05x01 - Pulp Addiction

[bunniefuu]

( Phone ringing )

Sergeant Lance.

Hey, partner,
where the hell are you?

Well, you know,
actually, I’ve been swamped.

Things are
kind of backed up here at court.

Why is it so noisy over there?

Well, uh...

Just the wheels
of justice turning.

The wheels of justice turning...

What are you doing?

Chris, listen,
you’re breaking up...

I’ll call you later, okay?

Hello?

Hello.
Hi.

And who shall
I make it out to?

Uh, Rita...

If you don’t mind,
up there in the corner,

and you can do it
kind of small.

There, Rita.

Okay.

Thank you so much.

Oops, thanks.

Um, your pen.

Thank you.

This new book is going
to go through the roof.

Get my hard hat.
My kingdom for a match.

Paul, how much have
you had to drink?

Not enough.

Light me, Elliot.

I’m done. My hand feels like
it’s going to fall off.

Shh. Please be quiet.

Somebody’s going
to hear you.

Sorry. Dear me,
I’m feeling rather tired

from all the excitement
of this lovely affair.

( Chuckling )

Do another hour.

Forget it, Elliot.

I’d rather do the hour
at coconut grove,

see if I can’t
go scare up some trouble.

Oh, yes, but we always have
the same trouble, dear wife.

You wind up spending
the night on your back

and we have a terrible row
the next day.

You forget, husband,
I like it when I’m on top

and the boys are on their backs.

I’m warning you,

if you go...

Sean.

You do this, and you’ll have me
to play with later.

Hey, what’s up?

The talking
lapdog.

But you’re humping
more than a leg,

aren’t you, young Sean?

Get my things.

We’re history.

( Heavy breathing )

I don’t know, Jack...

Jackie, Paul could
come in any minute.

It’s okay.

It turns me on
more in his bed.

No, this is just too weird.

( Chuckling )

Listen, we’re just
getting started, baby.

( Pot crashes )

What was that?

Nothing.

Now get back to work.

Do me with the hot oil.

Okay.

Yes.

Now come and lick it off.

You bitch.

I’ll k*ll you.

Guilty?

Yes! All right!

When is
the sentencing scheduled?

Good job, George.

Yeah, you keep me posted,
all right?

Jury came back on the Simpson
trial-- guilty as charged.

Not innocent, but... uh...

Not guilty.

Oh, Elvis called.

He said that he’d like
to take you to lunch.

Oop... I’ll get it!

Hold on a second.

What do we have, a
little philosophical
reading here?

Uh... palm beach madams.

Chris, give me my book back.

Hold on a second.

Hey, hey,
time out.

Lorenzo, Lance,
go to your corner.

What’s the battle
about this time?

Chris has my book,
and I would like it back.

All right,
Lorenzo, come on.

What is this?

It’s a trashy novel.
I-I picked it up for Fran.

She likes that author.

Uh, if this book
is for Frannie,

why does it
say, "to Rita"?

Chris:
Ha, busted.

Okay, pardon
the expression.

Enough with the
Harvard classics.

You got a live
one over at
tamarind drive.

Thank you, captain.

Okay, white male,
early s

one sh*t,
straight to the heart.

Usually does
the trick.

What about the b*llet?

. caliber. I sent it
to ballistics.

All right.

Nothing under
the fingernails.

Got no apparent
contusions or abrasions.

That rules out
signs of a struggle.

Yep, body seemed to be
in excellent shape.

Except for the fact
it’s a little cold.

Unlike yours,
sergeant.

You look like
a perfect . .

It’s all the
clean living.

Uh-huh.

Oh, I bet you have
your dirty moments, too.

Not enough.

You know what they say--
it takes two to tango.

Well, I just happen to have
an extra pair of dance shoes

back at my place.

Rita:
Well, there is, uh,

no broken windows or locks.

He still had his
money in his wallet,

and his stereo and TV
weren’t touched,

so it pretty much
rules out robbery.

Guy must have
known the perp.

Yeah. Neighbors
didn’t hear a thing--

no g*nshots,
no arguments.

You fix the time of death yet?

Yeah, I’d say based
on liver temperature,

: , : .

I guess it’s easy enough

to muffle the sound
of a single sh*t.

Looks premeditated
to me.

What kind of person would sh**t
someone through the heart?

Hopeless romantic.

I don’t know, a lover
with the soul of a poet?

Or just
a plain old jealous spouse.

Which pretty
much leaves

the entire city
of palm beach
as a suspect.

Obviously,
this is where he worked.

Check this out--
a paycheck stub.

Made out last week
from lipstick publications.

west sycamore Lane.

That’s a high-rent
district.

Who sh*t you through the heart,
Sean Andrews?

Morning, love.

Who’s winning the battle today,
you or mean old Mr. Sun?

Oh, sometimes
it may be a standoff, darling,

but I never lose a battle.

So I’ve discovered.

You were in rare
form last night.

Was I?

Top shelf.

You pushed all
the buttons.

My family,

my lack of an education,
my taste, my friends.

You hit them all.

Splendid.

I hope I wasn’t too repetitive.

I hate to be boorish.

That, at least,
you’ve never been.

I thought you were going
to k*ll Sean and I.

And me, sweetheart.

Sean and me.

You’ve misplaced your objective.

Wrong, professor Higgins.

I lost it entirely
when I married you!

Ooh.

Just another cabin
in the woods.

With hot and cold
running servants.

( Knock at door )

Good morning.

We’re with palm beach
police department.

( Speaking
in Spanish )

( Voices arguing )

( Speaking excitedly
in Spanish )

( Glass crashing )

I wouldn’t have to go
all over town looking for it

if you weren’t so loaded
all the time

and your little friend
came to attention
once in a while...

Silence, please, I beg you.

Oh, you want
me to shut up?

Great! I’ll shut up!

( Screaming )

Thus spoke Zarathustra.

Are you done, precious?

No!

( Screaming )

Sorry to interrupt
the festivities, folks.

Can I help you?

I was at your book-signing.

You’re Jackie
McMillan.

Is there no end to
cult of personality?

Please leave
immediately,

or I shall have to call
the local gendarmes.

We are the local
gender-arms.

Sergeant Lorenzo,
Sergeant Lance.

I told you the noise level
was verging on improper!

Shut up!

It has nothing to do

with the
noise level.

One of your employees,
Sean Andrews,

was m*rder*d last night.

Sean?

He’s dead?

Afraid so.

Well, I can’t believe it;
I mean, just last night...

Just last night, what, love?

Do you work here?

In a manner of speaking, yes.

I’m Jackie’s husband,
Paul Westlake.

Did you see Mr. Andrews
last night?

He was here
at the house.

He left around : .

That’s the last I saw him.

Was he alone?

Yes.

What type of work
did he do for you?

That’s a good question,
detective.

He was my personal assistant.

I still can’t
believe he’s dead.

Please, get
off the Sarah
Bernhardt routine.

He only typed
words a minute.

Would either of you
care for a cocktail?

Ah, yes, duty calls.

What did you do
after he left?

We talked.

Yes, a nice, long chat.

How did you get
that bruise

on your cheek?

Would you help me
with that, love?

Of course. I hit you.

Ah.

With a lamp.

What were the two of
you arguing about?

Oh, the usual:
Sexual power games,

adultery, misplaced anger,
denial...

Jackie:
Wait a minute.

We’re not suspects
in this case, are we?

Far as we can tell,

you two are the last ones
to see him alive.

Then we are suspects.

Oh, this is going
to be great fun.

Great fun,
indeed.

( Both sigh )

Charming couple.

That was like walking
into the family feud.

You watch that show?

No, not really.

And you don’t read Jackie
McMillan books, either.

Please, Jackie,

calm down.

( Sighs )

Well, I don’t like it, Elliot.

I hate cops.
They just make me nervous.

Relax. You weren’t there
on the night of the m*rder.

No, but...

But what, you were there
on other occasions?

Maybe.

Maybe. If you were there before,

the police are sure to find
your fingerprints,

so it’s better that you
tell me everything now

so there aren’t
any surprises later.

Okay, so maybe I was there
once or twice.

To pick up proofs.

Is that a crime?
Proofs?

Yes.

And what else?

That’s all.

What?

I am your agent.

I am here to help you.

But you have
got to play it

straight with me.

Were you sleeping

with Sean?

You sound like a lawyer!

Just stop cross-examining me!

Well, were you?

( Exasperated sigh )

Maybe only a little.

A little? There is no such thing

as a little
when it comes to this.

All right, a little and a lot.

It depends on the day.

Oh, great, great!

I never took a vow of celibacy

when I got
into this thing, Elliot.

Does Paul know about this?

He may be drunk; He’s not blind.

Where is he now?

He’s home.

Working?

He better be.

Someone’s got to write
this crap.

You know me;
I don’t know a noun from a verb.

Jackie McMillan,
you’re a genius.

I’m telling you,
this case is

straight out
of the supermarket tabloids.

We got the trashy novelist,
drunk husband, palatial pad...

Handsome young assistant.

He wasn’t that handsome.

Oh, I guess you just
have to imagine him

with the color
in his face.

You know what
my favorite part is?

Is that you, my friend, are
such a big fan of this lady’s.

You are exaggerating.

No, no, no, I don’t think so.

I think I got the crosshairs
right on target,

dead center.
Uh-huh.

Lorenzo.

So?
Hey, capt.

How’s it going on
the Andrews case?

Uh, it’s a little early
to tell.

We questioned the couple
who used to employ him.

Uh, it’s really strange,
though, capt.

They fought all the time.

Mm, married, huh?

Yeah. How often do, uh,
you and Fran fight?

Daily is a word
that comes to mind.

Hourly; By the minute
is also good.

And would you say
you have a good marriage?

Excellent marriage.

So if two people are married
and they fight all the time,

that means...

Lance, what do
I look like,

a radio talk show
host or something?

I was just asking.

Chris:
Results came back

from the Andrews place.

They got three sets:
Paul Westlake’s, the victim’s,

and one they got no match for.

Can you tell us
exactly where you were

the night of the m*rder?

Well, I
recall going

to the insufferable
book signing

at : with Jackie.

I stayed until : --
no, make that : .

I remember because
there was a clock

above the door.

Where did you go
after that?

To a bar on
third street.

No, wait a minute.

I-I went to a
hotel, I think.

There is
a slight difference

between a hotel
and a bar, Mr. Westlake.

Maybe it was
a hotel bar.

You’re going to have to do
better than that, sir.

Look, I have
this unquenchable thirst

for anything which is distilled,
fermented, brewed

or otherwise
concocted

into that most
wonderful substance
called alcohol.

Oftentimes, it plays hell
with my memory.

You suffer from blackouts.

I rather enjoy them, actually.

Sometimes I lose entire days.

Your fingerprints
were found

in the victim’s
apartment.

That’s because
I often went to Sean’s

to pick up papers
Jackie had dictated.

That’s how she writes,
by dictation?

Yes.

All this new technology
has given short shrift

to the notion of a writer
toiling away with a quill pen.

I’d like to listen to
some of those tapes.

Why? What do you need them for?

Our investigation.

Something wrong
with that?

It’s impossible;
Jackie would never allow

anyone’s eyes on her work
until she’d finished.

An artist’s conceit,

you understand.

We’ll get a subpoena.

That word has
a dreadfully legal feel to it.

Doesn’t it?

All right, I suppose
I can pull something together.

You have to promise
never to show them to anyone.

You have our word.

Westlake:
What have we here?

The deal maker,
the deal breaker.

The great facilitator.

Paul, you look
like hell.

Lifestyle choice,
dear man.

Meet our new friends
from the police department,

sergeants Lorenzo and Lance.

Elliot Hammond,

Jackie’s agent.
A pleasure.

Hi.

Absolutely terrible
what happened to Sean.

I’ve already made

a contribution in his name
to the palm beach library.

There’s a place
in heaven for you, Elliot.

Well, uh, I guess
we should be going.

It was a pleasure
meeting you.

A pleasure.
Bye-bye.

Don’t forget the tapes.

Righto.

Elliot...

Nice to meet you.

And you.

Paul...

What tapes would
he be referring to?

I told them that Jackie dictated
her work into a recorder

and Sean transcribed
the tapes.

( Whispering ):
What?

There aren’t
any tapes.

Relax, El.

You’re about to sweat
through your linen jacket.

As is always the case,
I have everything under control.

Everything.

Ah, there’s something
about westlake I cannot stand.

Snotty attitude or
the smell of liquor

on that guy’s breath?

What is it
Jackie see in him?

It’s not like
he’s a stud or anything.

Nope, too washed out.

They say anybody
who drinks like that

doesn’t have time for
bedroom activities.

Nor the ability, I’m sure.

It’s not financial; Jackie made
a ton of money on her own.

It’s like he has
some hold on her.

No matter how much they fight,
they stay together.

Some people do not know

when to get off
the merry-go-round.

So, Jackie is fed
up with it all.

She has a thing with her
handsome young assistant.

Westlake finds
out about it.

He kills said assistant
in a jealous rage.

Mm-hmm, or a drunken stupor
and he didn’t remember it.

Did you notice
how he blinked

when you asked him
about those tapes?

Yeah, like a deer
in headlights.

You seemed to blink, too,
when you found out

that Jackie McMillan
dictates her books.

I did not blink.

Now, what did you think?

You thought she toiled
over every word?

No, I did not blink.

I know she doesn’t
write Shakespeare,

but I didn’t blink.

You blinked.
You did. You blinked.

Ha!

Did you like the pasta?

I mean, I kind of felt
like maybe, you know,

I used a little too much basil
or not enough garlic or...

It kind of seemed
a little off.

What do you think?

What do you think?

Now you can’t
tear yourself

away from
palm beach madams.

What are
you talking about?

This stuff
is ridiculous.

I’m reading it
for the case.

Mm-hmm. What
part are you at?

Well, I’m right...

Where Brittany is
about to sleep with gates,

but she’s not sure
because of Luke.

Right. Wait till
you find out

what happens to gates.

Hmm? Shh! No, be quiet.

Don’t tell me.
Don’t ruin it for me.

Okay, look at this.

God, I love this part.

"Brittany was
helplessly drawn to gates

the way a compass is
irrevocably drawn northward."

"But when and how they
would become lovers

"remained an
aching mystery.

And then suddenly..."

"Her bedroom door
flung open,

"and there he was
in silhouette,

"his muscular shoulders
visible

against the Amber light
of the hallway..."

"And he was on
her wordlessly,

"somehow knowing
it was time,

his hunger
melting into hers."

"Brittany felt
the fire ignite in her

"like none she’d ever known,

"her very being
dissolving into Gates’ hands.

"His hands were
everywhere,

"grabbing her forcefully
and then tenderly

until he was where she
longed for him to be..."

"And she knew
it was always meant to be."

Both:
"For it was their destiny,
and they were lost to it."

This stuff’s so stupid.

Ridiculous.

Corny stuff. Yeah.

Destiny, right?

Look, I should get going.

Yeah, we got to
work tomorrow.

Uh...

No, I want
to thank you for dinner.

You’re welcome.

It was good.

Thanks.

You know, you...

Do you believe
in destiny?

Yeah.

Why?

Ah...

Nothing.

Good night.

Night.

I’ll see you tomorrow.

Yep.

( Sighs )

Hmm.

Whew.

Just read what’s on
the computer screen.

I’m not in the mood.

Please, just once

try to engage
in something

that is not backlit
by the sun.

Hey! Any more
smart ass remarks,

and I am out of here,
buddy boy.

Forgive me, I
stand corrected.

Just read nice
and natural.

Fine.

( Clears throat )

"Cassandra’s body
ached with anticipation,

"her entire being...

Awash in longing"?

What?

That doesn’t sound right.

"Awash in longing"?

What is she, the beach?

Look, if I want criticism,

I’ll pick up a copy
of the New York times.

Read!

Fine.

"Cassandra’s body ached
with anticipation,

her entire being
awash in longing."

So, what’s wrong?

No sleep last night?

Mm...

An hour, Max.

I’m telling you,
it’s that book.

You got no will power,
none at all.

So, did you get anything
off the CSI computer?

Yeah, I got a match
on the third set of prints.

They belong to...
Sherrie Cerzanski.

She’s got a pandering
charge on her sheet

from seven years ago.

Nothing since then.

So she’s a hooker.

Where is she now?

She’s a ghost--
nothing from the DMV,

nothing from credit reports,

and she has
no occupational license.

Her last...

( Yawning )

...known place of employment
was the frilly lady.

Great work, partner.

Listen, why don’t you go
check it out, okay,

and I’m going to stay here
and catch a few Zs.

No, no, no, come on.

You’re my partner;
We’re going together.

Up!

Oh... you are mean.

No, I’m just
your alarm clock.

Mm-hmm.

Wake up.

Man:
Okay, girls, that’s fine.

Let’s take a five-minute break.

Look, all my licenses
are current.

It’s nothing going
on here but a
lingerie show.

We’re not vice.
We’re homicide.

Oh, that’s nice.

Do you remember a girl
that used to work here

by the name
of Sherrie Cerzanski?

Oh, if I had her back here,
I would have it made.

That one had it all:

Chest, butt, legs
and a smile--

make men melt down
their credit cards.

When was the last
time you saw her?

Oh, about seven years ago.

I always knew she’d go places,
and, boy, did she ever.

What do you mean?

Well, I mean what
she turned into.

Who would’ve thought
she had so many stories

in her pretty little head, huh?

What do you
mean, stories?

Well, she became
one damn good writer.

But she’ll always be
Sherrie Cerzanski to me,

though the rest
of the world may know her

as Jackie McMillan.

Jack...

Rita:
We, uh, we traced
another set of prints

to Andrews’ apartment.

To who?

To whom, pet.

To Sherrie
Cerzanski.

Westlake:
Uh-oh.

Well, now.

Now that the proverbial cat
is out of the bag,

why don’t we all have
a cocktail in celebration?

Sherrie Cerzanski

just didn’t look quite right
on a book cover, you know?

No, looks better on a waitress

or a hat
check girl.

Or a lingerie model.

My, my...

We have been busy,
haven’t we, Inspector Holmes?

I do hope we’ll keep

this little discovery
to ourselves?

Yup.

I want you to replay
something for me.

Now, both of you...

You were here the night
that Andrews was k*lled, hmm?

Right.

And both your fingerprints
were at the m*rder scene.

Well, that does have
a nasty tinge to it, doesn’t it?

So are you going to arrest us?

Not yet.

You got those tapes,

those transcripts
for me, Paul?

No, I’ve been swamped

with the arrangements
for Jackie’s book tour.

I’ll get them to you,
detective, I promise.

Make sure you do.

Scout’s honor.

You have a nice day.

( Door opens, closes )

You know,
if they keep nosing around,

they’re going to find out
who writes these stupid books.

God, you adorable, luscious,
sexy, wonderful imbecile.

You’re worried about that

when you’re the prime suspect
in a m*rder case!

Well, I’m not the only one
whose fingerprints they found.

You’re right about that.

That’s what I get
for drinking domestic gin.

I’m not thinking clearly.

Thank you, Lisa.

Have I ever told you

you have a very
sexy voice?

Ha!

Westlake was popped

on a DUI Three years ago.

Pleaded no contest,
paid the fine.

Really? Only one?

Mm-hmm. Listen to this:

On the booking report,

he listed his occupation
as a writer.

Really? What for,
bartender’s guides?

( Laughs )

I got an address

on our old friend,
Sherrie Cerzanski.

And I think
that I’m going to drive.

You look
a little... sleepy.

Jackie McMillan addict.

Sleepyhead.

How did they track you
back to Sherrie?

Through my fingerprints.

I told you.

Did you tell them
that Paul’s the real writer?

No, but maybe we should.

Books are books.

It doesn’t matter
who writes them.

Are you out of your mind?

Well, I am sick of it, Elliot.

All the interviews,
the autographs--

it’s just really,
really getting old.

Let’s just let Paul be
the big-time writer.

Now, now, now, now...

You are just... tired.

Why don’t you go
to the beach?

Do you know that’s all
you ever say to me?

Well, let me tell
you something.

I don’t want
to go to the beach,

and I do not want
to be a writer.

Jackie, Jackie,
let’s not forget

that nice, big house
you have.

The pool... and
all the toys...

I know.

But look, Elliot,

let’s just make
Paul the writer,

and then
I can still have

all that stuff,
can’t I?

No. Do you
really think

somebody’s going
to buy a book

with Paul’s drunken face

leering out at them?

If the public

ever got wind of
a scam like this,

they would run from you

like you had
the ebola virus.

Maybe not.

Have you ever heard
of Milli Vanilli?

Yeah.

The ice cream, right?

Well, Sherrie’s lucky.

She’s got a talent

that goes
way beyond her bod.

What was
she like?

Oh, sweet as can be.

Between you and me, she went
for the night life too much.

Party girl?

Oh, yeah. She loved
to go out dancing

all night long.

Kyle didn’t take

too kindly to that.
Who’s Kyle?

Well, her husband,
Kyle Cerzanski.

He was always tore up
over Sherrie.

I just think they plain
got married too young.

You know where
we can find Kyle?

Oh, gee, that’d be hard to do.

He’s dead.

Going on
seven years now.

How did that happen?

Well, Kyle was always
the jealous type,

and Sherrie was meeting
all manner of men

down at that lingerie place.

Well, eventually,
she took up with one.

Kyle was so broke up,

he went and sh*t himself
clean through the heart.

Thanks for
your time.

Oh.

You run into Sherrie,

tell her she still has
my blow dryer.

Two people
in Jackie’s life

both sh*t
through the heart.

I’d like to get a look

at the autopsy report
on Kyle Cerzanski.

A b*llet through the heart
is not your average su1c1de.

No.

So... sh*t
through the heart.

Sounds like that could be
the title for her next book.

I’m going to have
to take you

to a -step program

for Jackie McMillan junkies.

This is Paul Westlake’s book,
ten kinds of loneliness.

So he is
a writer.

Yeah. Ten short stories

he wrote when he was
about .

Any good?

Uh... bleak,
but very moving.

Thank you.

You never know what
talent lies hidden

underneath a drunk.

Thank you.

The part I don’t get:

Authors usually
don’t dictate

into a tape recorder,
right?

One day,
Sherrie Cerzanski

is a lingerie model
in a tract house;

the next day,
she is Jackie McMillan,

best-selling author.

Jackie McMillan is
Paul westlake in drag.

That’s great!
Exactly.

It’s a lot easier
to promote her;

women usually write
those kinds of books.

Plus...

Paul never produced
those tapes that we asked for.

Yeah, well, that’s because
they don’t exist.

Andrews had to know
about this, hmm?

So maybe he threatened
to blackmail Jackie,

she k*lled him.

Or, maybe westlake k*lled
Andrews to keep him quiet.

Which would make sense.

The coroner’s report said

the b*llet that k*lled
Kyle Cerzanski

was fired from a . --

the same as the one
that took out Andrews.

You do have lovely skin, love.

Mm. Harder.

Harder. You’re rubbing
like a girl.

May I do your legs...

Please?

Feet.

No legs.

Come on, please?

Don’t whimper, Paul.

I hate when you do that.

( Gasps )

I have a secret to tell you.

What?

I don’t think
I’m going to tell you.

That’s because
you don’t have one.

( Gasps )

You like that, don’t you, baby?

You really have a secret?

A really nasty one.

Tell me.

Will you let me
do your legs first?

A little.

It’s about your boy toy.

What is it?

If I tell you,
will you let me do everything?

Is it a really bad secret?

Really bad.

If it’s really bad...

I’ll let you do anything.

What did you do,
you big, bad boy?

You know
what I did?

I k*lled
the little bastard.

( Knocking at door )

Buenos dias.

Pase, pase, por favor.

Gracias.

Thank you.

Well, if it isn’t my two
favorite homicide detectives.

Sit, sit.

Thank you.
Please, make
yourself at home.

Bruise seems
to be going away.

Yes, well, I’m sure I’ll have
another one soon enough.

Jackie has
a monstrous right hook.

I read your book.

I thought it was wonderful.

My book?

Good heavens, where did
you find that old thing?

Some archeological dig
you went on?

I found it very moving.

I mean that.

Thank you, detective.
Thank you, indeed.

Why would
you quit writing?

The stuff I wrote doesn’t have
much of an audience anymore,

and everybody wants glitz
and glamour today.

Seems like
you might know

a little something
about that.

Only as a tourist, detective.

Rita:
Forgive me
for saying this,

but, um, your wife--

she-she doesn’t seem
like much of a writer.

"She doesn’t write, she types."

She dictates.

No, it was a literary reference.

By Truman Capote,
referring to Clifford Irving.

Westlake:
Very good, detective.

We have a bibliophile among us.

Rita:
You don’t have

anything that, uh, that you’re
hiding from us, do you?

Me?

No, why?

Because if you withhold
anything from us,

it will be considered
obstruction of justice.

Well, all right.

Jackie doesn’t do
very much writing.

No, she doesn’t do any writing
at all, does she, Paul?

No.

How did you come up
with this idea?

I didn’t, really.

A very smart agent, Elliot
Hammond, dreamt up the idea.

I was broke, and nobody wanted
to publish my lofty prose,

so he suggested
I write something glitzy

to pick up a little money.

And she looked better on the
back of the cover than you did.

Precisely. She does rather look
the part, wouldn’t you say?

Well, when you see her,

tell her that we would like
to speak with her.

Wait a minute.

You mustn’t be
in such a hurry.

I have something
to confess.

I k*lled Sean Andrews.

( Sighs )

Okay.

How?

I sh*t him.

Huh.

What type of g*n
did you use?

It was the usual, a . .

Wrong.

Sean Andrews was
k*lled with a . .

Damn my luck.

This guy is so looped,
he doesn’t know

whether or not
he k*lled somebody?

He’s trying to
shield his wife.

I mean, they’re
obviously in love.

Can’t you see that?

They fight
like cats and dogs!

We have been looking
at this thing all wrong,

completely wrong.

Wait, wait.

Westlake didn’t
k*ll Andrews.

Andrews and Jackie
are having an affair.

Westlake finds
out about it,

you think he’s going
to continue writing?

No, probably not.

So who else stands to lose

if he’s not chained
to the word processor?

Hammond.

Elliot Hammond.

% of Jackie McMillan’s income

feeds a body pretty well,
don’t you think?

And since there was
no sign of forced entry,

Andrews knew who took him out.

Right. So Andrews
must be blackmailing Hammond.

So he threatens to expose
Hammond’s involvement

in this Svengali-like scheme.

Agent takes him out.

Svengali-like scheme?

Hey, I read.

That’s not bad.

I read, you know?

Go to the library
all the time, late at night...

That’s nice.

Jackie:
Elliot.

Where have you been?

Paul said he’s going
to turn himself in.

Oh, relax.

It’s just the booze talking.

No!

He is as sober as I’ve
seen him in years, Elliot,

and he says he
doesn’t want to go on

with this phony writing
business, either.

Fine. If he doesn’t want
to play along,

we’ll find a writer
that will.

They’re a dime
a dozen.

What do you
mean by that?

Oh, honey, do you need

a road map for everything?

You know, if Paul k*lled Sean,
he must be wracked with guilt.

I mean, being the sensitive,
artistic type that he is.

He seemed pretty happy about it.

You know, if he’s
extremely despondent, he...

May k*ll himself, just like
your first husband did.

Oh, no.

Look...

Paul may get a little moody,

but, Elliot,
he would never off himself.

Right... right.

Why don’t
you trot home

and mix him up
some fresh martinis?

I’ll come by later, and we’ll
straighten everything out.

Thanks.

The sun feels glorious
today, doesn’t it?

You know, baby...

Elliot doesn’t think
you k*lled Sean.

Nor do those two
nice homicide cops.

You confessed?

Yes.

But I got the damn
thing all bollixed up.

This m*rder nonsense
is dreadfully technical.

So you didn’t k*ll Sean?

No. I presumed you did.

Well, I don’t know
how to use a g*n.

You’re saying you thought
that I k*lled Sean,

so you confessed to save me?

Yes... something like that.

That’s the nicest thing
you’ve ever done for me.

Oh, come on, love,
let’s not get all mushy.

Here you go.

Just the way
you like it.

All gin.

Well...

Thank you, darling.

Thank you, indeed.

You see, Mr. Hammond,

we know that Paul
is the real writer

and Jackie is the phony.

Well, good for you, detective.

But there is no crime in that.

No.

m*rder’s a crime.

m*rder?

( Chuckling )

Are you suggesting
that I had some involvement

in Sean Andrews’ death?

Why don’t you tell us
where you were

when Andrews was k*lled?

I was at home,

where I am almost every evening,
in bed with a book.

It’s a weak alibi, Elliot.

I didn’t know I was required
to have one.

Listen, if you want
to find a suspect,

you needn’t look
much further than Paul westlake.

Why is that?

Ah... well...

I didn’t want
to say this before,

but I overheard Paul
threatening Sean.

He knew Sean was having
an affair with Jackie,

and I think he finally snapped.

Did he confess that to you?

No, but he came pretty close.

Well, guess what?
He did confess to us.

Really?

Then why are you here?

I don’t think I’ll answer
any more questions right now.

We’ll be in touch.

( Door closes )

This guy’s dirty.

Mm, filthy.

Let’s do it.

( Salsa music playing )

( Music stops )

Come on, party pooper.

More music.

We’re dancing.

Sorry, not this time.

Oh, no, you’ve got
that business look.

Whatever it is,
it can wait until tomorrow.

No, no, Paul, it cannot wait.

That wouldn’t be a . ,
would it, El?

Maybe.

What are you doing with it?

I don’t know. You’re the writer.

Why don’t you tell me?

It’s pretty clear
you k*lled Andrews,

but just let me
make certain

I get the
denouement right.

Sean threatened to expose
our little writing charade

unless you paid him off
to go away,

so you sh*t him.

Mm-hmm. Yeah,
something like that.

Elliot, we
have more money

than we can spend
in two lifetimes.

Why didn’t you
just pay him?

Because that kind of scum
never goes away.

He was just like Kyle
in that regard.

The book ends
with a little twist.

You k*lled him, too.

( Chuckling )

You mean, Kyle
didn’t k*ll himself?

You did it, Elliot?

Sometimes it takes a while,
but eventually you do get it.

The police have
been getting a
bit too close,

so I’m sorry; I’m going
to have to sh**t you

and make it look like a su1c1de.

It won’t work three times.

Oh, yes, it will.

( Grunts )

Police!

Don’t move, Elliot.

Well, I guess this is
the last Jackie McMillan book.

Well, you know, I think
it’s better the truth come out.

Yeah. Think people
are going to read them

written by Paul?

Sure, why not?

You know, a page-Turner
is a page-Turner.

So, what are you doing tonight?

Well, um, I think I’ll go to
the gym for a couple of hours,

and then I got a hot date.

We’ll go see
a movie maybe,

maybe get
a little dinner.

Who’s the lucky lady?

Uh... just somebody I met
the other day.

I haven’t told you
about her

because, well, I just met her
the other day.

Uh-huh. Well,
have a good time, okay?

Yeah.

So, what, uh...
What are you going to do?

Oh, I don’t know.
I’m pretty tired.

I think I will just go home
and catch up on some sleep.

Yeah, well, see you tomorrow.

See you.

Partner?

Gotcha.