04x13 - Harbinger of Death

[bunniefuu]

We are a research institute,
not a weapons factory.

Times change. We
have to change with them.

Tonight on m*rder, She Wrote.

Dr. Palmer is on the
verge of finding a comet.

I didn't know one was missing.

- What's happened?
- It was a g*nsh*t right in the ticker.

Don't get in my way, Mrs. Fletcher.
You're way out of your weight class.

Carrie wasn't capable of
loving Leonard the way I did.

- She did not k*ll that man.
- I'm sorry. A m*rder has been committed.

And you two are both lying to the
police, and I would like to know why.

Leonard.

Oh, Fay.

If you finally find this
comet— When, not if.

They'll probably name
it for you, posthumously.

"Here lies Leonard
Palmer, asleep at last."

There's plenty of time
for that once I have

it spotted. You shouldn't
worry about me, Fay.

Can't stop now. I'm conditioned.

I don't suppose
Carrie's called. No.

She's probably busy
with her Aunt Edna.

With Edna, illness is a hobby.

Thor, I can't tell you how pleased I
am that you can attend the reception.

Russell, there is an aroma
of filthy lucre in the air,

and it seems to be
drifting in from Washington.

Yes. Do you have
any problem with that?

I'm a pragmatist, my friend,

unlike my colleague
Leonard Palmer who scans the

night skies trying to
discover the undiscoverable.

If the government is interested
in financing my lifestyle,

I'll gladly furnish the government
with anything it wishes.

I presume my involvement would cement
this proposed defense contract. Naturally.

Oh, Mr. Armstrong, I'm
sorry. That's quite all right, Fay.

Uh, do you know
Dr. Lundquist? Oh, yes.

I mean, no, not personally.

I've enjoyed your television
specials immensely, Doctor.

You are too kind.

It isn't easy reducing
the complexities of the

universe to a pablum
the public can digest.

Uh, Fay, if you have a moment,
could you join us in my office?

Of course. Come along.

Now, Fay is responsible for
all our data systems network.

The computers, um— Well,
the computers love her.

Ah, yes. Mathematics
harnessed for space.

The tiniest microchip
competes with the mightiest

battleship when
defense contracts are let.

Oh, I'm afraid contracts
are Russell's department.

I've been spending most of my time
on Dr. Palmer's comet calculations.

Leonard is a brilliant
scientist, my dear— perhaps

born a century or two too
late. He's chasing a myth.

A mysterious comet, last seen
perhaps by a starving colonist.

- And now scheduled to
return when? Tonight?
- Possibly.

Before or after supper?

Russell. Russell, if you want to grovel
for a government contract, that's fine.

But don't ask me to
join at cocktail chit-chat

with those warmongers
from Washington.

Hello, Leonard. So
nice to see you again.

What are you doing
here, Lundquist?

I suggest you ask Mr. Armstrong.

Oh, yes, Dr. Lundquist is
joining us as a—as a consultant.

We have several
projects that need his input.

Don't you mean, a letterhead
that needs his name?

For Lord's sake, Russell, we are a
research institute, not a weapons factory.

Our work is scientific...
and peaceful.

Yes. Well, times change.

We have to change with them.

Jessica! Leonard!

Jessica, I'm so sorry I
didn't meet your train.

When I got your message that
you'd phoned from the station, I...

Don't give it another thought.
I know how busy you must be.

You see, I wasn't
expecting you till next week.

Well, when I got your letter
last month inviting me to

come and help you and Carrie
celebrate your anniversary,

well, I more or less assumed— But
our anniversary is next week on the 17th.

Leonard, it's the 7th.

I—I mean, I was there at
your wedding three years ago.

I'm sorry, but it is
the 7th. It's tomorrow.

- Good Lord.
- I was going to phone the house,

and then I remembered that
you wanted to surprise Carrie.

Jessica, I have
bollixed everything.

Not only did I not tell
her you were coming, but I

seem to have forgotten the
date of my own anniversary.

To make it worse,
she's not here. No.

No, your favorite niece has gone
to Ithaca to help her Aunt Edna.

- Edna?
- Yes. Her bursitis is acting up again.

Oh. Carrie drove
up three days ago.

I should be hearing
from her any time.

From your letter, I gathered your comet is
due to make its appearance any moment.

You must be very excited.
Oh, yes. Yes, I am very excited.

Leonard, is anything the
matter— With Carrie, I mean?

Oh, no. No, of course not.

Well, I—I don't see her
as much as I should.

The comet and all— I spend a
great deal of time at the Institute.

Jessica, when we first got
married, I—I sensed a certain, uh...

I don't know, hostility, because
of the difference in our ages.

Well, not from me,
you didn't. Oh, no.

No, you were great.

I worry too much.

Let's, uh, get you settled
in and then I'm gonna

show you where astronomy
history is about to be made.

Good morning, Max.

Max, uh, say hello to
my aunt, Jessica Fletcher.

I've been waiting
years to pull that one.

It makes me feel very young.

Well, I won't go into what
it does for me. Hello, Max.

Try this on for size,
ma'am. Security. Oh.

We're expecting a lot of V.I.P.'s
in for the reception tonight.

Oh, you didn't say
anything about a reception.

Yes, probably because it's petty,
moronic and not worth mentioning.

Oh. Come on. Let's see
some real science at work.

Well, this is it, Jessica,
our window to the universe.

Oh, my, a computer.

Well, the solitary astronomer
has gone high-tech.

State of the art. Saves
me hours of calculations.

I feed the keyboard, the
keyboard instructs the telescope.

You know, it's
almost frightening.

No, Jessica, when you look through
that eyepiece— That's frightening.

And very humbling, as well.

Leonard, I, uh— I'm sorry. I
didn't realize you had a visitor.

Oh, my, you must
be Mrs. Fletcher.

Yes, I am. Fay Hewitt.

Dr. Palmer's assistant, and
we almost met three years ago.

Almost? The wedding.

I got sick, missed
the whole thing.

I'm afraid you missed
quite an extravaganza.

So I've been told,
countless times.

Leonard, I think we
need to recomputed this.

Oh, yes.

Yes, absolutely. Soon
as possible. I'll handle it.

Oh, uh, is there any
word from Carrie?

Not yet. If you're worried,
I can try and reach her.

Oh, no. No, she's
fine, I'm sure.

She's got her hands
full with Aunt Edna.

I'm telling you, General,
the Gamma 3 program

can put us five years
ahead of the Soviets.

Uh, Dr. Lundquist has
examined it very thoroughly.

It's a masterpiece of
scientific engineering.

The staff of the Institute is to be
congratulated for farsightedness.

A shocking misuse
of time and resources.

Leonard, if you ever get offered a
post in the diplomatic service, decline it.

Leonard, um, the guy in
the corner— NASA lobbyist.

I don't care if he's
the tooth fairy, Russell.

Also an astronomy nut,
and he wants to meet you.

Now, uh, go make
him happy, Leonard.

Tell him, um— Tell
him about the comet.

The comet?

- Jessica, will you excuse me?
- I'll be fine.

I'm sorry. You are?

Jessica Fletcher. I'm
Leonard's... relative.

Nice to meet you.

- Hello. Uh, may I have a mineral water
with a twist of lemon, please?
- Yes, ma'am.

Drake, be a dear and get
me a drink, will you, while

I see if there's anybody
here worth talking to?

Don't tell me— the Defense
Department? Am I right?

More down to earth, I'm afraid.
Jessica Fletcher. I'm a writer.

Drake Eaton. I'm Madeline
DeHaven's administrative assistant.

I could have sworn
I asked for a drink.

Gin and tonic
and a martini, dry.

Madeline, please say hello to
Jessica Fletcher. She's a, uh, reporter.

Washington Post?
Uh, New York Times?

Oh, nothing so influential. I only
write mysteries. What do you do?

I make political waves.

Uh, actually, Madeline is, uh,
Director of Defense Spending Review...

with the General Accounting
Office in Washington.

Oh, yes, of course.
You're Madeline DeHaven.

Yes, I saw you interviewed
on television last week.

And so, it seems, did Russell
Armstrong. Nice to meet you.

The Gamma 3 contract
connection, Mrs. Fletcher.

Some people actually
think, uh, Madeline has

some control over the
ultimate contract award.

You know something,
they're right.

Hello, again. Hello.

Uh, scotch. Make that a double.

How are you enjoying
the carnival so far?

Well, I certainly sniff
the presence of power.

The word is stench,
Mrs. Fletcher.

And this isn't even
the big leagues.

You know, Leonard
looks so lonely.

I just wish that Carrie could
have been here with him.

Yes. Mrs. Fletcher, I
know you're Carrie's Aunt,

and I do make it a point to stay
out of Leonard's personal life, but...

Well, I am a little surprised
that Carrie isn't with him...

when Leonard needs her so much.

I suppose young people
don't think of things like that.

A fascinating woman, Madeline DeHaven.
Just what is it that you do for her?

I make her feel important.

And what does she
do for you, Mr. Eaton?

Well, because of Madeline,

I'm in line to head up any one of three new
departments monitoring defense spending.

Ah, a truly symbiotic
relationship.

Is Russell aware of this?

Oh, I think he
will be very soon.

Now look, I asked you to accommodate
our guests. Now I am telling you to...

Like hell I will! Let
me tell you, Russell.

The comet may or may not appear
in tonight's scan, but in any case,

you're putting on no publicity
party in my observatory, period!

Leonard!

Jessica. Jessica, I've
just made a dreadful fool of

myself, and I'm leaving.
Please stay if you like.

Well, what in the world for?

Let's go find us a
comet. Tonight's the night!

Oh, I see there are
three of us who couldn't

wait to get away
from that dismal affair.

Amen to that.

Oh. This is gonna take some
time to load into the computer.

Fay, would you do me a favor?

I made Russell very
angry this evening.

Perhaps angry enough to...

Would you go pour some
oil on the troubled waters?

You're so much
better at that than I am.

That's my job. Thanks.

See you in the morning.

Ohh. Oops. Let
me get that for you.

Ooh, ooh. Oh, brother.

Now, Jessica, this may
seem a bit confusing at first,

but we enter the program.

Now that's interfaced with
the telescope drive. Hmm.

Then we factor out the
time-coded galactic shift.

Oh, excuse me, Leonard.

You know, I'm about as much use to
you here as a parasol in a hurricane.

Why don't I call it a day and
let you get on with your work?

Well, perhaps you're right, Jessica. You
sure you don't mind? Oh, of course not.

Be sure to call me if you find that
comet. Otherwise, see you in the morning?

Good night. Good night.

Yes? Aunt Jessica?

Carrie! What's happened?

I called Aunt Edna two hours ago and
she said that you were out doing errands?

Yeah. Yeah, that's right. Um, Jessica,
I'm sorry I wasn't there to meet you.

But Aunt Edna needed me.

And, uh, how is Edna?
It's her bursitis again.

The pain comes and goes.
I'm—I'm doing what I can.

Carrie, I stopped by Aunt
Edna's yesterday on my way here.

She was going bowling.

Uh...

When I called her
earlier, she tried to cover

for you, but she
isn't a very good liar.

Jessica, I'm sorry. I really am.

But I had to get
away for a while.

Carrie, I don't want to interfere, but
Leonard is very worried about you.

Is there anything
that I can tell him?

Tell him I do love him.

It's outrageous. Leonard
knows better than this.

Last night the guard saw
him come busting out of

the observatory without
even stopping to sign out.

And what's his telescope doing
cranked all the way down this way?

That's my place. And there's
a body lying on the floor.

Now let's get
this straight, huh?

Now, you own this
house, but you didn't stay

here last night, is that
right, Mr. Armstrong?

That's right, I haven't been
here in weeks, Lieutenant.

Uh, it's, uh, Sergeant, and it's
Kettler. Detective Sergeant Kettler.

What do you do, rent it out or what? No,
I'm, uh— I'm letting a friend stay here.

Is this the guy you
lent it to? Name in the

wallet is Drake Eaton.
Lived in Washington.

No. H-He's not the person
I thought was staying here.

Must be the victim's
scarf. It's got blood on it.

All right, bag it.
Send it to the lab.

Excuse me, Sergeant,
how was he k*lled?

It was a g*nsh*t
right in the ticker.

- You keep any handguns
around here, Mr. Armstrong?
- Certainly not.

Did you notice any
powder burns? No.

- What'd you say your name
was again, lady?
- Fletcher. Jessica Fletcher.

Did you know this
guy? Well, not really.

I mean, I met him last
night for the first time, briefly.

Mrs. Fletcher is a guest of
the Astro-Physics Institute.

She's also a writer
of some repute.

- Oh, yeah? My wife's a writer too.
- Oh.

- About this guy— - Well, he
worked for Madeline DeHaven.

- She's the director of one
of those federal agencies.
- G.O.A.

Oh, great. Just what I
need. A stiff with clout.

Anyway, come on. Let's get
to this telescope business.

Well, as I started to tell you before,
we found it focused in on this window.

That telescope is 30 miles
away from here! Thirty-three.

Easy.

- You guys finished with the phone?
- Yeah, it's dusted.

Hello. Russell
Armstrong, please.

Yeah, he's here. Who's
this? This is Fay Hewitt.

Hold on. It's for
you, a Fay Hewitt.

Don't stay on too long. I
wanna keep the phones free.

- Yes, hello.
- Russell, forgive my calling like this,
but I've been terribly worried.

What's happened?
I mean, who is it?

Drake Eaton.

He's been m*rder*d. Oh.

Is there anything I can do?

Madeline DeHaven.
Uh, she ought to be told.

Well, I'll call her right
away. Thanks, Fay.

And I'll talk to you later.

Vertical blinds are closed, uh, drawer
on the table next to the bed is open.

That's interesting. The bed
has been mussed but not slept in.

Oh, yeah. Probably
some kind of a struggle.

Say, Mrs. Fletcher, what kind of books
do you write? Cookbooks? Gardening tips?

- Actually, m*rder mysteries.
- Oh, no kidding?

A nice lady like you. You
make any money at it?

Uh, well, actually, yes.

Oh, my God, no!

Carrie? What are you doing here?

Oh, Aunt Jess.

Who the hell is this young
lady? This is Mrs. Palmer,

the lady I've been lending
this vacation house to.

I don't know what happened.
I wasn't there last night.

So this, uh, Drake
Eaton, this stiff on your

living room floor, you
never saw him before, right?

I told you that, Sergeant.

Look, ma'am, I'm just as
tired as you are of this, okay?

But I got a real
problem with your story.

Like where were you
last night when this

stiff was bleeding to
death all over your rug?

I told you. I had some problems
to work out. Personal problems.

So around 11:00, I took a drive.

Alone? Yes, alone.

I parked at a deserted
place up in the hills.

I fell asleep, and I woke up
about a couple of hours ago.

And naturally, you didn't see
anybody and nobody saw you.

That's right. Sergeant
Kettler, my niece and

I spoke briefly on the
telephone last evening.

What she is telling
you is consistent with

her state of mind at
that time. Oh, really?

Well, you see, when I put the pieces
together, ma'am, I get a different picture.

She splits with her old man and
walks out. Happens all the time.

Only this time the old man's playing
peekaboo through a telescope.

And some guy winds
up dead on the floor.

Now it doesn't take a genius
to put that together, does it?

Where is your husband,
Mrs. Palmer? I'm having

a little difficulty finding
him this morning.

I don't know. Sergeant, we've
been through this a dozen times.

Mrs. Palmer has given you her
statement. May I take her home now?

Oh, sure. Hey, listen,
don't let me hold you up.

Only don't go too far.

Because I have a funny
feeling that once I locate

her husband, I'm gonna
wanna talk to her again.

Carrie, that story you
told Sergeant Kettler

about driving around and
sleeping at the beach...

Jessica, please, no
questions. Just trust me. Carrie.

Oh, Leonard, I'm sorry.

Carrie, when did you get back?

Oh, God, I've been so stupid.

Leonard.

I wasn't with Aunt Edna. Shh.

Now everything's
going to be fine, Carrie.

Uh, Leonard, I hate
to dampen this moment

for you, but things
are not going to be fine.

Drake Eaton has
been m*rder*d. What?

In the house that Carrie
has been staying in.

m*rder*d? Well, by who?

They're investigating.

Carrie? Well, that's ridiculous.

And they've been
looking for you too.

Sergeant Kettler is at the observatory. I
think that we should go and talk with him.

Oh, of course, of course.
But why—why the observatory?

Leonard, last night, you
were wearing a plaid scarf.

Oh, was I? I mean,
I—I'm sorry. I...

- Mrs. Fletcher.
- Oh, Miss DeHaven,
I'm so sorry about Mr. Eaton.

I just heard about it
from a Miss Hewitt.

And believe me, whoever shot
him is gonna feel even sorrier.

- Well, the police are investigating.
- They'd better be.

Or they'll feel the heat
all the way to Capitol Hill.

Leonard, I understand some policemen
are poking about your observatory.

I can't imagine why,

unless they're looking
for your elusive comet.

Will you excuse us?

Carrie, why don't you go up
to my room and have a rest?

Meanwhile, you and I should
have a talk with Sergeant Kettler.

I worked here all
night till morning.

Dr. Palmer is on the verge of finding a
comet. I didn't know one was missing.

If you don't mind, Mrs. Fletcher,
I'd like to hear it from the doctor.

I went home, I went to bed.

I took the phone off the hook, which
is probably why you couldn't reach me.

Uh, Doctor, you see, I
don't have a lot of those

fancy initials after my
name, but I'm not stupid.

We did get a statement from the security
guard that you went whaling out of here...

at 12:35 last night without signing
the sheet. No. No, that's mistaken.

Medical Examiner puts the homicide
at about 1:00 a.m., give or take.

Tell me, Doc, you own a g*n?

No.

Doc, please, don't insult my
intelligence. We've already checked.

There's a .38 caliber revolver
registered in your name.

Uh, well, yes. I mean, I forgot.

I haven't seen it for months. I think it's
home in a closet somewhere. Well, good.

'Cause then the two men I have at your
house with a search warrant might find it.

A search warrant? Aren't you rather
racing to a conclusion, Sergeant Kettler?

Ma'am, I looked through
the telescope. And let me tell

you something, it's not
peeking at the Big Dipper.

It's focused on the house
where this guy's wife was hiding.

But Leonard didn't know
that she was there. No.

No, as a matter of fact,
I thought— Sergeant.

There's no way Dr. Palmer could have
been looking at that house last night.

Oh, yeah?

The telescope was
locked on a computer track

in an entirely different
quadrant of the sky.

I know because I prepared
the computer program myself.

Well, then, why was the
telescope playing peekaboo?

Well, perhaps someone moved
the telescope after Dr. Palmer left.

I mean, perhaps someone else
wanted to know what was going on.

Perhaps someone wanted
to incriminate Dr. Palmer.

That's an awful lot of perhapses,
ma'am. Let me give you a couple.

Perhaps Dr. Palmer here was
searching for his wife who left him.

He finds her getting a
little cozy with Drake Eaton.

And perhaps he takes a g*n and decides
to go out and settle things himself.

Look, the computer input was dumped when
we shut the equipment down this morning.

But here is the program.

We can enter it and prove that telescope
was nowhere near that house last night.

Leonard, if I learned anything in
the past few days it's that I love you...

and I want to be with
you— If you still want me.

Carrie, you don't have
to explain anything.

Well, I wish someone would
explain some things to me.

There are few people in the
world as dear to me as you two.

But I'm sorry, a m*rder has been committed,
and you two are both lying to the police.

And I would like to know why.

Jessica's right. I
owe you the truth.

Whatever happened, it's
my fault, my responsibility.

Leonard, you have to know. I
did see Drake Eaton last night.

That's okay. The fact
is, I asked him to come.

Before you, long before
you, there was Drake.

It was a mistake. It didn't work
out. We broke up after a few months.

Why didn't you tell me, Carrie?

That was in the past. I
would have understood.

Because I wasn't
sure it was in the past.

Leonard, don't you understand? I
thought I had lost you to your work.

I was lonely. I felt neglected.

I wasn't sure anymore
about anything, most of all us.

I needed some time
to sort things out.

So you invented the little
fiction about Aunt Edna.

Russell said I could use his house for a
few days. He said he wouldn't tell anyone.

A few weeks ago, I got a
call out of the blue from Drake.

He said he was coming
to the conference.

I sent a note to his hotel
asking him to come by last night.

Drake had always been a
friend, someone I could talk to.

That's what I wanted,
just someone to talk to.

A t least that's
what I told myself.

When he arrived,
he'd been drinking.

It became obvious a
talk was not on his mind.

All right, Carrie. This is not
necessary. This is just not necessary.

I tried to reason with him,
but he was persistent, abusive.

He dragged me into the
bedroom. I was terrified.

I shoved him off, and
I ran out of the room.

Jessica, I did spend the night in my
car up in the hills, but I didn't sleep.

- That's the truth.
- All right.

I understand.

And we will never
speak of this again.

Never speak of it again?

Leonard, Carrie has to tell
Sergeant Kettler about this.

No. But it's going to come out.

And when it does, it will
only make things worse.

I mean, Sergeant Kettler
isn't stupid. I said no!

Now she did not k*ll that
man, and I'm not going

to put her through
this public humiliation.

If you love her,
Jessica, as much as I do,

then what has been said in
this room will stay in this room.

Hello, Mrs. Fletcher. They
told me you were looking for me.

Sergeant, I want
to talk with you.

Oh, yeah, come on in. Thanks.

Make yourself comfortable.

You know, Mrs. Fletcher, I'm
gonna lay my cards right on the table.

- It's about my wife.
- Your wife?

Yeah. I told you,
she's a writer.

Oh, yes, yes. I—I
remember you told me.

Right. You see, I make notes on all
my cases, you know, uh, put 'em on tape.

I'm sure you noticed. And
my wife writes them up.

I've got stuff you wouldn't
believe. Sex, corruption,

real kinky stuff they couldn't
even put in the papers.

Oh, well, yes, yes.
I can imagine that,

uh—that sort of thing
might be very popular.

The problem is, she doesn't
have anything published—yet.

That's where you
come in, bein' a pro.

We figured we give you all our stuff, you
know, the notes, the rough manuscripts.

You write em up, you sell it to
your publisher and we split 50-50.

What do you say?

Uh,

w-well, I hardly know
what to say, uh...

Well, actually, yes.

Drake Eaton's m*rder might
make a very juicy potboiler.

That's what I thought. Of course, I'd
have to have access to all of your data—

Autopsy, medical reports,
interrogations, absolutely everything.

Absolutely. Absolutely.

- We got a deal?
- Oh, it's a deal, Sergeant.

Hello there, Miss DeHaven.
Oh, Mrs. Fletcher, I'm terribly

sorry. I'm late for a
meeting with Thor Lundquist.

I don't want to keep you. Please,
I don't want this to get around,

but I am working very
closely with Sergeant Kettler.

We are writing a book
together. How exciting for you.

Oh, yes. Oh, my goodness, I mean, this—this
m*rder mystery is really a puzzle.

I mean, here this young Mr. Eaton
arrives and gets himself m*rder*d...

when practically no one here
knows him, excepting you, of course.

That's not entirely correct. He was
also intimately involved with your niece.

Oh, dear, well, I don't think
anybody knew about that.

Oh, but how silly. Of course you
would know, being so close to the victim.

He was an employee,
nothing more. An employee?

Oh, dear, I must be
confused. I mean, I thought

because you had adjoining
rooms at the hotel...

Well, I couldn't help but
take a peek inside, and I

did notice all of your
toiletries right next to his,

and, well, I assumed— We had adjoining
rooms to facilitate our work schedule.

Look, don't get in my way, Mrs. Fletcher.
You're way out of your weight class.

I put so much heat on
that homicide detective,

he checks with me
before he winds his watch.

He knows who m*rder*d Drake—
Your niece's jealous husband.

Well, that— That
is just a theory.

Theory? He has everything
but the m*rder w*apon.

He even has the scarf with
Leonard Palmer's blood on it.

Well, Leonard's not the
only person who owns

a plaid scarf. Come
off it, Mrs. Fletcher.

Kettler may be provincial,
but he's not stupid.

He already has a dozen witnesses
who'll testify that Leonard Palmer...

was wearing a scarf like
that on the night of the m*rder.

And now, if you'll excuse
me, I have a meeting.

Mrs. Fletcher? Fay, what
is it? What's happened?

Russell's given Leonard notice.
He's been fired. Oh, dear. But why?

Politics. What else?

Yes?

Um, I—I'm sorry, Mrs. Fletcher.
I—I can't talk to you now.

I'm expecting a very
important phone call.

I'm sorry, Mr. Armstrong, and
please forgive my Irish temper,

but whatever happened to the
principle "innocent until proven guilty"?

If we wait until Leonard is
proved guilty, it will be too late.

Now I have the reputation
of this institute to consider!

Who else besides yourself knew that
Carrie was staying in your vacation house?

I resent that implication.

Well, I'm sorry, but I'd
appreciate an answer.

Or do I call Sergeant
Kettler and have him ask you?

No one knew, at
least not from me.

Could anyone have
found out inadvertently?

Perhaps phoned the
house looking for you?

No. I don't like being disturbed when I'm
there so the, uh— the number is unlisted.

Now you're going to have to

excuse me. This is my
phone call, Mrs. Fletcher.

Armstrong. What?

Yes, she's here. Just a
moment. Mrs. Fletcher, for you.

Sergeant Kettler.

Uh, Sergeant Kettler, I
assume that there is some

good reason why you’ve
brought us all back here again?

Yeah. You know, uh,
book-wise, I figured you'd

probably really like
to see a pro in action.

You know, scene-of-the-crime
type thing. Oh, yes.

Sergeant, are—are you charging
me with something or not?

Well, now just hold
your horses, Dr. Palmer.

I brought the two of
you over here because I

figured, well, uh, this
is where it happened,

and you both, one of you,
might remember something.

But Leonard was never here.

Is this your g*n, Dr. Palmer?

Well, I—I—I can't be sure.

I can be sure. You see, the
registration checks out to you.

We found it in a storm drain a
half a mile from here, wiped clean.

But Leonard told you that he
hadn't seen the g*n for months.

Someone must have
taken the g*n from his home.

Is this your scarf, Dr. Palmer?

Sergeant, there are dozens of
scarves— Thousands, in fact—like that.

Ma'am, I have a scenario going

here, and you're kind of
messing up my rhythm.

Possibly because I'm
marching to a different drummer.

Sergeant, the telescope pointed in
this direction, the g*n, even the scarf...

I mean, isn't it obvious that somebody
is trying to frame Leonard Palmer?

Mrs. Fletcher, I
know what I'm doing.

Doctor, how did Drake
Eaton's blood get on your scarf?

That's... not Drake
Eaton's blood. That's mine.

That's not Drake Eaton's
blood on your scarf?

Well, if it's your blood,
that means one thing.

You two got into an argument
before you pulled the g*n and shot him!

No! That's not
true! I had the g*n.

I brought it with me when I came
here. I was afraid to be alone.

I kept it in the drawer
in the bedroom.

When Drake tried to force himself on
me, I—I got free and I grabbed the g*n.

Oh, you saying you
shot him in self-defense?

No! No! He took the g*n away
from me. That's when I left the house.

- I can't buy that, ma'am.
I'm gonna have to arrest you

for the m*rder of— - No!
Now, you leave her out of this!

Carrie had nothing to do with
this. I shot Drake Eaton, Sergeant.

I'm the one who k*lled him.

I did see them
through the telescope.

I ran out of the observatory,
drove to the vacation house.

When I got there, he
came to the door alone.

But I'd seen shadows
against the bedroom window.

I was sure I heard a woman's voice.
I knew Carrie was in that bedroom.

I guess you were pretty
angry, huh? I hit him, or tried to.

But he hit me, bloodied my nose. That
must be how my blood got on the scarf.

And so on and so forth.

I'll make sure you get a copy of
this for your notes, Mrs. Fletcher.

Sergeant— Now look, I'm not
gonna tell you how to write it,

but I do think you ought
to pay attention to the

technique. Technique?
I'm not sure that I know...

You get 'em together in the same room
where it happens, everyone's uptight,

you play one against the
other and somebody cracks.

Sergeant, I am
impressed. I—I really am.

But you are too
clever a detective...

to be taken in by
Leonard's confession. Right.

I mean, it seems
obvious to me— Right?

Leonard Palmer didn't do it.

Well, then, why on
earth did you arrest him?

Tactics. See, as long as
I've got Dr. Palmer here

behind bars, the real
m*rder*r's gonna feel safe.

Then you know who
m*rder*d Drake Eaton?

Well, sure. His wife
is the one who pulled

the trigger. This poor
sap's covering for her.

Well, I can see that you're
way ahead of me, as usual.

Of course I don't believe
it. He's protecting you.

The question is, how badly
do you need protecting?

I didn't k*ll him, Jessica. Drake was
alive when I ran out of the cottage.

All right. But one thing
doesn't make sense.

If Leonard didn't
know where you were,

how did he know to point the
telescope at Russell Armstrong's house?

Well, he didn't. He said it
moved of its own accord.

I know it sounds crazy, but
that's exactly what happened.

He said it was locked in
position. And then suddenly,

while he was in the
middle of some calculations,

it just swung around
and dropped down.

He looked through the
eyepiece. That's when he

saw Drake and me
through the picture window.

It's crazy. There's no reason
why that should have happened.

Perhaps there is.

Hello, Fay. Oh, Mrs. Fletcher.

Have you seen
Leonard? How is he?

He's as well as can be
expected, I suppose. Any luck?

The comet? No, not yet.

You know, it's ironic.

In medieval days, people
were terrified of comets.

They thought of them as
omens of evil, harbingers of death.

I've never been much for portents,
but the last couple of days...

It must have been very
difficult for you, Fay,

feeling as you do about Leonard.
Yes. I admire him very much.

Oh, I think it's much more
than mere admiration, Fay.

I mean, after all these years.

Please, Mrs. Fletcher,
I am very busy.

Is this the program you gave Leonard
the night that Mr. Eaton was m*rder*d?

Yes. Are you sure?

Yes, I'm sure. I'm sorry, Fay.

But it isn't. The computer
program that you gave Leonard...

had a ring of
coffee spilled on it.

This one has been redone.

No doubt without the
commands that ordered the

telescope to move to the
vacation house window.

My God! I never dreamed
Leonard would k*ll him.

You only wanted Leonard to realize that his
young wife was unworthy of his devotion.

Carrie wasn't capable of
loving Leonard the way I did.

I shared his life more
than she ever could.

If only— If only Leonard had
married you instead of Carrie.

I should have put
it together sooner.

You phoned Russell at the vacation
house to find out what happened,

but Russell said that
that number was unlisted.

Well, I overheard Carrie
talking to Drake Eaton.

She said she was going to spend a
few days at Russell's vacation house.

I thought if Leonard could only
see for himself what she was up to...

And then to be sure that your plan had
worked, you went up to the vacation house.

No! Leonard said that there were
shadows in the bedroom window.

Just before he entered, he
thought he heard a woman's voice.

Well, it wasn't me.
I was home in bed,

as far away from Leonard and
Carrie and Drake Eaton as I could get.

It's ridiculous, Mrs. Fletcher.

How could anyone in
their right mind assume that

Leonard Palmer, of all
people, would sh**t someone?

What? I said—

Never mind. I
heard what you said.

Fay, it may not be too late
to undo what's been done.

Miss DeHaven,
thank you for coming.

I apologize for the short
notice and the late hour.

You said on the phone you had
some information about Drake's m*rder.

Yes, in view of
your keen interest,

I—I thought you might
like to know how Leonard

Palmer came to be
at the vacation house.

He was spying on his wife
through that telescope. Not exactly.

His assistant Fay Hewitt— You
may have met her at the reception...

Gave him a little help
by programming the

computer to move the
telescope to the window.

Did she? I wonder why...

Oh, I see. Hell
hath no fury, hmm?

I'm curious about something.

Did you follow Mr. Eaton
to the vacation house,

or did you see the note Carrie
had sent asking him to meet her?

- I was never at that house.
- Weren't you?

Say, Mrs. Fletcher, what happened to that
nice-little-lady-from-Maine act of yours?

You had to have been
there, Miss DeHaven.

You said the police had found the
scarf with Leonard Palmer's blood on it.

But even the police had assumed it
was Mr. Eaton's blood on that scarf,

which means that you had
seen the fight between them.

A slip of the tongue, Mrs.
Fletcher, and I'll deny I said it.

Leonard mentioned he'd seen a
shadow at the bedroom window.

He thought it was
Carrie in the bedroom.

I thought it might have been Fay
Hewitt, but, in reality, it was you.

You're confused, Mrs. Fletcher.

No, not anymore.

Carrie had sent Mr. Eaton

a note inviting him
to the vacation house.

You probably saw
the note and followed,

perhaps observing his
romantic advances from outside.

But Carrie resisted him.

Even threatened
him with the g*n.

But according to what she said,
he took the g*n away from her.

Seeing Carrie leave, you must
have come in and had it out with him.

But Leonard Palmer arrived and Drake
hustled you into the bedroom out of sight.

Leonard thought it was Carrie in
the bedroom, but it was you, Madeline.

Leonard said that
Drake bloodied his nose.

But Leonard was probably
unconscious for a while.

I can only imagine what was between
you and Drake, but you’d had enough.

You were the one who shot him.

So when Leonard regained
consciousness and found Drake dead,

he assumed Carrie had shot him.

Remarkable, Mrs. Fletcher.

Too bad you can't prove
any of this. It's all theory.

I'll tell you something
that isn't theory.

When you came down
from your room in the inn that

morning and I expressed
my condolences, you said...

Whoever shot him is
gonna feel even sorrier.

How did you know he'd
been shot, Miss DeHaven?

Fay Hewitt told me.
She called my room.

But Fay didn't know he'd been
shot, only that he'd been m*rder*d.

That nickel-and-dime hustler was climbin'
over me to make a name for himself,

and all the while
he was tellin' me...

Nobody uses Madeline
DeHaven the way he did.

Finding that g*n in
the bedroom was like...

Like an omen, a
portent, Mrs. Fletcher.

I didn't even hear it go off.

You know, I gotta hand it to you,
Mrs. Fletcher. You are pretty slick.

Well, you're not so
bad yourself, Sergeant.

Oh, listen, uh, about this case.

I know we talked about
a deal, but, uh, I don't

believe we ever
finalized anything, did we?

Oh, yes, that's right. I mean,
we agreed to think about it.

Yeah. 'Cause I certainly
wouldn't want to welsh on anything.

But this producer is so worried
about exclusive rights. A producer?

Yeah, when the story about Madeline
DeHaven's confession hit the wire services,

I got a call from this Hollywood
producer who happens to be a writer too.

I see. And he wants to
write the story himself.

Yeah. He also needs
a technical adviser. I'm

probably gonna get a
part in the thing, you know.

Well, don't worry about it, Sergeant.
I mean, don't give it another thought.

Well, I must say good-bye. Be
sure to let me know how it turns out.

Oh, thank you.

Carrie.

Jessica. Jessica, we've
had so little time to visit.

Why don't you reconsider
and stay for a few more days.

Not a chance. Please, get me to the station
before Sergeant Kettler changes his mind.