Murder, She Wrote s03e16 Episode Script

Now I find myself the - the manager of a prizefighter, and you're under arrest for murder.
Tonight on Murder, She Wrote.
- His gun was used to kill Mr.
Talmadge.
- That's very incriminating.
- A roof might just fall in on your head.
- Is that a threat? Well, if it isn't, I must've said it wrong.
- Got a light? - Whatever it is you're sellin', you better peddle it someplace else.
McGraw was warned.
Now I'll warn you.
If you think that Blaster is going to lose intentionally to, uh, that shillelagh- Will ya move? Okay, okay, nowjab, jab.
Cover up, cover up! Yeah, yeah, way to go, Blaster.
Keep that right tucked in.
Okay, okay, nowjab, jab.
Move in, move in.
Come on, come on, Blaster, combinations.
You know what a combination is? One, two, jab, then the right.
Right, there you go.
Will ya move? He's makin'meat loaf out of your belly, big guy.
There you go.
Isn't this guy somethin'? I mean, look at that right hand.
Look at those moves.
First a left, then a quick right.
The timing, footwork.
I'm telling you, in six months, the Blaster's gonna be right back on top.
A genuine contender.
He's something, isn't he, Jessica? I mean, the guy's a mountain.
Oh.
Uh, yes.
Uh, Harry, I- In three weeks, the Blaster's gonna get a shot at Sean Shaleen, the Irish Shillelagh.
Oh, uh, yeah.
Come on, Jessica, don't you read the papers? We're talkin' about the number eight grand contender in the Continental Boxing Federation, which isn't exactly the WBA or the I BC or even the WBF, but it's not exactly chopped liver either.
Uh, oh, yes, but I-I- Harry, I don't know what I'm doing here.
That's it! Come on, way to move, way to move! Tuck in the left, Blaster.
- Sanchez, keep those punches up, huh? - Hey, old man! Why don't you give it up, man? You ain't got nothin' left.
You couldn't lick a postage stamp.
I've seen statues move better than you, man.
Come on, now.
That's it, that's it.
Come on, man! Get the punches up! Hey, you're a tub of turkey fat.
Ain't got nothin' left.
Come on, Blaster.
Get out of their, man.
All right, Blaster.
That's the way to give it to him! Oh, dear.
Harry, I thought you said they were only practicing.
Yeah, yeah, you're right, Jessica.
Hey, Blaster, take it easy! What are you doin'? Hey, Blaster, back away! Blaster, that's enough! Hey, what are you, crazy? Boyle, leave him alone.
- Hey, are you deaf? - Hey, Blaster! What's the matter with you, huh? He made me mad, Harry! All right, all right.
- Hey, come on, McGraw, get your animal outta here! - All right.
- He started it, Mr.
Ponzini! - Yeah, sure.
All right, come on, Blaster, get yourself a shower now.
Yeah, yeah, you'll take a shower, change clothes, and we'll get somethin' to eat.
I'm sorry, Mrs.
Fletcher.
I guess I just kinda lost my temper.
Come on, let's go.
I gotta look at that eye.
No, Harry.
No, no, no.
Jessica, you haven't heard what I - I've heard enough, Harry.
Oh, for pity's sakes.
You phone me.
You tell me you're in terrible trouble.
I take a bus all the way down here from-from Cabot Cove- I am in trouble.
And then I find that you want me to invest in a boxer- in a boxer! Harry, you lied to me.
On my mother's bones, I never lied.
And when I tell you I'm in trouble, I'm talkin' with a capital "T.
" Okay, I got a salad here, burger with everything, a couple of steaks, three baked potatoes, two corn on the cob, and a side of chili.
Jessica, if I don't get this fight off the ground, - I'm gonna get picked apart like a Thanksgiving turkey.
- Oh, I've heard that before.
- Can I help it if for once I'm telling you the truth? - That'll be a first.
Look, there's this fat goon with more muscles than brains who thinks I owe him five big ones, which I don't, by the way.
- Oh? Well, why in the world would he- - Because with Benny Falcone, you don't ask questions.
Harry, stop, stop, stop, stop, now.
Now, very slowly, I want you to tell me exactly what is going on.
Okay.
Now, this is the straight skinny.
A few months ago, I take a job from this guy, Benny Falcone, to chase down his daughter, who's run off with some saxophone player.
He gives me 5,000, and off I go.
Only a week later, the daughter and the sax player show up on his doorstep and move in with him.
Now, not only is Falcone steamed at his kid, but he's not too thrilled with me.
And he wants his five thou back, which I can't give him, because I no longer have it.
But he can't do that.
So I explained.
Except he suddenly developed a loss ofhearing and threatened osteopathic damage to my legs unless I cough up.
So I went to this major creditor of mine, a fight manager named Pinky Schultz, who happened to owe me a few bucks.
Only Pinky was not in the very best of shape when I found him.
Sixty years of good living and bad booze had finally put Pinky down for the count.
I was standin'there thinkin, "Harry, that's gonna be you in the box, as soon as Benny Falcone catches up with you, " when this guy comes up to me- lawyer, never did catch his name.
He hands me this contract for the Blaster.
It was Pinky's way of setting things right.
He'd left me the only thing in the world that counted to him, his prizefighter.
Now, what do I know about the fight game? Nothin.
But I figure, "Okay, maybe I can turn this contract into a few bucks.
" So I take Blaster to Ponzini's Gym, figurin'maybe I can sell the contract to some fight guy.
And what do you know- soon as I walk in, I can see the Irish Shillelagh is workin'out in the ring, which means maybe Wade Talmadge the promoter is around someplace.
Meanwhile, the owner of the gym, Cosmo Ponzini, is having his problems with a muckraking reporter named Dave Robinson.
Get outta here, Robinson.
I'm a reporter doing my job, Ponzini.
I have every right to be - You want to dig up dirt on Mr.
Talmadge, you do it someplace else.
- You ever heard of freedom of the press, fella? - Oh, yeah.
And I also heard of private property, which this is.
You see that sign? Can you read that sign? - You ever heard of the Supreme Court? - The sign's unenforceable, and you know it.
Hey, you're a pretty smart guy, ain't you, Robinson? You know everything, huh? Well, let me tell ya.
You know garbage.
You try to take down the fight business, and a roof might just fall in on your head.
- You understand? - Ooh, is that a threat? Well, if it isn't, I must've said it wrong.
Leo, Tony, show these two the door.
What're you hidin', Ponzini? I mean, why are you so loyal to a guy like Talmadge, huh? Hey, watch it, you big creep! You're gonna get a face full of fingernails, you jerk! Good, kid, good! Now keep movin'.
Move! That's it.
Hi.
Come on, kid, move! That's it.
Come on.
Throw thejab, now, jab! Sean looks good, Mr.
Talmadge.
He's in real fightin' trim.
Just don't overtrain him, Dennis.
The Gates fight is still three weeks away.
Not to worry, sir.
The boy's comin'along just fine.
A network TVfight- we want to see him do his best.
Funny, he looks great to me already.
You an expert on the manly art of pugilism, darling? No, darling, just the manly art.
Uh, hiya, Mr.
Talmadge.
Harry McGraw.
Listen, I'm new to the fight game.
But you probably heard of my boy here, Blaster Boyle.
I've heard ofhim.
I thought he died.
Blaster? You gotta be kidding.
No, he's been real busy.
I got myself a real contender here.
Maybe, a couple of years ago.
Right now, all you've got is a burned-out pug.
Hey, you got this Irish powder puff fightin' a has-been likeJocko Gates, and you call my boy a pug? Mr.
McGraw.
I could arrange to have the, uh, powder puff - rearrange the contours of your jawline.
- Oh, come on now, what are we arguin'about? I mean, I'm just here tryin' to do a little business.
That's all.
Like I said, I'm new to the fight game, and I figured maybe I can't give Blaster the kind of representation he really deserves.
That's why I'm bringin'him to you.
- I'm a promoter, not a manager, McGraw.
- Yeah, but you haven't heard my deal yet.
I'm not interested in your deal, McGraw.
And I don't like being hustled by cheap grifters.
Trouble, Mr.
Talmadge? Yes, Cosmo.
Mr.
Boyle and his keeper need directions to the door.
Yes, sir.
Okay, boys.
All right, all right, we're goin'.
No problem.
Take it easy, take it easy, Blaster.
Hey, you're missin' a great bet, Talmadge.
In a few months, don't come cryin' to me.
I spent the rest of the day hustlin'Blaster from gym to gym.
But gettin'the bum's rush from Wade Talmadge hadn't helped much.
The word got around.
It also got around to Benny Falcone, whose blood pressure was rising as high as his voice when he finally got me on the phone.
He said somethin'about cement boots and the Charles River, and then he hung up.
I was staring into a dead phone when there was a knock at the door.
Talmadge.
Good evening, McGraw.
Mind if I come in? Uh, hey, listen, if the cockroaches don't care, why should I? Doc, Blaster.
I'll cut to the bottom line, McGraw.
I've reconsidered.
You want a fight for your boy here, you've got it.
Three weeks from Friday with Sean Shaleen.
- Here's the contract.
- The TV fight? Well, what happened to Jocko Gates? Oh, his old lady caught him playing hopscotch on somebody else's sidewalk.
She, uh, broke his jaw with a coffeemaker.
I'll expect your boy to put up a good fight.
Naturally, I don't expect him to win.
Oh, you don't, huh? Hey, what's this? You call this a purse? Slavery went out a hundred years ago.
Those are my terms, McGraw.
Take 'em or leave 'em.
Let me know in the morning.
Bye, Mr.
McGraw.
Oh, and McGraw, our arrangement is strictly business.
There are no fringe benefits.
You know what they used to do to people who poached on somebody else's preserve? Look it up.
That guy Shaleen and TV and all- That'd be a good fight for me, Harry.
- Yeah, yeah.
- I'd take that man seriously, Harry.
That Talmadge can be a rough customer when it comes to his women.
Especially that one.
Jessica, don't you understand? With my cut of this purse, not only can I pay back Falcone, I can make a few bucks.
Yes, I can see that, but what's it all got to do with me? Trainin' for a big fight costs money.
There's a lot of expenses.
And, well- Frankly, my credit is about as flat as a can of stale beer.
Look, I need a few thousand bucks.
That's all.
Oh, Harry, please.
You'd be in for half.
Partners, right down the line.
Look, Harry, I don't know anything about the fight business, and I don't want to know.
But if you're in some sort of trouble with this, uh, Falcone gentleman, I certainly wouldn't want to see you get hurt.
- Suppose I lend you 5,000, huh? - Lend? Jessica, a gentleman does not borrow money from his friends.
Besides, this isn't just the money, it's an investment.
A chance at the brass ring.
I mean, Blaster's gonna knock that Shaleen kid silly.
Trust me.
Look, here's a check.
It's a loan, like it or not.
Do with it what you want, but the less I know about what you're up to, the better I'll like it.
Thanks, Jessica.
You won't regret this.
Uh, excuse me.
I gotta make a phone call.
Get things rollin'.
That sure was nice of you, Mrs.
Fletcher, but I feel real bad about that 5,000.
That's the last time you're ever gonna see it.
Oh, don't be so sure, Blaster.
I have great faith in you and, uh, Harry.
Why, uh, I even think you might have a chance at your big comeback.
Comeback? Oh, no, ma'am.
I couldn't win that fight.
I mean, that'd be the worst thing I could do.
Uh, I'm sorry, am I missing something? Ma'am, the only reason anybody ever hires me anymore is 'cause I make 'em look good.
You see, I used to be a pretty good fighter, so when somebody whips me now, it looks - it looks pretty good on their record.
But, shoot, ma'am, if I beat Shaleen, nobody'd ever fight me again.
But that doesn't make any sense.
It does if you know the fight business.
You see, I-I don't try to lose, but- Well, I know I'm never gonna be the champ.
I know that.
So I got to make my money while I can.
But, Blaster, you- You can't go on being somebody else's punching bag for the rest of your life.
I don't intend to.
See, I've been sendin' my money to this fella down in Tennessee.
I'm buyin' myself a dairy farm.
I almost got it paid for too.
Just two or three more fights, I'll have it paid for clear.
But win that fight with Shaleen? If I did, how'd I ever be able to retire? Hello? Mrs.
Fletcher? Yes.
My name is David Robinson.
I'm a sportswriter for the Boston Evening Tribune.
Yes? Yeah, well, I'm curious to know how you got involved with an over-the-hill pug named Blaster Boyle and a hustler named Harry McGraw.
Mr.
Robinson, not only do I resent the tone of that question, but frankly, it's none of your business.
Wrong, Mrs.
Fletcher.
You see, boxing's my beat.
And when a world-famous mystery writer gets involved in the fight racket, well, that's news.
Well, you're wrong.
And I'm not involved in anything.
That so? Well, the Massachusetts Boxing Commission's gonna be very interested in hearing that, because as of 5:00 p.
m.
Yesterday, - you were listed as Blaster Boyle's manager of record.
- What? - Any comment, Mrs.
Fletcher? - Uh, yes, uh- Uh, I'll get back to you.
Manager of- manager of- I'm gonna kill that man.
Oh, dear, what am I saying? Harry McGraw.
Harry.
Oh.
Hello.
Harry? Uh, no.
Who's this? Oh, uh, this is Jessica Fletcher.
Well, well, well, Mrs.
Fletcher, how interesting to hear your voice.
This is Lieutenant Casey.
Maybe you remember me? Oh, yes, yes.
Of course, Lieutenant.
But what are you doing there, in Harry's apartment? Well, I just dropped by to conduct a little business.
Well, may I please speak to Harry? I'm sorry, Mrs.
Fletcher, no can do.
You see, me and a couple of the boys, uh, we're takin' him down to headquarters.
He's under arrest, Mrs.
Fletcher.
The charge is first degree murder.
Wade Talmadge had more enemies than there are beans in Boston.
Just too bad Harry's the one who got him.
Well, I'm sorry, but I just can't believe that Harry is responsible.
Believe it.
Listen, uh, this gives me no great pleasure, believe me.
I happen to like the guy.
Even though he is something of a scuzzball.
I assume that you have some sort of proof, Lieutenant? Motive, means, opportunity, something besides just speculation.
Proof, yeah.
Uh, by the way, what is a nice lady like you doing in the fight game? Well, believe me, it wasn't my idea.
In-In fact, I, uh- I have no idea how it happened.
Uh-huh.
I guess Harry needed somebody to front for him, huh? The Boxing Commission never give him an okay.
Too many years hangin' around with too many undesirables, right? Lieutenant, just exactly what proof do you have? Harry! Aw, Casey, what'd you have to drag her into this for? Her idea, McGraw.
She's got some cockamamie idea maybe you need her help.
I'll give you 15 minutes.
Look, Jessica, I can handle this.
Yeah, so I see, Harry.
Sit down.
Hey, I'm tellin' you.
The whole thing is a big frame-up.
So far you haven't told me anything.
Look, the last time I saw you, I gave you a check for $5,000.
Now I find myself the - the manager of a prizefighter, and you're under arrest for murder.
Harry, I want answers.
Answers, yeah.
Wish I had some.
Oh, about the fight commission thing, I'm sorry about that.
I, uh- I sort of signed your name to the contract.
- Sort of? - Well, I had to, Jessica.
I mean, they didn't want anything to do with me, and after all, it was your dough I was puttin' up.
All right, Harry, tell me.
Okay.
Last night, I went down to Ponzini's Gym, to talk to Talmadge.
He was in there, in the office, with Ponzini and Shaleen.
I could hear 'em arguing while I cooled my heels outside the door.
I'm not lyin'to you, Mr.
Talmadge.
I'm ready.
Honest.
I can take anybody.
Of course you can, son.
Who says you couldn't? Look, what I mean is, I don't need any help fightin' them palookas, you know? And I'm gonna prove that to ya.
I just don't want all of a sudden somethin' to happen, you know? - Well, like what, for example? - Like what happened to Cosmo here.
You know, makin' it to the big fight, and all of a sudden bein' told to take a dive.
Hey, you watch your tongue, kid.
I can still handle you.
I know you're a good fighter, Sean.
We're just making sure you're not lucky-punched, that's all.
Dennis said my fights- they were all setups.
Dennis talks too much.
Look, Sean, I picked you up off a Minnesota farm because I thought you had talent.
Now, you either stick with me, or you go duck hunting for the rest of your life.
Look, I'm grateful for all you've done for me, Mr.
Talmadge, but you gotta give me a chance to prove myself.
Got a light? - Sorry, doll face, I'm fresh out.
- Oh, funny.
You strike me as the type that plays with matches.
Not me.
I don't like gettin' burned.
You only get burned when you're careless.
Me, I'm very careful.
Honey, whatever it is you're sellin', you better peddle it someplace else.
Right now, I'm interested in only one thing: Self-preservation.
Excuse me.
Sorry to bust this up, fellas.
I told you to wait, McGraw.
Hey, if I wanted to cool my heels, I could go ice skating.
Now, you got your fight, Talmadge, but it's not gonna be one of your tea dances.
My boy Blaster intends to come out smokin'.
Yeah, well, that's fine with me.
But not me.
Hey, tough T-bone, Charlie.
Me and Blaster had a long talk, and he's gonna win this fight.
- Don't worry, Mr.
Talmadge.
I can take him.
- Sean, be quiet.
Let me spell it out for you, McGraw.
You got a nice bonus coming if your boy puts up a good fight, and ifhe lays down in the third round.
No way.
I'm not asking you, McGraw, I'm telling you.
And if anything dumb should happen, it could get unhealthy for both of you.
- Don't threaten me! - Take your hands off me.
My boy takes a dive for nobody.
Excuse me, Mr.
Talmadge.
I sure hate to mess up a pretty face.
That's enough.
At the risk of repeating myself, McGraw.
I'm not intimidated by your threats or your firearms.
Your fighter loses this match, or you both lose a great deal more.
Show the gentleman the door.
The Shillelagh and the pizza- belly were havin'theirjollies.
I just wanted to crawl into a hole.
That night, I was reloading my piece and polishing off the sole survivor of a second six-pack when there was a knock.
When I opened the door, she was standin'there.
Wade Talmadge's squeeze.
A hundred and twenty pounds of trouble.
Soft as a London fog, and smellin'like an armful of gardenias.
Not bad, doll.
Where's your boyfriend? He's got a place out in Marblehead.
Tonight I wasn't invited.
You're trouble.
I can smell it.
Oh, if you want me to go, Harry, just say so.
Hey, I'm cautious, sweetheart, not stupid.
Harry, you can, uh- Spare me the blow-by-blow description.
Jessica, will you let me finish? Anyway, I figured Talmadge sent her to see me.
You know, to find out what I was gonna do about the fight.
But, hey, what do I care? You know, when you're rollin' sevens, you don't ask to see the dice.
Okay, okay.
Anyway, the next morning- All I could think of was gettin' Benny Falcone off my back.
But no matter what Talmadge pulled, I wasn't lettin'Blaster take a dive for anyone.
Win, lose or draw, it was gonna be his fight.
Lois came out of the bedroom, lookin'for another round ofbedsheet bingo, but I had more important things to worry about.
I called Doc Penrose and arranged to meet him at Gilhooley's.
Doc convinced me Blaster had a real shot against Shaleen, who we called a real zero as a fighter.
All I had to do was talk Blaster into really trying to win it, because despite what I told Talmadge, the big guy wasn't all that convinced.
I spent the next couple ofhours drivin'around lookin'for him.
When I caught up with him, Blaster kept talkin'about that dumb diary farm he was buyin'in Tennessee and how maybe it'djust be simpler ifhe took a dive.
He finally changed his mind after I told him what a chump Shaleen said he was.
One thing about Blaster- Don't get him mad- ever.
Anyway, we headed back to my place, where a reception committee was waiting for me.
Two guys in blue, and Lieutenant Casey, who immediately confiscates my gun, while he tells me Wade Talmadge was found dead behind the wheel ofhis car, parked under a bridge a couple of miles outside of town.
Killed with a.
38, McGraw.
Not more than an hour ago.
You're crazy! I didn't kill him.
Come on.
You threatened him.
My gun hasn't even been fired.
So you cleaned it.
Nobody ever said you were stupid.
Take this guy away.
Which is when you phoned, Jessica.
But, Harry, that doesn't make sense.
Lieutenant Casey must have something besides an idle threat.
Yeah.
I have no alibi.
While Talmadge was getting iced, I was drivin' around tryin' to find Blaster, but go try to prove it.
What was Talmadge doing parked under a bridge? Oh, Casey's got that figured out too.
He says I called him at his house in Marblehead and arranged to meet him under the bridge.
Then when I got there, I plunked him in the chest with a single shot from my.
38.
Is that it? How do I know? Look, Jessica, I know Casey.
He's bullheaded, but he's a pretty good cop.
He's got something.
He's just not telling me what it is.
Maybe I'll have better luck with him.
Meantime, you better get yourself a lawyer.
Lawyers cost money.
- Harry.
- Oh, come on, Jessica.
With you carryin' the ball for me, what do I need with a lawyer? I got the utmost confidence in you.
Here's a photo from the crime scene.
Wade Talmadge slumped behind the wheel of his car.
So you're saying what, that Harry called him at his home, lured him to this secluded spot under a bridge, where he could kill him? That's the way it reads.
And the butler and whoever answered the phone recognized Harry's voice? No, actually it was the housekeeper's day off.
So you don't even know for sure that there was a phone call.
There had to be.
Otherwise, what's he doing under the bridge? Oh, I see.
Maybe there was a phone call.
Maybe Harry placed it.
Lieutenant, if there was a call, anybody could've made it.
Mrs.
Fletcher.
Did you check Harry's phone to see if there was an outgoing call made to Talmadge's home? So he used a pay phone.
Did you check anybody else's phone? Lois Ames? The phone at the gym? Uh, Dennis McConnell's? Mrs.
Fletcher, Harry killed the guy.
Harry McGraw, do you understand? I'll tell you something else too.
Don't even think about bail, because the D.
A.
Says he's going to the mat on this one.
Something just doesn't make any sense.
Ma'am, I've got the guy dead-bang.
Means, motive and opportunity.
Now, this says that there were no powder burns on his shirt.
Maybe Harry fired from a distance.
Inside a car? Oh, that doesn't make any sense.
Mrs.
Fletcher, he threatened the guy.
I've got two witnesses.
I know.
Mr.
Ponzini and Mr.
Shaleen.
That's right.
Also Harry doesn't have an alibi.
Yeah, well, what about the rest of the people involved? You said yourself that Mr.
Talmadge was not a very popular man.
Mrs.
Fletcher.
What about Mr.
Shaleen and his manager, Dennis McConnell? Now, maybe they were very happy to be rid of the arrangement they had with the victim.
And Lois Ames.
What happened to her when she left Harry's apartment? - Does she have an alibi? - No.
She doesn't need an alibi.
She doesn't happen to own a.
38 caliber Police Special.
Oh, I see.
Is that it? Your "means.
" Just because Harry carries a.
38, just like the rest of the Boston police, and Lord knows who else.
There are.
38s and there are.
38s.
The D.
A.
Would have my neck if he knew I was showing you this, but the hell with it.
Anything to get you off my case.
I had Ballistics run a comparison between the murder slug and the one fired from Harry's gun.
Take a good look, please.
That's right, Mrs.
Fletcher, an exact match.
Talmadge was killed with Harry's gun.
But Harry's gun was never out of his sight! Now you got the picture.
Lieutenant, I've gotta go back and talk to Harry.
No.
No.
No, no.
No, you've had your 15 minutes.
Now, Mrs.
Fletcher, it was very nice seeing you again, but good-bye.
Yeah, but- Good-bye! Uh, Ponzini's Gym, please.
I think it's on 9th Street.
Yes, ma'am.
Okay, move it! - Excuse me.
- Hope you don't mind sharing a ride, Mrs.
Fletcher.
Well, indeed I do.
And how do know me, because I- I certainly don't know you.
- We talked on the phone.
Dave Robinson, Boston Tribune.
- Oh, yes.
Lady behind the wheel is my photographer, Pam Collins.
Hi.
Sorry for the detour.
It was his idea.
Yeah, well.
Since you clammed up on the phone, I wanted a chance to talk to you in person.
It's for a series of articles I'm writing on Wade Talmadge.
Well, isn't that, uh, somewhat academic now, Mr.
Robinson, since Mr.
Talmadge is dead? What, are you kidding? That's the first thing they taught me at the Scranton School ofJournalism: Murder makes a great headline.
Not that murder was such a big deal in Scranton.
Tough town, tough people.
Anyway, now that Talmadge is gone, maybe people won't be so afraid to talk about him.
Well, still it seems a bit gamy to rip him up, after a man is dead.
Of such things Pulitzer Prizes are made, Mrs.
Fletcher.
Epitaph for a snake.
The king of the fix goes down for the long count.
Yes, well, if you're looking for dirt from me, you're out of luck.
What I know about him, I learned secondhand.
From Harry McGraw.
It's a shame he had to be the one who got him.
I kinda liked the guy.
Surely Mr.
Talmadge wasn't as reprehensible as you paint him.
The guy was a real sack of garbage.
Everybody hated him.
His manager, Dennis McConnell, Sean Shaleen.
He was bleedin' those two guys dry.
You see, Talmadge was fattenin'up the kid's record, so he could throw him to the wolves at a price.
Like he did to Cosmo Ponzini a few years back.
Really? Mr.
Ponzini was a prizefighter? You're kidding me.
Fifteen years ago, Ponzini had a shot at the title.
But Talmadge yanked out the rug.
Made him dump the fight, or else.
You mean he threatened him physically? Now you got the picture.
'Course, Ponzini got a bundle for goin' in the tank.
Talmadge set him up with that gym, so he could develop a bunch of new fighters.
Dumb farm boys, like Sean Shaleen- who, if you want the truth, is about as tough as a wad of Silly Putty.
I see.
Then it is possible.
Wait a minute, wait a minute.
- I'm supposed to be interviewing you.
- Yes, but- but Mr.
Robinson- Dave, you know, when you talk about Mr.
Talmadge, I sense the most terrible bitterness in your voice.
And I wonder, is your interest in the story strictly professional, or if you have another reason for wanting to expose Wade Talmadge? I'm a sportswriter, Mrs.
Fletcher.
This is strictly a story.
That's all.
Come on, put your shoulder into it.
Harder, come on! Oh, no, you tired already? Kid, you're outta shape.
Come on, Denny, man, you know what this is.
It's a big waste of time.
With McGraw in jail and Talmadge dead, they're gonna call this fight off.
Maybe.
But there's plenty of others down the road.
Listen, kid, I know you look great in the mirror, but this isn't a beauty contest.
- You need all the work you can get.
- You know your problem, Denny? Huh? You don't recognize talent when you see it.
You're 16 and 0 against a bunch of green kids and some over-the-hill beer bellies.
I could've beaten those guys.
Listen to me.
You come up against a real fighter, kid, you're gonna get your head handed to you.
Like who, Denny? Huh? Blaster Boyle? - The guy couldn't beat eggs unless somebody cracked the shells for him.
- Don't be so sure.
Denny, I can beat this guy.
It's you and me, man, right to the top.
Hey, didn't you tell me once we got out from under Talmadge, we'd get a real shot at the title, huh? Instead of just some setup for a payday? Hey, I'm not sayin' you haven't got guts.
I'm talkin' experience here.
I'm not windin' up like Ponzini, a never-was that nobody remembers.
Hey, come on, Denny.
Talmadge is dead, man.
Don't sell me out.
I'm not gonna do that, kid.
Trust me.
Yeah, right.
Hello? Excuse me, uh, Mr.
McConnell? That's right.
My name is Jessica- I know who you are.
Mrs.
Fletcher.
As soon as I saw the fight contract, I made it a point to check out the competition.
Boxing's, uh, a little far afield for you, isn't it? Oh, more than a little, I'm afraid.
Not that we don't welcome fresh blood.
You know Sean? Sean Shaleen, the Irish Shillelagh, Mrs.
J.
B.
Fletcher.
How do you do? Blaster Boyle's new manager.
You gotta be kiddin'.
I wish he were.
It's a long story, Mr.
Shaleen.
You'll have to tell us all about it some time.
Come on, Sean, let's hit the showers.
Uh, yes, uh- Excuse me, uh, just one thing.
The other morning when Mr.
Talmadge was killed - What a terrible thing! Tragic.
Someone must have telephoned him at his house out at Marblehead, then met him under that bridge.
Not someone, Mrs.
Fletcher, the killer.
Yes.
Now, let's see, that was, uh, 9:00, 9:30, I believe.
And you want to know where I was.
Uh, maybe both of us, is that it? - Well- - I can tell you where I was- We were out doing roadwork between 8:00 and maybe quarter to 10:00.
Roadwork.
Oh, yes, of course.
Hey, Dennis! Ah- Oh, hey, I just got off the phone with the TV people.
See? What'd I tell you? The fight's off.
No, you're wrong, kid.
The fight is on.
I guess they figured that with the killin' and all, the fight'll get big ratings.
Anyway, I'm gonna be, uh, fillin' in for Talmadge, you know, promotin'.
So you need anything, you just call me, huh? Okay.
Excuse me, Mr.
Ponzini? You see the sign? No women allowed.
Uh, yes, but I, uh - Hit the showers.
I'll be with ya in a minute.
Uh, Mrs.
Fletcher.
Uh, looks like your boy and my boy are gonna be goin' at it after all.
My boy? You're his manager, aren't you? Oh, dear.
I better do something about that right away.
Uh, listen, even though Talmadge is dead, nothing's changed.
What I mean is, I got a lot of time and money invested in Sean Shaleen, and I don't expect him to lose to the likes of Blaster Boyle.
Oh, now, now, just a moment.
If you think that Blaster is going to lose intentionally to, uh, that shillelagh- You better think again.
Lady, McGraw was warned.
Now I'll warn you.
You tell Blaster not to do anything stupid, like winnin' that fight.
It could be, uh, exceedingly dangerous for both of you.
This is Doc 29.
Give me 500 on the nose, Lady Gypsy, fifth at Suffolk.
What do you mean, you can't take it? Al, you gotta give me a chance to get outta the hole.
I been feedin' you a lotta years.
I'm good for it.
Okay.
Thanks.
Look, if it doesn't work out, I'll settle- I'll settle up with you tomorrow.
The whole thing.
Right.
Thanks, guy.
Well, Blaster, we got it, the whole thing.
Five hundred, right on his buzzola.
You got it, Doc.
I don't bet horses.
You shouldn't either.
Well, I shouldn't have got married four times either.
What can I say? I'm a pushover.
Doc, Blaster.
Oh, hi, Mrs.
Fletcher.
Oh, sit down, Blaster.
- How's Harry? - Oh, in a lot of trouble, I'm afraid.
- His gun was used to kill Mr.
Talmadge.
- That's very incriminating.
Yeah, except that Harry says that the gun was never out ofhis sight.
Which means that someone figured out a very ingenious way to frame Harry for murder.
Sounds to me like they're succeeding.
Look, Doc, we've just heard from the television networks.
- They want to go ahead with the fight.
- That's good! Harry says I can beat him, Doc.
Harry's in jail, Blaster, and not very likely to get out.
You got no manager.
Well, not exactly.
Ma'am? Well, Doc, uh, I am the manager.
You know, on the record of the Boxing Commission.
Ma'am, you-you don't know anything about the fight game.
Oh, no, I don't.
But you do.
Oh, no, ma'am.
L- I'm a trainer, not a manager.
And besides, I'd feel funny workin' for a, uh- I know, no women allowed.
Yeah.
Somethin' like that.
I'd pay you well, Doc, win or lose.
Oh, no, it's not the money, Mrs.
Fletcher - Excuse me.
it's Rosy Posy, leading by a length, Misty Girl on the rail, and Stan's Pride, raging up on the outside, gap of two lengths, Ain't He Brave, followed by Boxcars - Where's Lady Gypsy? Lady Gypsy fading to last, heading to the eighth pole, it's Rosy Posy widening out to two lengths, followed by Misty Girl, Stan's Pride, and down the stretch- Hey, I wanna watch Wheel of Fortune! Ma'am, uh, about that job- You think you could manage to give me an advance on my paycheck? "Promoter Wade Talmadge went down for the count, "nailed with a.
38 slug to the body.
Authorities are holding ex-P.
I.
Turned hustler Harry McGraw, 47, of Boston.
" - Forty-seven? Where does he get 47? - Harry! Now, wait, wait, it gets worse! "The fight between up-and-coming Sean Shaleen, the Irish Shillelagh, "and one time contender Blaster Boyle remains scheduled for the end of the month, despite widespread rumors of corruption.
" That makes it sound like I was in on a fixed fight, which I wasn't! Harry, will you please calm down? You're gonna pop a blood vessel at this rate.
Look, you've got more important things to worry about than some sportswriter.
Like a murder charge.
Now, what have you done about a lawyer? Nothin'.
Public Defender's Office sent me some geek fresh outta law school.
He took one look at Casey's report and asked me to plead temporary insanity.
Oh, dear.
Yeah, I guess he had trouble gettin' past the part where Talmadge was killed with my gun.
Which just happened to be in my holster at the time Talmadge was offed.
Well, that part is a puzzle, Harry.
Now you sound like the geek.
Jessica, tell me.
Did you or didn't you find out who hung this frame on me? Well, uh, no, uh- - Not actually, Harry.
- Well, what were you doin' all day? Sorry, but it, uh, doesn't look promising.
Sean Shaleen and his manager, Dennis McConnell, said they were out doing roadwork at the time that, uh, Mr.
Talmadge was killed.
Now, I don't believe that.
Now, let me see, now, Cosmo Ponzini went to his gym early.
He was there before it opened, and his employees will verify that.
Sure.
What else? Lois Ames claims that she returned to her apartment after she left your place, and her doorman saw her come in.
And Doc Penrose says that he went to the track early to watch the early morning workouts.
So he says.
Jessica, I think we have to call off this fight.
Oh, no, Harry.
The fight stays.
What? Look, maybe whoever killed Mr.
Talmadge wanted to prevent the fight from happening.
So, if it stays, and is still scheduled, maybe that will draw the killer out of the woodwork.
Oh, great thinking, Jessica.
Only this time he's gonna be after you.
Oh, don't worry about me.
I'll have Blaster with me all the time, and it'll give me a chance to poke around the gym some more, no matter what that sign on Mr.
Ponzini's wall says.
Nah, I don't like it.
And how do you feel about spending the next 30 years of your life in jail? You'll be 77 years old, you know, when you come out.
Jessica, you shouldn't believe everything you read in the papers.
The death ofboxing promoter Wade Talmadge hasn't stopped the career of the up-and-coming slugger Sean, the Irish Shillelagh, Shaleen, as he goes after win number 17 at the arena a week from Friday against one-time contender Blaster Boyle.
The former Wisconsin farm boy is a perfect 16 and 0 against some pretty tough competition and Boyle just doesn't look like much of a threat.
Raised on his family farm, a few miles east of Sheboygan, Sean learned the meaning ofhard work early in life.
But it wasn't long before the Shaleens discovered pugilism.
Actually, Sean's first love was duck hunting, and he became a real wizard with a 12-gauge, outshooting oldsters three times his age.
But at age 16, he'd already won theJunior Athletics Boxing Championship, and from there it was a quick hop to a professional career, under the tutelage of his manager, Dennis McConnell.
An up-an-comer? You bet.
And as we said, Blaster Boyle, good as he used to be, will be no match for this fighting Irishman.
One reason is because- get this, folks- Blaster Boyle's new manager is not a grizzled old veteran of the fight wars, but a very sweet and charming lady, a writer of murder mysteries, who doesn't know a left jab from a right cross.
Sorry, Blaster, you were a good fighter, but in this reporter's opinion, it's time for you to hang 'em up.
You and your manager.
Easy on that stuff.
Easy.
You look beat.
You're not gonna last till Friday.
Oh, come on, Doc.
I feel great.
Wasn't talkin' about you.
Well, if you're worried about me, Doc, I- I can go on like this forever.
Yeah, if forever comes tomorrow morning.
You know, you don't have to do this.
You're not the one that's fightin' Shaleen.
You know, I'm gonna beat that guy, Mrs.
Fletcher.
I'm gonna do it for you and Harry.
I mean, it is okay, isn't it, ma'am? I mean, to win? Oh, yes, of course, Blaster.
I, uh, I was just thinking- I had an idea that, uh, maybe someone wanted the fight called off, and maybe that was the reason that Talmadge was killed.
But, uh- Well, I- I think I was wrong about that.
Well, whoever killed Mr.
Talmadge, I can't get real mad at him.
I mean, killin'isn't right, but Mr.
Talmadge, he was a real bad man.
Makin'people lose fights.
I mean, that was real bad.
Well, apparently you weren't the only one that he pressured, Blaster.
There was Mr.
Ponzini.
And a lot more than that.
I can name you a dozen fighters that creep chewed up and spit out.
Gutty guys like Carlos Montenegro, Willie Brandeis, Mickey Brewster, helluva lightweight.
Lou Robbie, the Scranton Scrapper, Tommy Novinski, nice kid with a great right.
Whoa, Doc, back up a bit there.
Uh, this, this fella from Scranton? Lou Robbie, the Scranton Scrapper.
- I never heard of him, Doc.
- That was a few years ago, kid.
A real solid middleweight, right on his way to the top till he ran into Wade Talmadge and lost a fight he should've won.
Let's see, that was 15 years ago.
I remember the night of the fight seein' Talmadge and a couple of his enforcers comin' out of Robbie's dressin' room just a few minutes before the fight.
That night, Robbie got beaten silly for 10 rounds.
He wouldn't defend himself.
Just kept takin' punches.
And after every round, he'd go back to his corner and stare down at Talmadge and just give him this look.
What happened to him, Doc? After the fight, he collapsed.
Wound up in the hospital for a week, while Talmadge's boy got a shot at the title.
He was never the same after that.
Then Lou Robbie is still alive? Yeah.
Last I heard, he went back to Scranton, workin'in some bowlin'alley as a janitor.
Come on Charlie.
Don't give me that.
No, no, look, I know what happened in Memphis.
I'm just trying to get confirmation, so I can use it.
What are you afraid of? I mean, the man is dead, for cryin' out loud! No, Charlie, Charlie, I'm not tryin' to embarrass you.
Fine! I'll get it from somebody else! Geez! Charlie Pendelton used to manageJoJo Gutierrez, right? Hear no evil, see no evil, speak no evil.
Pam, where's the one with Talmadge and the senator? Did you call A.
P? Yeah, but they couldn't find it.
What do you mean, they couldn't find it? It was on their wire last year.
Well, they know, but they couldn't find it, okay? Would you get off my back? Dave, Dave, Dave, this story- I think maybe you should drop it.
There's something happening to you.
- I'm just tired, okay? - No, no, it's not just that.
Pamela, lay off, all right? I just don't need this.
Yeah, I know.
Guess you don't need much of anything, do you? Hello.
Marty, Marty, what are you doin' callin' me on this line? I told you this is for outgoing only! Yeah? Yeah, okay, okay.
What have you got? There's a woman downstairs looking through the record files.
Mrs.
Fletcher! Uh, excuse me, Miss.
It's all right, Blaster.
She's okay.
Mrs.
Fletcher, I heard that you were down here, looking through the back issues.
What are you looking for? Look, uh, I don't know what you're trying to prove.
I can't prove anything, Pam.
But one thing I have figured out.
Your boss- Dave Robinson's crusade against Wade Talmadge is personal, isn't it? Very personal.
Dave was only 12 years old when his father took that savage beating, Mrs.
Fletcher.
Lou came home to Scranton nearly a vegetable.
And is that why Dave became a sportswriter? To settle a score? I guess with Talmadge, it was real personal.
But can you blame him? No, I couldn't blame him for, uh- well, for writing about Mr.
Talmadge.
Mrs.
Fletcher, Dave didn't kill him.
Well, he certainly had good reason to.
No argument there, but while Talmadge was being shot, Dave was at my place, and I will swear to that.
- And would you lie to it? - If I had to.
As if you haven't figured it out, Mrs.
Fletcher, I love the guy.
Not that it's mutual.
Dave is so wrapped up in his story and his career that I'm just an accessory to his life.
But, yes, I would lie.
Only in this case, I don't have to.
It'd be the truth.
Well, I'd like to believe that.
Pam, about Mr.
Talmadge- I did a little research, and one thing I noticed, his clothes.
He seems to have been something of a fashion plate.
Yeah, you mean the preppy look.
He worked real hard at it.
He came out of the Chicago tenements.
Guess that's why he always tried to be Mr.
Ivy League.
You know, with the tweed jackets, the cashmere sweaters, the whole schmear.
You know, when they found the body, he was wearing a pair of slacks and a plain white shirt.
No.
No, that doesn't sound like Talmadge.
Dave and I bird-dogged him for months.
He wouldn't be caught dead lookin' like that.
Yeah, but that's just the point.
He was caught dead looking like that.
- Unless- - What? What is it? Oh, it- it was just a thought.
Pam, thanks for everything.
I've got to run.
Come on, Blaster.
We've got to be on our way.
Bye.
Still tryin' to make sense of the ponies, Doc? Everybody needs a hobby.
Expensive.
So's women and booze.
I tried 'em both.
Horses don't talk back, and they don't give you a hangover.
So, Doc, uh, I hear you're helpin' the, uh, Fletcher dame get Blaster Boyle ready for the fight.
No secret.
Your boy's gonna lose, Doc.
We'll see.
You're not hearin' me.
Your boy's gonna lose.
How come you suddenly sound so much like Wade Talmadge? I got an investment in Shaleen, Doc.
I don't want anything funny to happen.
Get outta here, McConnell.
Come on, Doc, Sean's got a future.
Blaster's just, uh, markin' time.
The money's the same for him, win or lose.
Oh! You want me to sweeten the kitty a little something extra.
How much? - You don't hear so good.
- When did you suddenly get so damn noble? This is a dollars and cents business.
I just wanna make sure we all come out ahead.
Look, the Fletcher woman bailed you out with the bookies this time.
So how about a couple of weeks from now? You need a cushion, Doc, and I'm offerin'.
Come on.
You listen to me, you scuzzball.
I've spent my whole life watchin' this game get screwed around by guys like you and Wade Talmadge, suckin' the life outta fighters, decent fighters, like Blaster, Who had to go along, 'cause they had no choice.
Well, this time we got a choice.
You tell Shaleen to keep his chin covered.
Is there a Dennis McConnell here? Hey, there's a telephone call for Dennis McConnell.
Yeah! McConnell.
What are you callin' me here for? You crazy? I wanted to talk to you, Denny.
It's been a couple of days.
I told you, I'll call you.
Look.
I've been following Mrs.
Fletcher.
She was talking to the photographer.
The-The one that works for Dave Robinson.
So what? She's asking a lot of questions.
- So she's nosy.
- She's not giving in, Denny.
- Not while McGraw's still in jail.
- Well, what are you worried about? About cops, okay? Look, that night that-that I spent with McGraw- I did that for you, honey.
And didn't I express my appreciation, hmm? Lois, cool it for a while.
And like I said, don't call me, I'll call you.
Well, well, Mrs.
Fletcher.
Just, uh, happened to be in the neighborhood? Uh, no, Lieutenant.
But I had a thought.
I wanted to talk to Mr.
Talmadge's housekeeper.
Is that right? Uh, about what? Well, I think that my hunch about the way that he was dressed is valid.
I mean, he was just not the sort of man who would wear a shirt and a pair of slacks.
Clothes were very important to him.
Almost like a status symbol.
You could say they were like a uniform.
Herringbonejacket and a gray cashmere sweater.
What? Same thing occurred to me.
I had the housekeeper check through his things.
That's what's missing.
The jacket and the sweater.
Which means he was wearing them when he was shot.
Yeah, maybe.
Well, of course he was.
There were no powder burns on his shirt, which means that the killer removed the sweater and the jacket.
But why, and where are they? Well, my men are looking for them, Mrs.
Fletcher, and they're starting with Harry McGraw's apartment.
Lieutenant, about that phone call that you think was made to this house.
That is still the theory.
Well, have you checked anybody else's phone? We're work- Look, Mrs.
Fletcher, you and Harry can huff and puff all you want.
It's not gonna change one thing.
Talmadge was killed with Harry's gun.
Harry had the gun when Talmadge was killed.
Now, if you can come up with an answer to that, maybe I'll listen.
Will you excuse me? It may have been my gun, but I didn't kill him.
Harry, are you certain that you had your gun with you at all times? It is always with me at all times.
Well, not all times.
I mean, I- I do not sleep with it.
Especially on those occasions when I am entertaining a young lady.
Uh, Harry- Harry, when you, uh, disrobed for the evening, - what did you do with your gun? - The same thing I always do.
I hung the holster on a hook in my bedroom closet.
Aha.
Question.
Is it possible that Lois Ames might have come to your place carrying another.
38 Police Special, which she substituted for your gun? Nah, she wouldn't- I said, is it possible? I, uh, can't believe that you, uh, stayed awake all night.
Well, no, no, Jessica, it doesn't work.
See, I put the holster on the next morning.
Now, even if she made the switch, she wouldn't have had time to switch it back.
Because Casey arrested me later that morning, and it was my gun he took.
Something is missing.
Aha, from the look on your face, Casey, this has gotta be good news for me.
Yeah, McGraw, it's your lucky day.
We just got a readout on outgoing calls from a certain phone the morning of the murder.
At 8:00, a two-minute call was placed to Wade Talmadge's house in, uh, in Marblehead.
From which phone? - From Cosmo Ponzini's office.
- There you go! - I was nowhere near that place.
- Wait a minute, hotshot.
- This doesn't prove anything yet.
- Of course it does, Lieutenant.
It proves that Harry was framed.
Ponzini, that barf-bag.
I knew it.
Come on, Jessica.
I want a piece of that guy.
Wait a minute, just hold it, McGraw.
You're goin' nowhere until I talk to the D.
A.
Come on, Casey.
Which I'm planning to do as soon as I have a little chat with this, uh, Cosmo Ponzini.
Uh, uh, Lieutenant, just a suggestion.
Look, even if the phone call was made from Ponzini's office, that doesn't mean that he made the call.
I mean, from what I can gather, that office is never locked.
So? Well, uh, maybe we'd have more luck if, uh-well, if I just poked around.
I mean, none of them there take me very seriously, particularly Mr.
Ponzini and, uh- well, who knows, I might just, uh- stumble over something that they wouldn't let slip in front of you.
No, um, no, it's too dangerous.
Oh, but I'd have Blaster with me.
Oh, don't worry.
I would be perfectly safe.
Left up, keep it up, kid.
Slip the right, move inside.
Inside, Sean.
There! Hey, Blaster, what are you doin' here? Come to spy on your opponent? I've seen him fight already, Mr.
Ponzini.
He didn't show me nothin'.
Yeah? We'll see about that.
Hey, lady, I told ya the last time you was here that- Yes, I understand, Mr.
Ponzini, and I don't intend to stay long.
The fact is, I'm a little puzzled about some things, and, uh, I want to ask you a question or two.
About what? The day that Mr.
Talmadge was killed- - what time did you open up the gym? - 7:00, 7:30.
And you were here at 8:00 a.
M? And so were a lot of other people.
So what? Uh, what other people? Look, lady, I ain't got time to answer a lot of dumb questions.
Oh, oh, there's no need to be upset, Mr.
Ponzini.
I'm sure that you have nothing to hide in Mr.
Talmadge's murder.
Me? You're crazy! All right, you wanna know who was here? Okay, there were two club fighters from Brockton, uh, there was Moxey who cleans the, uh, locker room, and there was, uh, Doc Penrose- he was just leavin' for the races, and, uh, oh, Dennis and Shaleen.
The kid hadjust finished out workin'on the heavy bag, and then they were goin'out to do some roadwork, and uh, that's it.
Okay? Any other questions? Just one more thing.
Did any one of them ask to use the telephone in your office? Ask? Ha! Around here nobody asks.
The phone is there, they use it.
So, Mrs.
Fletcher, still at it? Still trying to hang the murder on somebody else? Well, actually, I was inquiring- No! You were pokin' your nose in where it doesn't belong, and I'm gettin' a little tired of it.
Excuse me, Mr.
McConnell.
There's no call to use that tone of voice.
You keep out of this.
I'm just sayin' you could be more polite.
- Get your hands offhim, Boyle.
- I'm just tryin' to protect the lady, that's all.
That's all right, Blaster.
Look, why don't you and this busybody get outta here? Don't do that.
I'm gonna tell you somethin'.
I'm gettin' kinda tired of both of you.
Hey! Kid, kid, you all right? It's okay.
What, are you nuts or somethin'? Look what you did! Come on, let's get him to the showers.
Does that mean there won't be any fight? Look, I'm tellin'you.
I didn't make any phone calls to anybody from that office.
Did you see anybody else use the phone? Mr.
Shaleen, you must tell us what you know.
Please.
Denny didn't kill anybody! Denny? Dennis McConnell, your manager? You saw him use the phone? No.
I didn't see him exactly.
He went into the office a couple of times to use the phone.
To call some woman, I think.
What woman? I don't know.
He didn't talk about her much.
I knew he had somethin' goin'.
He tried earlier a couple of times, but she wasn't answerin' the phone.
Or she was out.
Phone company doesn't show any outgoing calls that morning except for the one to Marblehead.
Okay.
So maybe he never did get through.
Look, all I know is Denny comes out of the office, and he says we was gonna skip the roadwork.
He had some place to go.
I figure he's gonna see the lady, so I don't ask any questions.
So Dennis took off.
And I went back to my hotel room to watch a little TV.
The first time you told me you were out doin' roadwork.
You lied.
I didn't lie.
Denny lied.
I just kept my mouth shut.
There you go, Casey, your phone call.
You got the guy dead-bang.
I got nothin', McGraw, except maybe a can of worms.
Hey, you don't believe all that stuff about a dame, do you? I do.
Jessica, you're supposed to be on my side.
I also think I know who the lady is.
Lois Ames.
Lois? You're nuts.
She's crazy about me.
Like I told the cops- Miss Ames, uh, she came in about a quarter to 8:00.
She was out all night, if-if you catch my drift.
Uh, yes.
Uh, now what I am most interested in is a man who may have shown up a short time later.
Come on, lady, I can get in a lot of trouble talkin' to you like this.
Yeah, the guy, well, uh- he was medium build, about six feet, dark hair.
That's him.
Yeah, well, I can't tell you his name, but, uh, he'd been poppin'in and out the past couple of weeks.
Always when the coast was clear, if you catch my drift.
Yes, I'm-I'm still catching it.
And how long were they upstairs? Well, long enough, I guess.
I mean, the guy came down about 10:00 and, uh, Miss Ames, uh, she left about 11:00.
Uh-huh.
And they were in her apartment the entire time? Sure.
I guess so.
I mean, they couldn't have left without me knowin' about it.
Come on, Blaster.
We've got another stop to make.
Thank you very much.
Nice seein' ya.
Come back anytime.
Uh, no, Blaster, you stay here.
Oh, gee, I don't know, Mrs.
Fletcher.
I need some answers.
And this time, I don't think that intimidation is the key.
Hello.
Am I interrupting? Oh, not at all.
Come on in.
Make yourself comfortable.
The, uh, corned beef's tough and the linebackers aren't.
I don't want to bother you, Mr.
Robinson, but, uh, I need some information.
Possibly the kind that only you can give me.
You wanna know about Lou Robbie, right? Whether or not I hated Talmadge enough to kill him for turning my dad into a vegetable? Well, that's not why I came.
No? The way I figure it, I'm "A" number one on your suspect list.
Not at the moment.
Oh, you have a very good motive, of course, but I don't believe that you're the killer type.
With a gun, or with this? You see, Mrs.
Fletcher, I, uh, I killed the story.
Pam was right.
Talmadge was dead and he was still eatin' me alive.
Funny, huh? Anyway, I gave the whole thing up.
The whole story, in the wastebasket.
And you know what? For the first time in years, I feel pretty terrific.
Good.
Obsessions can be very poisonous.
- So what can I do for you? - Tell me about Lois Ames.
Well, what's to tell? Uh, an ex-showgirl, real hustler.
Always has a knack for latching onto the main chance, you know? Why do you ask? You think she shot Talmadge? I don't know.
She's the only one who had access to Harry McGraw's gun, and she was having an affair with Dennis McConnell.
Well, she never did have much taste, but I mean- shoot Talmadge.
I mean, what for? He was her meal ticket.
Even if she'd fallen in love with Dennis? Mrs.
Fletcher, that woman doesn't know the meaning of the word.
Well, thank you, Mr.
Robinson.
I'm sorry to have bothered you.
Anytime.
flanked wide- Howard drops back into the shotgun formation, Larussa's in motion, the snap, he steps up.
Donaldson on a fly pattern.
Shotgun? Oh, my goodness! Lieutenant, did you find the missing sweater and jacket? Uh, no.
I doubt if we ever will.
Sid, don't give me maybes.
Just tell me, could the guy and his girlfriend get out of the building without being seen? Uh, Lieutenant.
I don't know.
Staircase, fire escape, elevator to the garage, whatever.
Lieutenant, what kind of powder burns would result if Mr.
Talmadge has been shot with, say, a shotgun? What, shot with a shotgun? He was plugged with a.
38.
I tell you what, Sid, forget it.
What's comin' out of the academy these days? Retards.
Well, it could have been a shotgun.
I think it was.
Oh, do you really? Next class enrolls in three weeks.
You'll fit right in.
Lieutenant.
Do you or do you not want to know who the real killer of Wade Talmadge is? - You know who did it? - Yes.
I think so.
But I need your help to prove it.
Help.
Right.
- The kind of help that could cost me my badge? - Well, maybe, if I'm wrong.
What the hell, I'm nowhere.
What do you need? Well, first, release Harry McGraw from custody, and second, make sure that everyone involved knows about it.
- So far, so good.
- Then you saw him too? He picked us up around 4th Street.
All right, Harry, now let's try to reconstruct what happened.
Now Mr.
Ponzini hit you and you fell to the floor.
Now where was that? Right here.
- Would you mind getting down on the floor, please? - Oh, Jessica.
The same position you were in that night.
Yeah, okay.
Now, you-you start to draw your gun, right? - I'd like to oblige you, but Casey confiscated it.
- Well, then we'll just pretend.
Now, you draw your gun.
Now, Mr.
Ponzini grabs your wrist.
Right.
Then he pulled me up.
Uh-huh.
And in the struggle, the gun goes off.
Where? Uh, here.
Aha.
Well, the bullet must have embedded itself either in the wall or in one of these cushions.
Yeah, but where's the bullet hole? There.
There.
The bullet went right into the pillow, and, uh-uh, it's gone.
Just as I thought.
It was dug out ofhere by Wade Talmadge's killer.
I was right, Harry.
Someone took the slug and packed it into a shotgun shell, and fired it at Wade Talmadge at close range.
And because it was fired by a shotgun, the ballistics markings weren't disturbed.
Even to a trained eye, it appeared to have been fired from your pistol.
- A shotgun? You sure? - Oh, I'm positive.
That's why the killer had to remove Mr.
Talmadge's jacket and sweater.
The powder burns from a shotgun blast would have given the whole thing away.
- They'd be far more extensive than those that came from a pistol.
- Okay, so who? Well, it had to be someone who knew the slug was buried in this sofa.
Someone who was here when your gun went off.
Someone who had a working knowledge of shotguns.
Someone who had access to that phone that morning to call Talmadge and lure him to his death, and someone who had no alibi for the time of the shooting.
- Someone- - Someone named Sean Shaleen.
- That was what you were getting to, wasn't it, Mrs.
Fletcher? - Yes, Sean.
Actually, it was.
You know, you're a pretty smart lady.
A lot smarter than you, bozo.
- Harry, this is no time to get him angry.
- Angry? No, no, I'm not angry.
To tell you the truth, I'm a little scared.
- Why'd you kill him, kid? - Why? Can't you figure it out for yourself? Huh? He was gonna force me to dump a big fight for a price.
And it was either that or get killed.
I guess you could kinda say it was like self-defense, you know? Him or me.
Yeah, but then you had to drag me into it.
I'm sorry about that.
Look, you threatened the guy, McGraw.
Man, you were beggin' to be set up.
And when that shot went wild, man, I- I realized what I could do with that slug.
Being an expert with a shotgun? I caught that sportscast on television, Sean.
Yeah, I'm sorry you did.
- You're gonna be a lot sorrier, kid.
- Have you heard enough, Lieutenant? Oh, please, Mrs.
Fletcher.
You came through loud and clear.
Freeze, turkey! - You said Casey took your gun away.
- So I lied.
Cows, Doc? You and a bunch of cows? Yeah, I'm gonna be a gentleman farmer, Harry.
Me and Blaster.
Gonna be partners in his dairy farm down in Tennessee.
I give you three months.
No, make it two.
Okay, two eggs over easy ham, whole wheat, a Denver with a side of fries, two poached with bacon, white toast, heavyweight special with sausage, two slabs ofham, two English, and a large O.
J.
More coffee coming up.
All right.
You can forget about Dave and Pam.
What, they're too good to eat with us? - No, they're on their way to city hall to get a license.
- Marriage? You know, I'd drink to that, but I'm afraid it'd spoil my appetite.
Well, I'll drink to somebody.
Here's toJessica.
The best legman a P.
I.
Ever had.
Hey, Harry, you got that a little screwed up, don't you? Oh, incidentally, not only did I get Benny Falcone off my back, but, here you are, Never let it be said Harry McGraw welshed on a debt.
Oh, Harry, are you sure? I mean, how- How? I made a deal with the TV people.
But-but the fight has been canceled.
I know.
But I sold them something even better.
The inside story of a tough, resourceful private eye, who single-handedly broke open one of the largest murder cases of the decade.
Single-handedly? So I exaggerated a little.
What's a little white lie between friends?