutka.
And-And Mr.
Rolf Danvers, Tony.
Rolf Danvers owned the lot next door to the museum.
- Parking, Tony.
Parking.
- Why don't you rest a little bit? Why don't you come into my office, lie down on the sofa and relax, take a shower, clean yourself up? Rest, sleep on my sofa.
No, Tony.
I'll be back with the most amazing, astounding story that you ever heard.
And you're gonna beat your fingers to a bloody pulp on the Teletypes so we can get the whole story out to our customers! Carl, please, stay a while.
Stay a while and have dinner with me.
Look, I'll buy.
You'll buy? Yes.
What's the matter with you? Have you suddenly lost your mind or something? Buy? You've never bought anything in your life.
It's my sister-in-law all over again.
Oh! I don't know.
I don't know.
Maybe it's my fault.
Maybe I've been browbeating him too much.
Don't castigate yourself.
Shhh! A blessed battle-ax and an iron suit full of thin air.
I knew I'd have a lot of explaining to do to the owners of the Hydecker Museum, to Captain Vernon Rausch and, of course, to my own beloved bureau chief, A.
Vincenzo.
There wouldn't be much I could tell them, except what I'll tell you.
It all really happened.
m.
If you know anything about Chicago politics, you'll understand why a 63-year-old ward captain was braving the ungentle hour and the less-gentle streets.
You see, Ward Captain LeoJ.
Ramutka was returning home from a wake- an auf Wiedersehen to a loyal registered voter he knew would one day meet him in that great polling station in the sky.
What Ward Captain Ramutka failed to foresee was just how soon that meeting would be.
No! No! No! Roger, David-Niner.
Your request is a roger.
Coroner's unit at 113 Petrosky, North Side.
See Captain Rausch.
Over.
Wednesday, 11:42 p.
m.
It wasn't a celebrated address, the sort one gets excited over or stores in his mental trousseau, but the name on the radio was- Captain Vernon W.
Rausch.
To a reporter, he was the Edward R.
Murrow ofhomicide.
His list of credits reach back into the mid-'50s and the infamous Mercer-Dobrantz murders.
He was a good cop, allegedly great.
So what do you say to a living legend? Hi there.
Mmm? Hey.
Carl Kolchak, I.
N.
S.
Carl.
I was wondering, just what's underneath there? Leo Ramutka, ward captain, 44th.
Ward captain? Really? Please, no political questions.
I'm not an authority.
Yes, but- Yes, Carl, an arrow.
An arrow? It looks like a V-2.
On the face of it, a crude atavistic device.
Retrogression, one might suppose.
But you consider this, if you will.
Yes, yes, sure.
Good.
A missile this size can be as deadly as it is silent.
Recall, if you would, its extensive use by British commandos throughout the Second World War.
Oh! You mean, you suspect some guy who thinks he's a British commando? No.
Well- Oh.
I guess I'm a little confused.
You think you know who did it, don't you? Yes- Uh-huh.
And no.
Eh? As you well know, Carl, Leo Ramutka was a ward heeler, and like any human being in public life, he was prone to antagonism.
They collect like river silt.
Mmm.
Not that I'm speaking ill of the dead, you understand.
Oh, certainly not.
Certainly not.
Let me tell you something, Carl.
Think of Greater Chicago.
Six million personalities pressed together in a configuration - Could I get this on tape? As complex and- Excuse me.
Just-There we go.
Would you mind? Six million personalities pressed together- No.
"Think of Chicago"- Think of Greater Chicago.
Six million personalities pressed together in a configuration as complex and as dynamically rigorous as it is alienating.
Six million sets of needs, wants, desires, cries in the night.
"Want me.
I want you.
Understand me.
I am a person.
" Disintegration of the family, unbridled vertical mobility- the pressure cooker of human disappointments.
Carl, understand the apathetic atomized personality.
And, well, sooner or later, he or she erupts.
"She, she.
" You said she.
You think it's a woman? Well, I like to call him or her Mr.
X.
Mr.
X? Why Mr.
X? John Doe? Yeah.
It's a lot more professional than calling him a nut or a freak or something like that.
No, you've gotta respect people's feelings, Carl.
Yes.
The next night, 10:20 p.
m.
If Leo Ramutka's popularity, or lack of it, was born ofballots and political patronage, Rolf Danvers got his more directly.
His was the allure of ready cash and the deeds to several square blocks of prime Chicago real estate.
However, within seconds, the only real estate that would matter to Rolf Danvers would be a small plot he owned in a memorial park near Old Town.
Negative.
Last night's statement is no longer functionally descriptive.
And a negative is also appropriate to the second part of the second question you asked.
There is no- I repeat- no reason to believe that the death- Did you know that there's a rumor going around the pressroom? Homicide is a very democratic institution.
One more question.
Allow me to rephrase that- Negative.
One more question.
Captain, regarding the death of Ward Captain Ramutka.
It has been rumored among the press that you're combing the 14th Precinct looking for a woman disguising herself as a British commando? What do you have to say about that? Any explanation? Is that true? Captain, please, I need something.
That'll be all, ladies and gentlemen.
Thank you very much.
Please, no more questions.
Carl, I see you're making yourself at home.
Yeah.
Coffee? I imagine you're here by way of journalistic endeavor, right? Uh, yes, as a matter of fact- those murders, remember? You've got a quick wit, Carl.
I like that.
It shows a proclivity to cope.
Yeah, well, thank you, Captain.
Don't mention it.
Now if I read your body language correctly, you want to ask me what killed Rolf Danvers.
- Right.
- He was stabbed.
- Stabbed.
- You know.
Yes, of course, but stabbed by what? Fair question.
Something round and sharp.
I'd say a structural facsimile to an ice pick.
Ice pick.
Uh-huh.
There is, however, one disconcerting wrinkle to that premise.
This particular instrument would have to have a three-inch diameter.
- Then it isn't an ice pick.
- All right.
I'll buy that.
I can buy a direct question, and I respect you for it.
Thank you, Captain.
Now then- what killed him? Captain? Hmm? What killed him? Society.
Soc- In a manner of speaking, naturally.
Captain, in a manner of speaking, two gentlemen are dead of two very bizarre means- an oversized arrow and an obese ice pick.
Now I cannot minimize the concern that I have that these murders are somehow interrelated if for no other reason than that you're handling the investigations of both.
Ah! That last one is an excellent point.
Excellent point.
It shows an inherently lucid administrative insight, Carl.
Yeah, but how about the first one, huh? That the murders are intertwined, interlocked? Do you know there were one-seventh as many ice-pick killings last year as there were in 1942? - In 1942? - Technology, Carl.
Um, ice comes in cubes these days.
Ready-made, you see? Wait a minute.
Are you telling me that there were ice cubes at the scenes of both murders? No, not at all.
Then what? Not at all, Carl.
Look.
All right.
Perhaps we can approach this a little less directly.
Less directly? Thursday, 2:12 p.
m.
Extricating myself from Captain Vernon W.
Rausch cost me two hours of precious time wherein I learned that the only thing more maddening than certain cops was certain educated cops.
I was in the mood for some fast straight answers, so I headed for the straight arrow himself, Pop Stenvold.
Hi, Pop.
What do you want this time, Kolchak? Oh, Pop, is that any way to talk to me? Look, it's your old collaborator, your old friend Carl.
Something's new around here.
What is it? Oh, you've got a new eagle, right? Same old eagle, same old line of bushwa.
When do we start, Kolchak? Later, later.
- Could you tell me what this is? - It's an arrow.
I know it's an arrow, but what kind of an arrow? All right.
Chapter three.
In the 11 th summer of my life- You don't know, right? Okay.
If you don't know, you don't know.
Harry Truman said that in 1949.
Ol' Harry really say that? Ol' Harry really said it.
- All right.
I do know.
- Aha! It come from a crossbow, Middle Ages.
I couldn't sell that item in here if I tried.
You know what they want? They want guns and elevator shoes and karate lessons.
- Suppose I want a crossbow? - Use your head, will you, Carl? You see the size of that arrow? Yeah.
It'd take a winch to cock the mechanism.
About 300 pounds of pressure at least.
- I don't care about that.
I want one.
- Nah, no, you don't.
Yes, I do.
Where do I get one? All right.
I'll tell you what you do.
You walk out that door.
Yeah? You get in your car.
Yeah? And you start driving.
Uh-huh? And when you come to the 14th century, - ask your social worker.
- Social worker? Yeah, a social worker.
A little 23-year-old chippie comes in here and tells me, "Any man can afford his own business can afford his own teeth.
'" That's what's got your nose out of joint! Why didn't you tell me? Here, you need some dollars for some molars.
No, no.
Keep it, and we'll do a couple more chapters of my biography.
Anything but that.
Here, take the money for the teeth.
As you may recall in our last chapter- As you may recall in our last chapter, Cousin Rusty and me was spending our 11 th summer in Green Lake, Wisconsin.
Thursday, 11:59 p.
m.
There was a saying amongst the hallowed data banks of industry that when Brewster Hocking slept, so did "K.
A.
L.
C.
, '" an acronym for the Canadian-American Leisure Corporation.
In 12 short years, CALC- C.
A.
L.
C.
-and Hocking had risen from a humble catering truck company to the world's 14th fastest rising conglomerate, digesting a plethora of diverse industries from whiskey distilleries in Scotland to that nationally famous analgesic for the morning-after.
Charles.
Charles, stop that blasted clanking.
What is this? Is this some kind of joke? Charles! Charles! Oh, my God! No, please! For the Lord's sake, don't! Take anything you want! Look, I'll give you money.
Charles! Oh, no! Don't just stand there, you idiot! Help me! One does not mix one's centuries, madam! You're destroying continuity, all of it! You're telling me about continuity? Me? That's genuine Provencal, Provencal, schmovencal! That thing is blue.
That thing is black.
I will not tolerate a black-and-blue cocktail lounge.
Unless someone has decided to rename the Camelot Bar the Bruise Room.
Hi.
What do you want? I'd like to come in.
Who are you? A recorder of events great and small, an instrument of the free press.
I'm a reporter.
More of that wretched prepublicity, huh? Prepublicity? No, no.
All I'm interested in is to get some information about arrows.
"The steady hand upon the string, the silver shaft about to spring.
" - Sir Walter Scott.
- Mendel Boggs.
- Huh? - Mr.
Boggs! Oh.
Now, our sound engineer will be arriving today, and you will let him in this time, and you will tell him for me that the stereo components will go in here.
Inside? Inside Garrick of Orange? Mm-hmm.
I protest! I will protest! You do that.
And while you're protesting to whomever you protest, I will be seeing about your removal to whomever removes custodial help.
My title is curator! Have a nice day, Boggsy.
What was that? Minerva Musso.
What's a Minerva Musso? An interior decorator of ill repute.
- What's happening around here? - I thought you were here to write it up.
Me? No, no.
The grand march of progress- How some soda pop company is transforming all this into the Camelot Discotheque? - May they all rot in Camelot.
- It's gonna cost you your job, huh? Unless I learn how to be a bartender or operate a strobe light.
Oh, one must have faith and hope.
- They all did, you know.
- Who's "they"? "The knights of yore, though ten on one, a lance they bore.
" Oh, that's terrific! That's really very good.
Tell me.
Would you consider this to be an authentic medieval arrow? The collection here was so extensive.
They've taken away the best, the oldest armor, to paint it.
Paint it! They want me to put in speakers, tweeters, woofers.
That's absolutely dreadful.
The arrow.
Bolts.
A crossbow arrow's called a bolt.
Bolt.
If this was focused properly, I might be able to make an intelligent comment.
- Well- - It has medieval styling.
It's probably a replica.
But, uh- Uh- What happened to the arrows in here? Attrition over the years.
High school field trips.
Little thieves, nasty gum-chewing ferrets.
Please don't touch.
Excuse me.
I'm sorry.
Let me ask you.
Would a bow and arrow - a bolt like this fit on a crossbow like that? Bows are built to shoot bolts, aren't they? I'm very busy.
If you'll excuse me, Mr.
- Kolchak.
Yeah, whatever.
Easy there, boy.
Easy.
I asked you not to touch! All right, all right, all right! Hi there.
Real good to see you again, uh, "Lester.
" Good to see you too, man, except I don't know you.
- I bet you know him.
- Oh, yeah.
He used to be some kind of federal employee, didn't he? - Yeah, president.
He made out pretty good too.
- That's right.
Ah, ah.
Brewster Hocking checked in here last night, didn't he? Didn't he? Huh? Eh? Attaboy.
Brewster Hocking.
Oh, yes.
What hit him? That, my friend, is the $64 question around here.
Even the big medical minds are stuck.
Yeah? If I had to say, I'd say he was stomped on by a thousand-pound football shoe.
- Or a mace.
- Mace comes in a little can.
It doesn't weigh anything.
Mace, M-A-C-E.
You know, Robert Taylor, Errol Flynn, King Arthur.
It's a spiked ball at the end of a chain that swings around and ar- Yeah.
Friday, 11:39 a.
m.
I heard a brief radio interview with Brewster Hocking's butler.
I say briefbecause butler Charles Johnson refused to make any comment, except that he loathed and despised the press.
Rather than face an ugly confrontation, I made a detour to the telegraph office, where an old and mercenary friend came through for me.
"Dear Carl.
Stop.
Please come to Chicago as soon as possible.
Stop.
"Need to talk to you in person.
Stop.
Fraternally yours, Hock.
" Hock.
Odd, isn't it? In my 10 years with Mr.
Hocking, I never heard him referred to as "Hock.
" Well- As a matter of fact, I don't recall him mentioning your name either.
Well, Hock was Hock.
There's no doubt about that.
That hard-boiled old son of a gun.
I'll never forget our 11 th summer on Lake Wisconsin.
And now to find that he is dead.
Uh-huh.
Yeah, yeah.
Anything stolen? No.
This is the age of senseless violence.
Look at the room.
It's hardly touched.
Mm-hmm.
Yeah.
Oh, yeah, hardly at all.
What happened to this? The police theorize that the murderer smashed it to prevent Mr.
Hocking from calling for help.
Aha! Of course.
Certainly.
Yeah, that's why the phones on the nightstand there weren't smashed.
Tell me, Charles.
Was Hocking- Hock- Was he worried about anything? He was somewhat concerned about a class action suit against his diet drink subsidiary.
A man in Michigan was claiming that the sugar substitute was causing vertigo and excess hair loss.
Uh-huh.
A diet drink? Really? I thought that Hock's fortune came from cigarette vending machines and theater lobby concessions.
Mr.
"Kolchuck"- Chak.
Kolchak.
Mr.
Kolchak, a full five years ago, Mr.
Hocking's company bought out most of the independent soft drink bottlers in the Midwest and became known as the Canadian-American Leisure Corporation.
Oh, of course.
Certainly.
Now it was Mr.
Hocking's custom to send his friends case upon case of mixers at Christmas.
Quinine water, club soda, ginger ale.
Now why didn't you ever receive any? I guess that Hock knew that I only drank my milk straight.
Oh, sometimes on the rocks, of course, but usually straight.
Just who are you, Mr.
Kolchak? I told you.
I'm an old fraternity brother of Hock's.
Alpha Beta- Over and out.
Good afternoon.
I'm from the telephone company.
Oh, yeah.
Down here.
Are you the gentleman with the problem? Yeah, here.
No dial tone.
Okay.
That's right.
No dial tone.
Listen, as long as you're here - would you mind answering a few questions for me? I'm trying to ascertain just how much pressure it would take to crush one of these telephones.
You mean to destroy telephone company equipment? Hypothetically.
Unless you don't know, of course.
I know.
Company specs says 420 pounds.
- P.
S.
I? - P.
S.
I.
Huh.
This equipment has been tampered with.
What? Bugged? We've been bugged? Don't give me that "bugged" stuff.
You're a con man.
You got me up here just to answer a few questions.
Why, I-You ever try to call that business office? They're always busy.
The least you can do is put it back together again.
- Well, what have we here? - What are you doing there? I see you have some unauthorized equipment on these premises.
I had nothing to do with it.
Wait a minute.
What's the problem? It's all over.
Well, Carl, what's going on here? Two of our bootleg telephones just walked out that door.
We've had a good thing going.
Yeah.
Forget about the telephones.
That's not important.
What is important is that it takes 420 pounds pressure- P.
S.
I.
- To crush a telephone.
Now it says right here that a medieval knight in full armor and in full weaponry weighs well over 400 pounds.
I feel much better.
All my life I wanted to know that a medieval knight could crush a telephone.
I think three murders were caused by medieval weapons.
Maybe by a guy in armor.
I don't know.
Anyway, I know a place where there's a whole slew of medieval armor and weaponry, and it's all run by a very angry man.
So what? "So what?" Yes.
Well- So Brewster Hocking, last night's victim, owns a soda pop conglomerate, and they recently acquired Hydecker Wine Importers and the Hydecker Museum.
Carl, I didn't understand anything you just said.
Don't worry about it.
You will as soon as I get through talking with Minerva Musso.
- Minerva Musso.
- The interior decorator? You? Yes.
We're thinking of brightening up the office.
You are gonna be replaced by a Boston fern, and you, a snapdragon.
Why do I always feel like I don't belong here? Friday, 8:58 p.
m.
When you're hot, you're hot.
And as I saw a mass of seemingly unrelated facts starting to come together, I knew I was at least getting warm.
Hello? Pamela, dear naive Pamela.
Now you have been with enough ski instructors to realize they're always in a hurry.
- It must be something terribly Freudian and terribly boring.
Hello? Oh, just a moment, dear.
A strange man has just walked into my boudoir.
No.
No, really.
Come in, dear, and shut the door.
There's a draft.
Oh.
Robbery or rape? - What? - No, I'm asking him, robbery or rape.
Uh- He hasn't said.
Neither one, so don't get excited.
Oh, he says I shouldn't get excited.
Depressing little man.
Karl Kolchak, I.
N.
S.
Oh, he's a newspaper man.
That explains it.
Ring you back, kiddo.
Warning, Mr.
Reporter.
I shoot from the hip.
The door was open, so I didn't break in.
I'm not talking about doors.
I'm talking about David Bowie.
You press people are always pestering me about whether or not I'll do his house.
I'm not sure.
I've met David, and he's charming.
But I'm not sure our ideas would gel.
Well- Next question.
I'm not here about David Bowie actually.
I'm here about the Hydecker Museum.
Yuck.
That junkyard? If it wasn't for being audited last year, no amount of money could get me to take the job.
I'm interested in the curator, uh, Men- Men- Mendel Boggs.
What do you know about him? Mendel? Mmm.
With diligence, he might make village idiot.
Do you know that he talks to those iron things? Really? Those knights, yes.
What does he say? Well, poetry.
He spouts that doggerel of his.
I came in one morning, and he was standing there in front of a mirror, waving a pike and frothing about "cleaving things in twain.
'" Whatever that means.
"Cleaving things in twain.
" Well, I know he's really pretty upset about the remodeling plans.
Did you ever hear him threaten anybody, like Brewster Hocking? Hocking? He owns the Hydecker Museum.
He pays your salary.
Oh, yes.
But I'm not salaried.
I've never met Mr.
Hocking.
I work with the architect.
Uh-huh.
Uh- Did you hear that? Huh.
- You got bad pipes or something? - I beg your pardon? I mean, is your dishwasher broken or- Oh, who knows? Friday night, party night.
What is that noise? - Don't you have a lock on this door? - What's out there? Now just a minute! What's going on here? Get in the bathroom! I beg your pardon! Get in the bathroom, you dumb broad, and lock the door! No! That's enough, John.
Thank you.
Well, Carl, where's the pain? The base of the skull? Yeah.
Just rub back here.
Right back here.
- Just loosen up the trapezius muscle.
- Trapezius? Mm-hmm.
No, no.
Go easy.
Easy with the light.
Most forms of headache are accompanied by photosensitivity.
Just keep on rubbing.
Best thing for a tension headache.
Tension-Tension headache? What tension headache? My head got bashed in.
Carl, neighbors heard screams, and we find you camped out here on the floor and a woman ax-murdered right in there.
If I was you, I'd have a big tension headache.
Oh, no.
No, you can't possibly think that I killed her and then knocked myself out to wait for you to get here.
- You couldn't possibly think that.
- Of course I don't think that.
No.
What about my photosensitivity? This isn't third degree, Carl.
It's only the first.
Can you intuit my meaning? I got knocked out before I knew what hit me.
- What transpired here? - What is that stink? - You're the stink.
- What? Me? Oh! The perfume must have spilled all over me.
My lab man tells me it's called Temptation of Adam.
- Temptation of Adam.
- Pretty strong medicine, isn't it? But to the point, you are a material witness to murder.
- What? - Ah.
I intuit your problem, Carl.
Feelings of persecution, ah? Paranoia.
A sense that I, as an authority figure, will take away your angle and give your big story to other members of the press.
Listen, that's not paranoia.
That's fact! All right.
You just be straight with me, and I'll give you an exclusive.
I've been watching you, Rausch.
For the past two years, you've been sitting on your laurels, not to mention your brains.
You're lazy.
Police work bores you.
Those long, thoughtful pauses of yours- You're not thinking, you're sleeping! That's what you're doing.
You're sleeping.
And you don't do any investigation anymore at all.
You rely on informants and tips and ripping off angles from newsmen.
I wanna know what you got on those murders.
Do your own legwork, you phony.
Phony? Picture two weeks in a drab room downtown, filling out affidavits, depositions, forms.
Your traffic record is pulled.
We go over it with a microscope.
We send your car through safety inspection.
I didn't see a thing.
Carl, I don't want to work this weekend.
My wife's chamber music society has a supper concert, and I'm supposed to write an article for the police newsletter.
Now, please.
Nothing.
Spencer.
Fill that tub in there with cold water as soon as Forensics finishes up.
You wouldn't dare.
You'd dare.
All right.
If I told you, you wouldn't believe it.
She was killed by a knight in armor.
A knight in armor? I told you you wouldn't believe it.
Merely because you've been unreliable in the past doesn't mean that your words have no value.
After all, as the Bard said, "There are more things under the sun than are dreamed of in your philosophy, Horatio.
" No, Kolchak.
Carl Kolchak.
But a knight in armor? Make me believe that, Carl.
Because if I find you're shooting me through the grease, it'll have a definite detrimental effect on how we interface with each other.
You know what's funny? I intuited that.
I suppose this creature came squealing to you that I was arguing with that wretched woman, eh? That I'd uttered epithets against her? I'm sorry, but they fried my eyeballs.
Are you sure you don't want an attorney? For what? To hold my pants while I change into that? This is preposterous.
There's no blood on the ax, the lance or the mace.
It's been wiped or cleaned lately.
Did you clean these lately? I don't mean with polish.
You see, we found that in Miss Musso's murder, the killer wiped the weapon off on a silk pillowcase, and with Mr.
Danvers, on a piece of his sport jacket.
You mean you actually did some work in between yoga classes and book reviews? I never even knew a Mr.
Danvers or a Mr.
Hocking.
Buxbaum.
Buxbaum, will you please help Mr.
Boggs off with his apron? Give the boys a hand with the helmet.
Are you sure this is the armor you saw? Yes, that, I am sure, is the armor I saw.
Oh, enough! All right, boys.
Thank you very much.
Mr.
Boggs, anyone else have access to this museum at night but you? I have the only key.
I have nothing to hide.
That's the one I saw.
Who else could've been wearing it but h-him-you? Maybe it wasn't a knight you saw at all.
Maybe it was the Tin Woodsman.
Did it dance, sing? Did Jack Haley's voice come out of it? Careful with that! All right.
Then who's committing these murders? - How do you account for what I saw? - I account for it thusly.
You are a man who has resorted to lies and chicanery to the point of being pathological.
I believe that you suffer from autosuggestion.
And in an obsessive desire to win approval, expressed through the need for a big story, you convince yourself that what you want to be true is true.
In short, I believe your brain has turned to onion dip.
Mr.
Boggs, I'm sorry for the trouble.
You've been very cooperative, and I thank you.
I told you from the beginning it was laughable.
Unfortunately, I have to check out all the leads.
It's my duty, you know, in spite of the source.
Don't go far.
We'll still want to talk to you.
But, uh, I think I'll consult with our police psychiatrist.
Buxbaum.
I'm sorry about this whole thing.
I really am.
But I did see that armor.
Who was this Black Cross Knight? Where did this armor come from? I wouldn't give you another piece of information if you held me down and let a pack of rats run through my clothes willy-nilly.
Not if you made me drink the oil slick off Lake Michigan would you get anything out of me.
Now please leave here, and take that sickly stench with you.
Hello.
My name's Carl Kolchak.
I'd like some information about coats of arms.
Kolchak.
That's an old and revered Russian name, isn't it? - Actually, no, it's Polish.
- Polish? Oh, yes, of course.
Kolchak.
An ancient lineage there.
You must be descended from Archbishop Kolchak of Krakow, who defended the church from the Magyar onslaught.
Really? Oh, it's a proud line you're from.
That's terrific.
I didn't know that.
My grandmother always told me that we were descended from Slavs.
Oh, no, Archbishop Kolchak.
Maura, you have the Kolchak crest back there, don't you? I'm sure we do, honey.
No.
Wait.
That's very interesting, but, you see, I'm not interested in buying a coat of arms.
I'm a reporter.
I need some information about a shield.
We're in the business of selling coats of arms.
Mostly mail order.
We're very busy today.
Yeah, well, I guess I'll buy a coat of arms.
Twelve dollars for the pine plaque.
Twelve bucks, huh? Listen, the shield I saw was red, with a black lion sitting on top of it, and then there was a diagonal stripe of black down across it.
We call that "the lion rampant and the black bend sinister.
" Uh-huh.
What you're describing is a heraldic design of the infamous Mettancoeur family of Burgundy.
Infamous? Oh, bad people.
The last of the line, Guy de Mettancoeur, was particularly a pig, even by today's standards.
He stayed behind in Burgundy.
He didn't go to the Crusades.
He amassed a fortune, slaying even women and children.
Here we are.
Of course, when we mail it to you, it will have "Kolchak" emblazoned beneath, hand-lettered by one of our artists.
Oh, it has such striking colors.
I think it really deserves a walnut plaque for only $60.
- Pine'll be fine.
- Oh, but if I had your ancestry, I'd flaunt it.
Did Roger tell you about Baron the GeneralJoachim-Meinz Kolchak? He was the military adviser for the Emperor FranzJoseph.
They called him the Lion of Warsaw.
Mm-hmm.
I got a hunch it'll be a walnut.
Uh- Hmm.
Could you take a check? Oh, of course.
You were talking about Guy, Guy, the- Mettancoeur.
Yeah.
His family had the finest vineyards in Burgundy.
Chateau Mettancoeur.
But Guy himself hated human pleasures.
He became a pariah in his own time.
Yeah, I've known a few like that myself.
What do you mean he hated all human pleasures? He consorted with dabblers in the black arts.
He became, uh, "legendary for his invincibility and his unchivalrous acts.
" Here.
Here we are, like here.
Oh, yeah.
"After he had killed a foe, it was his custom "to wipe the blood from his weapon on the flying colors of the dead foe, as a gesture of contempt.
" What are flying colors? A silk scarf, a bright piece of clothing.
How about a pillowcase or a sport jacket? I beg your pardon? Yeah.
Thank you very much.
Guy de Mettan- There he is- the black knight.
Uh-huh.
Yeah, yeah.
No, no, no, no, no.
The Hydecker Company Importers.
Yeah, right, Ernie.
They were bought out by Canadian-American Leisure.
What were the fancy French labels they used to import? You mean they did import Chateau Mettancoeur.
Oh, that's terrific.
I'd send you a case of scotch, only you're already in the liquor business.
I got it, Tony.
Carl, did you have to use the whole bottle? Hmm? Whew! Oh.
Uh- Carl, look.
You were supposed to be covering, among other things, the death of Brewster Hocking of Chicago of the 20th century.
As I read your notes here, you're trying to pin this killing, and several others, on a 12th-century French knight.
- Am I correct there, Carl? - Oh, it's bizarre, Tony.
It's incredible, but I do believe that's what's happening.
What rot.
And I have to sit here and write financial news, and he- Uh, Ron, Ron.
Look, Carl, I saw my sister-in-law have a nervous breakdown, and it was messy.
- Now I recognize all the symptoms, Carl.
- Oh.
Fantasy, the inability to concentrate on real issues.
Well, it probably runs in the family, Tony.
Listen, just because it sounds strange doesn't mean there's any reason for me to go to the lollipop factory.
Guy de Mettancoeur was an ogre.
He had a suit of armor fashioned by a necromancer, a sorcerer.
It made him impregnable to attack.
You see what I mean? Fantasy.
So there's armor at the Hydecker Museum.
So what does that mean? It's an empty suit.
It's just a glorified set of drainpipes.
That's all.
Now you come in here rambling about some blessed battle-ax and Pope Gregory and smelling like a vase full of dead begonias.
No, that's Minerva Musso's perfume.
Carl- Carl, what is happening in your life? Okay.
All right.
The armor and the battle-ax are both out of the museum.
The whole story is there.
Pope Gregory blessed that battle-ax and asked the Knight of Strasbourg to do battle with Mettancoeur.
The holy ax was the only thing that could pierce Mettancoeur's armor, and it did.
Mettancoeur died, but he swore with his last breath that music and human gaiety would never be permitted around his resting place.
See, he was a misanthrope.
What beef could he have with Brewster Hocking or Minerva Musso? Their great-grandfathers hadn't even been born yet.
Can you understand that? Can you see that? You see, Brewster and Minerva were both parties to a plan to turn the Hydecker Museum into a medieval steak-and-lobster discotheque.
And this misanthropic knight took issue with that? It's all part of a curse, Tony.
I saw this knight walk into Minerva's bedroom and kill her.
I saw it, man! He walked in, and I saw it! All right, Carl.
Let us say that you saw this knight walk into her bedroom.
- Just let's suppose that.
- That's right.
Must we also assume that it had to be a Frenchman out of the year 1227? Does our logic dictate that it had to be some superhuman ghost? I know where you're heading, Tony, and you're wrong.
- I've already been there.
- Leo Ramutka.
He's a ward boss.
What does he know about museums and discotheques? Tony, the Hydecker Museum is too old to be remodeled.
You see, it's below building codes.
- Guess who was interceding with the building department to get a variance.
- Leo Ramutka.
And-And Mr.
Rolf Danvers, Tony.
Rolf Danvers owned the lot next door to the museum.
- Parking, Tony.
Parking.
- Why don't you rest a little bit? Why don't you come into my office, lie down on the sofa and relax, take a shower, clean yourself up? Rest, sleep on my sofa.
No, Tony.
I'll be back with the most amazing, astounding story that you ever heard.
And you're gonna beat your fingers to a bloody pulp on the Teletypes so we can get the whole story out to our customers! Carl, please, stay a while.
Stay a while and have dinner with me.
Look, I'll buy.
You'll buy? Yes.
What's the matter with you? Have you suddenly lost your mind or something? Buy? You've never bought anything in your life.
It's my sister-in-law all over again.
Oh! I don't know.
I don't know.
Maybe it's my fault.
Maybe I've been browbeating him too much.
Don't castigate yourself.
Shhh! A blessed battle-ax and an iron suit full of thin air.
I knew I'd have a lot of explaining to do to the owners of the Hydecker Museum, to Captain Vernon Rausch and, of course, to my own beloved bureau chief, A.
Vincenzo.
There wouldn't be much I could tell them, except what I'll tell you.
It all really happened.