01x09 - 6 A.M.

[bunniefuu]

[Jazz playing]

[Indistinct conversations]

I'll take my usual, and, uh, whatever these fine young ladies are drinking.

Actually, I'll take that against the money you already owe me.

Come on, man. It's like that?

Yeah, Izzy, it's like that, my man.

Relax, Rudy. Somebody's ship just came in.

Next time I'm in here, I'm buying for everyone.

What kind of crazy scheme you come up with this time?

Rain check on those drinks.

Good luck cashing it in.

[Song ends, cheers and applause]

Man: [Amplified voice] Thank you. We'll be back in 10.

Keep smiling, 'cause you're gonna be the one paying it.

That's right.

I've finally found it... a smoking g*n.

Now the world's gonna know what kind of businessman Al Rainey is.

[Horn blares in distance]

[Train tracks rumbling]

[Siren wailing in distance]

[Liquid sloshes]

[Groans]

[Train tracks rumbling]

[Mozart's "Don Giovanni, A Cenar Teco" playing]

♪ Don Giovanni ♪

[Whistles blows]

♪ A cenar teco ♪
♪ M'invita... ♪

[Record needle scratches]

Rules are rules, Henry. No opera before 8:00 A.M.

It's a quarter past 10:00.

Oh. Guess we should open the store.

Late night?

No. Early morning.

I'll be okay after I iron out a few kinks.

[Charlie Parker's "Crazeology" playing]

Ah!

[Grunts]

You should loosen up yourself. Looking a tad stiff.

I'm just not a fan of this new popular music.

So pardon me if I'm not going to put my thing down, flip it, and reverse it.

Wrong genre. That's rap. This is jazz.

It's all the same to me.

I mean, where's the melody? The harmony? The structure?

What you young people are listening to these days is not music. It's just noise.

What's that?

You want it louder?

[Volume turns up]

[Telephone rings]

[Loudly] Dr. Henry Morgan.

Oh, thank God!

Yes, I know exactly where that is. Right.

I'll be there right now. [Hangs up receiver]

Well, duty calls.

They just found another body uptown.

And please try to keep the music down.

I won't have you disturbing our neighbors.

Yeah, whatever... dad.

[Door bells jingle]

♪

[Siren whoops, police radio chatter]

Jo: Got anything?

Possible flame source.

[Camera shutter clicking]

Huh.

Possible combustible material.

Unless this guy was drinking rocket fuel, there had to be something else.

Henry: An accelerant of some kind.

Whatever incinerated this man b*rned very hot and very fast.

Better to burn out than fade away.

How poetic.

Oh, not me. Neil Young.

Oh, he's a poet?

Henry, we need a cause of death.

Pretty obvious, ain't it?

Manner of death is never obvious. Context is everything.

5 to 1 he'll say he was m*rder*d.

This man was m*rder*d!

No fair. He always says that.

Then incinerated after his death.

Wow. That's a new one. How did you know all that?

There's no sign of soot in his mouth.

Or the nostrils.

If this man were alive when he was b*rned, he would've inhaled super-heated air, causing significant fire damage and soot in the nostrils and mouth.

Okay, but we still need evidence of foul play to turn this into a homicide, and... all I see is ash.

You see, that's where you're wrong.

Beneath this carbonized layer of skin lie immaculate strata of muscles and soft tissue.

Burning a body doesn't destroy evidence, as one might assume, but preserves it.

This man's k*ller has done us a favor.

Oh, yeah? Tell him that.

♪



Henry: No matter how we live or die, we all end the same...

In silence. [Clanking]

All of our hopes and dreams in life become mere echoes of a tale cut short.

But if we're lucky enough, our stories live on.

Our song finds voice in the hearts of those who remember us and loved us.

No sign of smoke inhalation.

So you were right.

He was already dead when his car caught on fire?

The petechiae there and there are consistent with strangulation.

It's like he was strangled with...

I don't know. A-a thin wire, maybe?

Hmm. Forceps.

[Squish]

A reed from a musical instrument.

Woodwind... Saxophone or clarinet.

Wire...

Piano wire, perhaps.

Hmm. Gauge of a treble G.

[Humming in key of G]

[Humming off-key]

[Continues humming in G]

I can't... I just can't hear it.

[Both hum in tune]

[Clears throat]

You two startin' up a barbershop quartet?

Just demonstrating that I have perfect pitch.

Only 1 in 10,000 people have it.

As for an I.D. on the victim...

I already got one off the vehicle's V.I.N. number.

Isaiah Williams. Age 29.

Yes, his size and weight match what this man's measurements would have been prior to being b*rned.

So, uh... [clears throat] time of death?

Lucas?

Oh! Almost forgot.

[Squish] [Groans]

Core temperature.

The longer the body is dead, the more it cools.

Only this man wasn't 98.6 degrees when he d*ed.

He was super heated, cooked inside the car.

We need to know the temperature at which the accelerant b*rned and the duration of the fire in order to know his body temperature.

And from that figure, we can approximate his time of death.

Oh. Look... what I found.

What is that?

Cellulose.

Ceuloid acetate, to be precise.

As in old film stock. It's crazy flammable.

This is the accelerant that caused that fire to burn so hot so fast.

Who even uses film anymore?

Uh, nobody, you know. Just Steven Spielberg, Wes Anderson, myself.

Yep, I was a film major, and I did some important experimental films in college, mostly horror, but I also dabbled in horror-erotica.

Tasteful, though.

The victim's next of kin is here. Shall I send her?

Yes. Thanks. Mind if we use your office?

Oh, yes, by all means. I'll, uh, cover the body.

You know, I could always bust out the old film projector and have a little screening... or not.

Henry: We found these on his person.

[Sighs] It could be.

Izzy always wore a lot of jewelry.

Some real, some fake. Just...

Not always the same stuff.

As soon as he'd get into some money trouble, he'd have to pa...

You recognize it?

That's a sax reed.

[Voice breaks] It's Izzy. That's my brother's.

Ever since he was 8, he...

He'd never go anywhere without one in his mouth.

So he was a musician.

Um... our father was the real player.

Yeah, still is, I suppose.

Who's your father?

You ever hear of Pepper Evans?

No. Who... who is he?

The best jazz musician you've never heard of.

When was the last time you spoke to your brother?

Last night. Called from a bar.

Oh. Any idea which one?

Yeah, there was, uh, music in the background.

[Voice breaking] Izzy was all excited.

Said dad gave him something that was gonna put him on easy street.

Do you know where we might be able to locate Pepper?

Last I heard, he has a standing gig at 125th and Broadway.

[Train tracks clacking]

[Saxophone playing slow jazz]

Excuse me.

Pepper Evans? [Stops playing]

[[Helicopter whirring in distance]]

Who's asking?

Detective?

Homicide?

Yeah.

We'd like to ask you a few questions about your son Isaiah.

What happened to my boy?

[Train wheels clacking]

Is there anyone that would've wanted to hurt your son in any way?

Not that I can think of.

But Izzy... he wasn't no boy scout either.

Your daughter said you gave Izzy something the night he d*ed.

You talked to Ella?

What'd you give him?

Just... just a bunch of my old...

Reel-to-reel audiotapes.

Audiotapes.

So it wasn't film in Izzy's car.

What was on the tapes?

Probably nothing.

But Izzy... he lived for those old recordings, so I put 'em in my old case.

Case?

For my horn.

[Chuckles] It was Grafton alligator, and I was just using it to catch coins.

He called Ella from a nightclub.

Izzy liked clubs.

There was jazz playing in the background.

Not many of them left.

Maybe Dutch's?

If we have any more questions...

You know where to find me.

[Door opens and closes]

Abe: You met Pepper Evans?!

Oh, he was the greatest!

You know, I think I got one of his albums right here.

I mean, that guy... he was a prodigy.

Playing with Lionel Hubbard's band at the age of 14, yeah.

You don't... you don't know who Lionel Hubbard is?

Huh? The guy who wrote "6 A.M."

One of the biggest names in jazz.

Yeah, Pepper... he played with all of them.

Yeah, Miles, Coltrane, Dizzy.

When are you going to stop saying the names of people I've never heard of?

[Scoffs] Henry, they're titans. They're legends.

They're gods.

Jazz is truly an American art form.

Now I'm gonna go on the record and say...

Don't say it.

Jazz is our classical music.

Ugh!

Failed as a father! Have I taught you nothing?

Some things are not taught. They're felt.

You know, I got it with my other records.

I'll be right back.

[Playing Chopin's "Nocturne in E-flat Major, Op. 9, No. 2"]

[Plays discordant keys]

No, no, no. Abraham, look.

It's like this.

♪

Or like this huh?

♪

Now focus. [Man and woman arguing in distance]

Classical music is the foundation of civilized society.

[Muffled crash, woman screams in distance]

Man: [Muffled] What are you thinking?!

[Woman shouts indistinctly] And the sign of a refined mind.

It's boring.

Abe, the notes.

[Banging on door]

Man: Damn woman!

Keep practicing.

Sorry. Me and the old lady... We having a disagreement.

Oh it's me. Red from next door.

Well, you're a doctor, right? Can you help me out?

I got a gig tonight.

Yes. Of course. Come in. Come in.

[Door closes]

He's seen blood before.

Right.

Please have a seat.

Ah. I'm afraid it's gonna need stitches.

Uh, bear with me a moment.

Chopin, huh?

You've heard of him?

Oh, yeah.

He's one of the greats.

And it bores me half to death.

[Chuckles]

You ever try playing jazz?

I don't have the sheet music.

Well, that's the beautiful thing about it.

You don't need it.

Now all you do is take a theme like this...

Old and crusty Chopin here...

[Plays "Nocturne in E-flat Major, Op. 9, No. 2"]

And make it your own.

[Playing jazz-infused rendition]

This may, uh, sting a bit. [Stops playing]

[Pepper playing Sonny Rollins' "Alfie's Theme Differently "]

It's remarkable.

Ah, I knew you'd come around.

Can't act like a philistine forever, can you?

No, I mean the resemblance between young Pepper and Izzy.

It's uncanny.

Oh.

♪

His son was at a show on the night he was m*rder*d.

Ever heard of a club called Dutch's?

Oh, yes.

It's where all the hepcats used to smoke their reefer cigarettes.

Get with the times, Henry.

Dutch's? Dutch's closed decades ago.

No, the place is called Rudy's now.

No, it's a great place.

Yeah, it's up on Lenox and 140th.

♪

Jo: Isaiah Williams.

You remember seeing him in here Friday night?

No. No, doesn't look familiar.

I find that hard to believe.

Clearly you know Pepper Evans.

Okay, what's your point?

That Izzy is the spirit and image of his father.

The young Pepper Evans pictured there on your wall.

You know, we could always subpoena the footage from the A.T.M. across the street, go through it face by face.

When we find out who was here on Friday night...

Okay, okay. I might've seen him. It was a busy night.

I-I just forgot, that's all.

Look, I-I should get back, get ready for tonight.

I-I got a real hot act, okay?

Before you go, might I trouble you for a glass of your Macallan 30, please?

It's worth it.

[Whispers] Henry!

What the hell?

What you were hiding behind the bar and couldn't help looking at every time Izzy's name was mentioned.

I don't suppose this is alligator?

Look, just give me it back.

Pepper Evans' initials.

Izzy had it with him the night he was m*rder*d.

The night he was in your bar.

Look, Izzy owed me money, a-and I took the case as collateral, but I did not k*ll him.

You took the case how?

While Izzy was busy running his mouth, bragging about how he was gonna be rich, I snuck out and I-I took it out of his car.

What else was in there?

Uh...

Some old reel-to-reel tapes.

[Plucking notes on stand-up bass]

What's wrong?

[Plays off-key note]

It's a tad sharp.

So tune it.

[Scrape]

It's a new string.

Recently replaced.

Izzy was k*lled with what I thought was a piano wire.

Treble G.

So what are you sayin'?

Right note, wrong instrument.

Things aren't looking too good for you, Rudy.

I got a bar full of witnesses who saw you confront Izzy the night he was k*lled.

We also found the victim's stolen property in your possession, which you lied about.

k*lling a guy that owed me money?

That's no way to get paid.

You knew he wasn't good for it.

Jo: He came into that bar.

He was waving his money all around.

Hanson: Money you knew he didn't have.

That made you mad. Didn't it, Rudy?

So you k*lled him and took the only thing that was worth something.

Look, I wasn't the only one whose face Izzy was in that night.

Did he happen to tell you where all this money was coming from?

Ever since I've known him, Izzy claimed that his pops was the one who really wrote "6 A.M.," that Lionel Hubbard, jazz legend, cheated him out of a single.

Can you imagine that?

k*lling someone literally for a song?

It's not just a song.

"6 A.M." changed everything.

That track broke all the rules, changing keys and time signatures as if the person who wrote it had so much joy inside his heart he couldn't pick just one way to let it out.

[Door opens]

[Telephone ringing in distance] Lieutenant?

I've never heard you speak so passionately about anything.

Why don't I have time of death?

That man's alibi is hinging on it, doctor.

How hard can it be?

To be honest with you, uh, quite hard.

Normally, it would be a question of temperature.

But in this case, it's a matter of thermodynamics.

Lucas: 160 degrees!

You see...

That's it. Sorry.

That's the temperature that Izzy's body reached when it was cooked inside the car.

The fire b*rned approximately half an hour.

Lucas, did you use the standard cooling rate after death of 1.5 degrees per hour?

Yes.

Okay, so legal time of death...

3:15, with the temperature, the corrective factor, meaning... The precise time of death is exactly...

9:00.

11:58.

11:58?

Yes.

Izzy's body temperature rose to 160 degrees in half an hour.

It would've dropped equally as fast.

Thermodynamics. Sorry.

Meaning our club owner Rudy couldn't have k*lled him.

I got any number of patrons who have him tending bar till 3:00 in the morning.

Either way, I don't think he's good for the m*rder.

Okay, so what are you thinking, detective?

Rudy said that Izzy had audiotapes in his car.

So what if Izzy had found the proof that he needed, and now that proof has b*rned up with him inside the car?

Yeah, only now, there's no way of knowing what was actually on Pepper's old audiotapes.

Although there is a way of figuring out who might have destroyed them...

Whoever owns the rights to "6 A.M."

Al Rainey.

C.E.O. of Dovebird Records.

He owns Lionel Hubbard's publishing He's a guy who's made a career off of fleecing musicians.

How... how did you...

My nephew was one of them.

What?

I'm learning that you have all sorts of unexpected dimensions.

We'll go pay Rainey a visit. Come on.

So... big music buff, huh?

I'm a cinephile myself.

Yeah, more of an auteur, actually.

If you ever wanted to check out any of my student...

It's... coming.

Gentlemen.

First thing tomorrow morning?

Yeah.

[Siren whooping in distance]

Al: Sure. I saw Izzy there that night.

He was there for the same reason everybody was...

To watch these boys do their thing.

Jo: How well did you know Izzy?

Well enough to wipe his nose while he was still wearing diapers.

Damn shame what happened to that boy.

His old man was a solid session guy for me back in the day.

Did he mention anything that night about royalties for a song his father wrote?

You mean "6 A.M."?

If Izzy's mouth was moving, chances are that story was coming out of it.

Witnesses also told us the night Izzy was k*lled that he confronted you, saying he had found some kind of proof.

Izzy had a hundred versions of that story.

Hard to keep track of all of 'em.

So Pepper didn't write "6 A.M."?

Wanna know how I know?

Because that track was recorded in that room, with me sittin' in this booth.

A lot of people were smoking a lot of stuff that night, but I was stone-cold sober, so believe me when I tell you, Lionel Hubbard wrote that song.

Or if you don't believe me, you can dig through my vault.

But you not gonna find Pepper's name anywhere near that master.

You still have the old master?

Well, yes and no.

It's all digital now, lossless compression.

It's a brave new world.

That's smart.

I hear that the old reel-to-reel tapes can be quite flammable.

I'd be happy to show you the vault.

Let you listen to the original "6 A.M." session if you want.

Man: All right, let's take it from the top.

Bud Gray quintet, Day One.

[Click]

All right, from the top.

[Playing Frank Basile's "The High Desert"]

♪

[Playing Erroll Garner's "Boogie Woogie Boogie"]

All right, little man, your turn.

No, you all right, you all right.

Look, forget about the notes. Jazz is about how you feel.

Now you feeling cold and lonely, play it sad like this. [Playing riff slow-tempo]

You feeling fat and happy, you play it big, play it loud. [Playing riff up-tempo]

Now you feeling hot and mad, m*rder them keys, boy.

m*rder 'em.

[Playing riff up-tempo loudly]

♪

Go, man, go! [Laughs]

♪

Make your hair stand up, don't it? [Laughs]

Thank you, Mr. Rainey.

Not a problem.

Ah. Were you a tad close to a fire?

Excuse me?

The hairs on your arm...

They've recently been singed off.

Yeah, well, uh, I did a little barbecuing this weekend.

Well, I trust you two can find your way out.

A few b*rned arm hairs?

That's not enough to bring him in.

I don't suppose there was anything on the master recording that proved Pepper authored the track?

No. Maybe Izzy just overestimated his father's talent.

Or else d*ed trying to immortalize it.

Okay, let's consider the possibility that Izzy was telling the truth, that he did find some sort of proof.

Well, whatever he did find would have burnt up with him in the car...

Remember what I said about fire preserving evidence?

You wanna take another look at Izzy's car?

Yes. I think it's time we performed an auto-topsy.

[Under breath] Wow.

So you really think we're gonna have better luck than the arson team pulling something out of here?

By recreating the crime... Lucas?

Yep?

You're my victim.

Every day.

All right, Lucas, front seat.

You would be hiding in the back, waiting to surprise Izzy.

[Clears throat] So I'm a big man...

Al Rainey's size. I would have to duck down like this.

Okay, and I'm just chillin' up here, acting like I've never seen a horror movie before?

Not checking the backseat for a deranged psychopath?

Sorry.

If I were to slip a bass string around your neck, how do you stop me?

Okay, I couldn't get my hands under the string, so I'd go for your hands?

Yes, very good.

[Straining voice] All right, squeeze harder.

I work method. Come on. [Grunts]

There you go. I fight, I fight, I fight.

[Grunting]

Aha.

[Exhales] What?

Aw, it's over?

I was just starting to feel my character.

If Izzy knocked something off the k*ller while he struggled, it could be buried under the melted remains of these pleather seats.

And if a burnt car acts like a burnt body...

Let's see what's underneath the skin.

Lucas, scalpel.

A cuff link...

Perfectly preserved.

"D. B."

Huh. David Bowie, Daniel Boone, D.B. Cooper, Doobie Brothers.

You're getting warmer, Lucas.

Dovebird Records.

[Unzips]

[Indistinct conversations]

It's about time.

I've been sitting here for over an hour.

Let's get to it, then.

I think you k*lled Izzy Williams, Mr. Rainey.

We have six witnesses who saw you exit Rudy's the same time as Izzy's death.

And if it's true, his story about you cheating his father Pepper out of a hit song, well, you stand to lose more money than most people make their entire lives.

I think we both know you're gonna have to do better than that.

I believe we can.

You've seen that cuff link before, haven't you?

Found it in Izzy's car.

The only thing I care to look at now is my lawyer.

He should be here by now.

We're executing a search warrant for your residence, along with Dovebird Records.

Now either you k*lled Izzy yourself or you know who did.

Either way, you are looking guilty as hell.

[Door opens]

Are you planning on charging my client with a crime? [Door closes]

If not, I don't know what we're doing here. [Briefcase thuds]

I'm entitled to hold on to your client for 72 hours, and I intend to enjoy every one of those hours.

30 years of Dovebird Records history. [Telephone ringing]

Grab a shovel.

Bit of a change of pace from my regular duties.

Yeah, all hands on deck, pal. Lieutenant's orders.

Now...

We're looking for anything tying Pepper Evans to "6 A.M."...

A certificate of authorship would certainly give us a motive on Al.

There is no rhyme or reason to any of this stuff.

[Classical piano playing]

[Playing Schumann's "Etudes, Op. 13"]

[Knock on door, stops playing]

[Door squeaks]

Hi, doc.

[Sighs] You caught me practicing a little myself.

Is today's Abe's lesson? I'm terribly sorry.

He's not here.

I know.

No, I just stopped by to say bye.

I see. Please, come in.

See, I wanted to tell little man goodbye in person, but, uh...

I got a 6-month gig in Paris.

Yeah, let's just hope the French girls aren't as hot-tempered as the American ones.

Well, I'm sorry to hear that.

But I'm happy for you, of course.

Abe will be disappointed.

Just keep him practicing.

He got an ear for jazz, that boy.

I only wish I could help him cultivate it.

All I did was light a match.

Now it's up to you to hand him the torch and let him find his own way.

Let him become his own man.

Hmm.

Is that what your father did for you?

[Laughs]

Hell, no!

Why do you think I know it's the right thing to do?

[Latches click open]

One for the road?

That's handy.

We musicians are like bedouins.

We move where the wind moves.

Everything I need is inside this case.

[Papers rustling]

Where's Pepper's saxophone case?

Huh?

[Grunting]

Uh...

[Latches click]

What are you...

Whoa. Whoa. Uh...

I believe we found our master tape... and that motive.

[Indistinct conversations]

Tell me you've changed your mind about detaining my client.

What's that?

It's the original recording of "6 A.M."

Proof that Izzy was telling the truth the night he was k*lled.

What's he talking about?

So you're telling me you somehow managed to dig up the original master of "6 A.M."?

Izzy hid it in his father's saxophone case...

Somewhere he knew it would be safe.

Care for a listen, Mr. Rainey?

Or you could sit in this room alone in silence for the next 67 hours.

[Click, whirring]

[Static and warping sound]

[Reece clears throat]

[Static conttnues]

[Whirring]

[Static continues]

I don't know about you...

But I don't hear no hit single.

[Laughs] [Hits table]

I can't dance to that. [Snapping fingers]

[Laughs]

[Clicks off]

Al: Can we go home now?

Detective?

[Telephone ringing in distance]

Mr. Evans. Um...

Please... have a seat.

What can I do for you?

It's funny how loss creeps up on you.

You haven't figured out who k*lled my son yet, have you?

No, no, but we might have the "why."

We believe that Izzy thought he had proof you wrote "6 A.M."

It's possible that's why he was k*lled.

What?

The old tapes that you gave him.

I gotta ask you, Mr. Evans...

Is it true? Did you write it?

I did.

Cut it the day after Ella was born.

Hmm. Ella was a colicky baby.

She cried day and night.

I left the studio to help her mother.

Came back three days later.

They had written me out of everything.

Why didn't you fight it?

Take Al to court.

What difference does it make?

My son's dead.

I never should have told him that story.

Um... Where did you find that?

In your son's car. You recognize it?

Mr. Evans?

No, ma'am. You have yourself a nice day.

This thing hasn't seen a lot of love over the last... I don't know... 20 years.

The emulsion has separated from the base.

What does that even mean?

Oh. This must be how it feels to be... well, you.

Kinda feels good being the expert.

If you wouldn't mind...

Huh?

Illuminating me on the subject of audio recordings...

Happy to help, doc.

Look, you can tell the tape is damaged if you know what you're looking for.

You see these uneven edges?

There's two layers to these old magnetic tapes, and once they come apart, you're left with diddily-squat.

And there's no way to recover what was recorded on the tape?

No, these things are older than 8-tracks.

Genuine antiques.

Then we have one more chance.

[Timer dings]

[Oven door closes, pan clatters]

Please, reassure me one last time that this is a legitimate process.

Hey, you don't think I'd take any chances with the original recording of "6 A.M." huh?

Of all the antiques I've ever handled, this one is truly priceless.

[Sighs]

This reel is suffering from sticky-shed syndrome.

Baking the tape... fuses the two layers back together again.

Dare I ask how you came about this particular area of expertise?

Transferring old dead Bootlegs.

Another seminal band you couldn't stomach, remember?

I will disown you if you ever don those tie-dyed pants again.

Maybe we should open a bottle of wine.

Spark one up. Oh, all right, fine, fine.

You know, k*ll the moment.

Now look, hey, who would have thought you and I, about to rewrite jazz history?

[Clatter]

Abe baked the tape!

It's as good as new, like a Phoenix rising from the ashes, it brought the original recording back to life.

Baked? Like in an oven?

Henry, please tell me you did not take evidence home and cook it.

Yes, but it worked.

All right, Betty Crocker. Play it.

[Click, whirring]

Man: And we're... rolling.

What do you wanna play first, Lionel?

Lionel: Hey, how about that new one of yours, Pepper?

I'm smellin' a hit single.

Hey'd why'd you decide to call it "6 A.M." anyhow?

Pepper: That's when my baby girl Ella was born.

Happiest hour of my life.

'Cause she came out looking like her mama.

[Laughter] Well, I ain't much to look at, but at least they don't call me "doughboy."

[Laughter]

Yeah. [Laughs]

All right, all right, boys, I'll count it down. 1, 2, 3.

["6 A.M." playing] And there's our motive.

[Music warps off] Proof that Pepper wrote the song.

Let's move on Rainey.

Lieu...

Lieu, wait. Pepper was here today, and he seemed sure that Al didn't k*ll Izzy, but he did recognize the cuff links. So did Al.

What if "D. B." doesn't stand for "Dovebird"?

What if they're the k*ller's initials?

They still don't fit any of our current suspects, though.

D.B...

D.B. "Doughboy."

Pepper called Lionel Hubbard "doughboy" on the recording.

Now Lionel would have had a motive to k*ll Izzy.

That song made him a household name.

Too bad he's been dead 15 years.

Okay, maybe somebody inherited Lionel Hubbard's cuff links and the recording rights to "6 A.M."

Like who, Jo?

The son. He had a son, Bud Gray.

Damn fine musician himself.

Maa: Bud Gray quintet, Day One.

Bud Gray and his band were recording at Al's studio.

They were playing at Rudy's the night Izzy was m*rder*d.

It wasn't Al, even though the marks on his arms suggest that he might have b*rned Izzy's body.

Bud Gray is our k*ller.

[Cheers and applause]

Man: [Amplified voice] Let's hear it for the Bud Gray quintent.

[T Frank Basile's "Modern Inventions" playing]

♪

[Cheers and applause]

Okay, you take the front and the exits.

You take the exterior alleys.

[Cheers and applause]

♪

[Cocks g*n] You don't wanna do this!

Let me go. He k*lled my boy, and I can't let him get away with it. [Grunts]

What about your daughter?

The police are here to arrest Bud.

This gig is his last.

♪

[Music stops]

You still have time to be Ella's father.

I was gone half her life.

She's never gonna speak to me again.

We know why you wrote "6 A.M."

[Gasps]

Now she will, too.

Shouldn't you at least give her a chance?

[Handcuffs rattle]

[Exhales]

[Crying]

[Continues crying]

[Siren whooping in distance]

Bud Gray spilled.

The search of his hotel room turned up the other cuff link.

Guy knew it was over. He gave us everything.

[Receiver clatters]

Just got off the phone with the A.D.A.

Looks like a slam dunk.

That's great.

What about Al Rainey?

According to Bud's signed statement, Al knew Izzy had proof Pepper wrote "6 A.M.," not Lionel Hubbard.

Al told Bud to take care of it, and then he helped burn Izzy's body, what he thought was the proof. We just picked up Al.

Nice work, you two.

[Indistinct conversations]

You know, I still don't get it.

Bud Gray had a record deal, whole career ahead of him.

Why would he k*ll a guy over royalties of one song?

He didn't want his father, the great Lionel Hubbard, to go down in jazz history as a fraud.

[Speaks inaudibly]

Jo: Thanks for coming in. I thought you should have this.

I don't care about the money.

Whatever's on it has caused my family a lot of pain.

Okay. I just...

I thought you should know that he wrote it for you.

6:00 A.M...

It's the time you were born.

He wanted to celebrate the birth of his baby girl.

[Inhales sharply]

[Chopin's "Nocturne in E-flat Major, Op. 9 No. 2" playing]

Unusual musical choice.

Well, I just wanted to reassure you that not all of your cultural indoctrination was in vain.

Just most of it.

How comforting.

Although I must admit, I've developed a new appreciation for jazz.

Perhaps it's not all chaos and dissonance.

Just most of it.

♪

Sure is more fun to play.

Care to show me?

Are you asking me to teach you jazz?

[Chuckles]

All right, it's important to remember that playing jazz is about feel, all right? Mm?

[Grunts]

[Playing Erroll Garner's "Boogie Woogie Boogie"]

Henry: It has been said that a man is not dead while his name is still spoken, that we are only truly gone when we've disappeared from the memories of those who loved us, meaning a great artist never dies.

As long as his books are read, his paintings admired, as long as our songs are sung, we may each of us live forever.

♪

As for me, maybe it's time to learn a new song.

Fortunately, I have an excellent teacher.

Uh-huh.

♪

Yeah. [Laughs]

Go, man, go! Yeah!

[Laughs] Whoo.

♪