If old FDR could have squeezed out another
couple of weeks, he'd seen a this w*r end.
My stint's gonna end here
if McDuff gets a gander at this...
I can't make heads
or tails out of this story.
Birdie, let me see it.
It's all right there, Lo.
Highlight these good details:
Allied troops celebrating,
dancing polkas...
and use active verbs.
This is breaking news,
not your grandma's knitting circle.
I see him, Birdie.
Almost done.
Birdsong!
- Our boys are finally coming home.
- Looks like it, sir.
Well, this w*r's bound to have made
some heroes.
- Philadelphia needs to read about hers.
- Features, Mr. McDuff?
- Fast as you can write them.
- The first one's on its way.
Well, if it's as good as your last few,
we'll need to save room above the fold.
- How about me, Mr. McDuff?
- Oh, uh...
- Crumb cakes!
- Excuse me?
I want to hear what kind of victory vittles
the ladies are baking for the soldiers
coming home from the w*r.
Red, white and blue Jell-O gelatin!
That's a story gals will go dizzy for!
I like your spirit.
So, what do you say, Miss Kinney,
you think you can manage that?
Sure, I can write that.
And then maybe something
on this Unite Nations idea?
You know, Mrs. R. was saying
it might put an end to these big wars,
- and I was thinking...
- Pipe down, sugar,
you hardly have time as it is...
you know the rule.
: !
Ladies out!
Is it true?
Jeffries got demoted?
Disciplined... the bosses put him
on desk duty.
- For how long?
- Undetermined.
Well, that's going to make him nuts.
Doesn't help that his birthday's this week.
Oh, right.
Double whammy. / No, whatever you do,
don't mention it to him.
He was very clear...
no cake, no presents. / I got it.
Lieutenant?
Detective.
- Looking for you.
- Hey, Tommy.
Will Jeffries has some right hook, huh?
Well, off the record, that guy had it coming.
Rumor is your paper's going out of business.
Yeah, I guess everyone's getting
their news online now.
Me? I'm still terrified of e-mail.
Newsroom's clearing out, huh?
Yeah, place is clear like a tomb.
I was going through the archives,
before they trash everything.
- I found something that might interest you.
- Oh, yeah? What's that?
You guys know about the Sentinel's ghost?
Lo Kinney?
Yeah, I've heard tell.
Yeah, old time reporter
that got k*lled, right?
While most lady reporters
were writing about casseroles,
she traveled the world
with Eleanor Roosevelt.
A gal ahead of her time.
Her death's on the books as a purse
snatching gone bad, but, uh,
lore is it was more than that.
Something in the archives
back that up?
In a box of her old files,
I found a note, dated the day she d*ed.
Saying what?
"Lawndale Station. : p.m.
This will not stand."
Lawndale Station significant?
It's where she was k*lled.
Hit by the : p.m. train.
Hey...
It's the birthday boy.
Just stepped right in it, didn't you.
- It's a bummer about the desk duty.
- Uh-huh.
But, uh, this'll get your mind off it.
I hooked you up.
Hooked me up for what?
Tickets to Lena's show.
Wednesday night.
Did I not tell you to ignore my birthday?
- I read between the lines.
- Morning.
What do we got?
Lorena Kinney, hit by train at
Lawndale Station, .
"Agony Aunt"?
Yeah, what they used to call
advice columnists.
Lorena was the "Dear Abby" of the Sentinel.
Purse strap was found
with the body, but no purse?
Looked like she resisted a robbery,
things got violent.
But this note found in her files suggests
Lo was meeting someone there.
"Lawndale Station, :oo p.m.
This will not stand."
Someone was threatening Lo,
she goes to meet them...
Things get heated, she gets
pitched under the train.
Makes the author of the note the doer.
Well, three more boxes of her files
at the Sentinel. I'll start digging.
And I'll visit the last to see...
fellow reporter, Davis Birdsong.
And I'll be at my desk.
Lo Kinney.
She was a crackerjack news gal.
Our girl on the scene,
during the FDR years.
I thought she was a gossip columnist.
- Advice.
- Yeah, well, that was later.
You see, Eleanor Roosevelt
championed lady reporters.
But when FDR d*ed, gals got
sent back to the minors.
So Lo's demoted, now
she's an Agony Aunt.
Ten-cent reporter in a five-cent job.
We're looking back into her death, thinking
maybe it wasn't just a purse snatching.
No kidding?
Yeah, we think she might have been meeting
someone at the station that night.
Any ideas who?
Ladies were kicked out of
the newsroom at o'clock.
I don't know what she
did with her evenings.
She didn't have a guy?
A firecracker like Lo wasn't dating
material in the s.
She have any enemies at the Sentinel?
Someone who hated her enough
to shove her onto the tracks?
You kind of knew it would
all end in tears with Lo.
It was just too dangerous to stick
a wild bird like her in the hen house.
♪ You got the acc-cen-tu-ate
♪ E-lim-in-ate the negative ♪
♪ And latch on... ♪
So what's the breaking news
in the hen house?
"Dear Lo, in a real pickle here.
Will a polka-dot frock, or a flower-print
dress turn my Jack's head?"
"Dear In A Pickle:
You want to turn your Jack's head,
say 'boo' to the frock
and show him the birthday suit."
That gal's asking you
a serious question, Lo.
Serious? What Truman's going
to do about the Japanese, that serious.
Women don't want to be
bothered with w*r talk.
Cause meat pies and nylons are
so much more interesting.
Hi, Miss Russell.
Got that newlywed survey going to, uh...
Martha Body on Spruce?
Think that last paragraph's too much, Lo?
Hmm. Kind of a laugh.
You giving romantic advice.
Oh, really? Why's that?
What do you know about it?
- You're a childless old maid.
- Take a powder, Helen.
Women all over this city live
by the advice in "Dear Lo."
Well, they shouldn't.
Women's page is good for
wrapping fish, and nothing more.
You blow in, steal my job,
then act like you've got
something better to do?
- Your job?
- I should have gotten that column!
I know what women care about.
Soon as McDuff gives me a real
b*at the "Dear Lo" column is all yours.
All fixed up, Birdie.
♪ ... to the affirmative
Those two fought like alley cats.
And Helen had some toys in the attic?
Had some cr*ck-ups over the years.
She spent time in mental hospitals.
Was she loopy enough to try and hurt Lo?
- She did benefit from her dying.
- Yeah? How?
With Lo gone, Helen got that column.
She's still writing it.
So you took over Lo's column.
Changed "Dear Lo" to "Hey, Helen,"
and the rest is history.
We hear you had a few
bumps along the way.
- An altercation on a city bus...
- Misunderstanding.
Hospital stay after disrupting a wedding.
Locked the bride in the choir room,
and walked down the aisle yourself?
She wasn't really right for him.
We were wondering if, in one of these
colorful periods, you did something to Lo.
- Like shove her in front of a train?
- Like that, yeah.
We know you wanted
that column pretty bad.
You girls are lucky.
You have no idea what it's like
with a ceiling
above you,
blocking how far you can rise.
Not much room for women at the paper?
Hardly room for one, much less two.
So far you to succeed,
Lo had to go.
Look, I'm a crazy old broad, I admit it,
but Lo was making enemies more
dangerous than me. / How's that?
She was offering some pretty
progressive advice in that column.
- And that got her in trouble?
- Sure did.
The hen house became a hornets' nest
after some of her ideas hit the street.
Lo Kinney?
That's me.
Hey, where do you get off telling my wife to,
"b*at feet if your dogface
came home from the w*r
more interested in his buddies
than his bride."
I gave that advice to a girl
who wrote in saying her husband
stopped coming home nights...
and when he did, he was always stinking'.
That's where.
Man can't come home from the front
and blow off a little steam...is that it?
Now when he's got a family to think of.
Carousing, blowing your service benefits,
liquoring up?
The - Club is for layabouts, mister,
and it's making your wife nutso with worry.
You got no idea about my life,
what I been through.
I know what your wife wrote.
And you think that's worth
throwing away what we got?
For crying out loud, lady!
You married?
Haven't had time, haven't missed it.
So you don't really know
what you're talking about,
having been left on the shelf
past expiration yourself.
- She is over .
- Shut your pie hole, Helen.
And you sure as heck
ain't never been to w*r.
Wives and soldiers don't have
any lock on common sense.
I ought to put a crimp in you.
- You're not the first one to thr*aten it.
- Yeah, well...
maybe I'll be the last.
I enjoyed it. I did.
Especially that "left on the shelf" business.
Did Lo get a lot of angry visitors?
And she usually mouthed
right back, but this one rattled her.
Seemed to scare her.
Any chance you remember his name?
Save us trying to match
that story to the sender?
Lo got a lot of letters.
No. It's the stories that stick,
not their names.
Sorry.
"Dear Lo, my husband says frosted foods
are for single gals and stumblebums.
Who's right?
Signed, a Busy Bee."
I guess that makes me a stumblebum.
Single gal.
Hey, man, you're making me nervous.
Why don't you sit down?
Cause my ass has been planted all day.
Growing roots in that seat.
Maybe box number three is
the lucky one. / Hey.
- Think I got it.
- Yeah?
"June , .
My soldier's been home three months,
but something's wrong.
He's out till all hours, always soused,
and doesn't want word on with me."
Sounds right.
Who signed it?
- "Should I Scream?"
- That ain't helpful.
Return address on the envelope:
Mrs. Arthur Pool, Gildar Street.
Gildar's in Fox Chase.
Train station out there...
Lawndale.
So maybe this Arthur lures
our girl out to his local train stop...
Just in time to meet
the : p.m. express.
Arthur Pool was my father.
He just passed away.
I'm sorry.
We're sitting shave for him.
We're here about a homicide.
Your dad knew our victim.
Well, he obviously can't help you.
Her name was Lorena Kinney.
Your mom wrote to her
for advice, back in ' .
Which ticked your dad off pretty good.
My dad did not k*ll Lo.
- So you knew her?
- I met her in this house.
Really? Cause we heard she and your dad
went toe-to-toe in the newsroom.
She came here the next day,
and that's when she met Noah.
- Who's that?
- My uncle.
He live with you?
Lucky for me.
He was my real father figure.
Cause your dad came home
from the w*r in rough shape? / Right.
Noah taught me how to be a kid,
sh**t marbles, ask out a girl,
drive. / Nice.
What was Lo's relationship with Noah?
Love... at first sight.
I'm here to apologize,
I guess.
A good reporter's got to hear
both sides of a story.
You willing to tell it?
Look, uh... I love my wife,
but the things I seen and...
and done in this w*r...
those memories got to stay
out of this house.
Daddy, me and Uncle Noah
saw Pinocchio and get marbles!
That's nice, David.
Now, don't go interrupting
the grownups, you hear?
Oh, we play later, David.
What do you say?
It'll be our secret.
Noah, this is, uh, Lo Kinney,
the advice lady
I was moaning about.
- Pleased to meet you.
- Likewise.
I am fan of your column,
"Dear Lo."
- Now, that's bunk.
- No, it's true.
A month ago, a woman asks
what type of curtains you use,
and you tell her "none, so you
can see the sky."
Quite a memory you got...
especially since I was shoveling it
pretty hard, quite frankly.
Oh, you strike me as the type
of woman to whom the truth...
is everything.
Haven't lived long in Philadelphia?
Uh, Noah's from, uh Holland.
- Swal...
- Swalmen.
And she doesn't care to hear about me.
Sure. Sure, I do.
I mean... that... that's what I do.
I listen to people.
Uh, turns out,
uh, Noah and I are third cousins.
He made it out of Europe
right when it was getting real bad.
How'd you swing that?
During the w*r, um, things are confusing.
Um, I escaped and made it to Switzerland.
He got out of that camp:
Auschwitz.
Is that right?
- I hear it was horrible.
- Yes.
Now, that's a story people should hear.
What if I tell you other stories?
What if you tell me all your stories?
Maybe I will.
So Lo was your uncle's girl.
Um, "lady friend" was his term.
So much for Helen's old maid theory.
Is Noah here now?
He was, but this time of day,
he's home...
painting up a storm.
Noah Pool?
Detectives Miller and Vera.
Come on in.
I don't get many visitors here.
- Dark stuff.
- Maybe that's why no visitors.
Mr. Pool, we're here about Lorena Kinney.
Yeah, David said
you were looking into her death.
You think it wasn't an accident?
Maybe not.
That's awful.
We heard you two were an item.
From the moment we met.
There's no mention of you in
the police report when she d*ed.
- I didn't come forward.
- That's kind of strange.
I will illegal.
I wasn't even supposed to exist.
And you were worried the cops
were going to send you back?
They would have.
I had nothing to go back to.
Family, friends... all dead.
Right before her death,
Lo received a note saying,
"This will not stand,"
and setting up a meet at the train station.
Where she was k*lled.
You didn't write it, did you?
No. Lo was my second chance
after so much darkness.
I came here to start over,
and there she was. Light.
When she d*ed, though,
that... light went out for good.
Can you think of anyone who
could have written that to her?
Yes.
One person.
- Cotton candy.
- Oh.
It's pretty good, huh?
That is so sweet.
The w*r's almost over.
We're starting to get sugar again.
It's nice, this place.
Seeing the sky.
For a long time, I see it
only through barbed wire.
Must've felt like the world was ending.
Huh. It was ending.
- Will you ever go back to Holland?
- Why would I?
Family, your childhood home.
No, there's nothing there.
Not even me.
Whoever I thought I was,
I left that person behind.
I think I know the feeling.
Noah.
You're here now.
When they came for us...
they put us on trains.
That is the last time
I saw my mother, my sisters...
and I got separated from
my father at the camp.
I never saw them again.
- How long were you there?
- Three years.
I lived because I could paint.
The guards liked that.
What'd they like about it?
I painted their portraits.
For hours...
I'd look at their faces...
these men who k*ll my family...
- and painted them.
- Oh, Noah.
It's nice to see the sky.
What do you say we take a picture?
What?
Uh, wait..
To remember today, forever.
Come on...
You're, uh...
You're hard to pin down.
What?
You are like a wild bird.
You want to flit. Fly.
- I'm just an everyday gal.
- No.
That's what's good.
You're good.
- What's going on here?
- Birdie! Were you following me?
You're just throwing
it all away. Is that it?
It's not what you think, Birdie.
Well, the hell with you then, Lo!
The hell with you!
- I have to go to him.
- No, Lo, wait.
I'm sorry.
I have to go.
Lo and Birdie had some history?
She always said they were
just pals from work.
What he told us, too.
I don't know any "pals" that act like that.
Firecracker like Lo wasn't dating material?
- Isn't that what you said, Birdie?
- Yes.
So what's with you following her
to Victory Park,
throwing a jealous fit when
you find her with Noah?
That wasn't what it seemed.
Seems like you were
sick in love with her.
- That's not what I was after.
- Then what?
I needed her help, right then.
With?
I had a story due.
And Lo had been writing them for me.
- Lo wrote your articles?
- It started out, she just edited me.
Down the line,
I'd go to her under pressure.
She could whip up a story in no time.
And you couldn't?
I was a five-cent reporter
in a ten-cent job.
And Lo was covering for you.
I had a byline, no stories.
- But Lo had a million stories.
- But no byline.
I'd promised McDuff a feature on a man
who survived the worst in Europe,
- was rebuilding his life here.
- A story on Noah.
Problem was, Lo was
supposed to be reporting,
not mooning around, falling in love.
♪ You always hurt? ♪
♪ The one you love... ♪
You had no right acting
the way you did in the park... no right!
You promised me that
front-page story this morning!
McDuff has been breathing
down my neck all day!
Birdie, you've got a brain and ten fingers.
And even if you only use
two of them to type,
nothing's stopping you
from doing your own reporting.
So you backing out
of the story, is that it?
No. I just... I...
I need more time.
You need more time cause
you're falling for this fella.
I certainly am not.
Well, I hope you know what
you're getting yourself into.
What do you mean by that?
Well, you're the one who said
his story doesn't add up.
Him escaping through
Switzerland, for starters.
People got out however they could.
The Swiss borders were tight, especially
for Jews... you told me that.
And what about being in that camp?
All the prisoners got tattoos on their arms.
You said you were gonna check if he had one.
- I never looked.
- Why not?
Look who's talking, buster.
Back when you cared about this story,
you asked me to track someone
down from his hometown.
Remember?
Well, I did.
Her name is Johanna Hoffman,
from Swalmen, Holland.
Birdie! I need that story, on the double!
You want the truth about Noah?
The real truth?
Ask her.
Did Lo ever follow up with this woman?
Never said.
But the kind of reporter she was,
I can't imagine she didn't.
And then she was dead.
Found this mystery woman,
Johanna Hoffman.
- She still around?
- Lives up in New York.
And get this...
relocated in July of ' .
- About the same time Lo d*ed.
- Well, not about, exactly.
Closed her bank account July th.
Paper trail in Philly goes cold after that.
So Johanna disappears and
Lo winds up dead, same day.
Lo must've gone to find her.
Something went bad.
Looks like someone's
heading to New York. / Uh...
There's a big poker game
at my brother's tonight, so...
It's Wednesday.
Veronica's ballet class.
Don't look at me; I'm planted.
Guess that leaves me.
I'm away, boss
You're covering those
phones like a champ, Will.
Yeah. years old, getting punished
like a schoolboy. / Yeah.
Yeah. Maybe time to go out.
- Maybe.
- No reason to keep it up.
Deal with crummy people
who lie to you all day.
Dog's life.
- Most guys are out by .
- Yeah.
- I tried taking a vacation once.
- Yeah?
Drove to Myrtle Beach, ten hours.
Beautiful golf courses, shoreline...
and I didn't know
what to do with myself.
So I drove back.
I can't retire.
I'd go nuts.
I don't know how to not work.
I used to think I only did this job
because I was good at it.
But I keep doing it.
I think it's what we
actually like doing, Will,
crummy people and all.
Come on in.
I got to watch the phones.
You can hear them from here.
Happy birthday, Will.
Thank you for seeing me, Johanna.
Coming all the way from Philadelphia.
- It must be important.
- It is.
It's about a m*rder in .
- Who was k*lled?
- A reporter. Lorena Kinney.
Lo Kinney was m*rder*d?
Pushed in front of a train.
The same night you left Philly.
- I never knew.
- But you knew Lo?
I met her... once.
- I wish I never had.
- Why is that?
Because...
What she told me...
haunted me...
the rest of my life.
I'm writing a story about
someone from your hometown.
From Swalmen?? Who?
Noah Pool.
- Noah.
- You know him?
We lived on same street since childhood.
Is that right?
His sisters and I, we played
every day. Noah, too.
So strong.
But also so gentle.
Yes. He is very gentle.
- Is?
- I know him.
- He lives here in Philadelphia.
- That is impossible.
He'll be so pleased to know someone
from Swalmen is also here.
Noah is dead.
What?
He was k*lled in Auschwitz.
You must be mistaken.
He survived longer than the others,
painting portraits.
But when there are no more to paint...
I, uh... I have a photo of him.
This is Noah Pool.
No.
Then who?
- That is Anton.
- Anton?
A guard.
Are you sure?
He gave me this.
I left Philadelphia that day.
Knowing he was there,
I've never been back.
So Lo was in love with a n*zi.
Sit down.
So we're looking for your uncle.
- Must be at his studio.
- No.
- He cleared out.
- Where would he go?
That's what I need to know.
The man you thought
was your Uncle Noah,
- he's someone else.
- What do you mean?
His real name's Anton Bikker.
And he collaborated
with the Germans.
What do you think
you're saying to me?
I know how you feel about him,
and how he helped bring you up.
- That's right!
- But people can lie, David.
Trick you.
And be real good at it.
- I've known him my whole life.
- He's been lying that long.
Now he's running,
and we got to find him.
It can't be true.
Noah played with me,
taught me things.
Took me to the movies.
The real Noah d*ed in a camp
where Anton was a guard.
We, uh...
We found a woman
who knew them both.
years later...
maybe a mistake.
Can't see making a mistake about that.
Can you?
Johanna Hoffman told Lo the truth.
Johanna Hoffman?
You know the name?
From the last time I saw Lo.
You were going to meet us in the park.
Ah... Oh, my, you're absolutely right.
Where's my head?
I... I lost track of time...silly me.
Uncle Noah said cotton candy
is your favorite. / It is.
Thank you.
What are you working on
that you forget us?
- Ah. Just my column.
- Ah.
More questions about recipes?
No. No, not today.
Lo.
What is wrong?
This one's hard.
Why? What is it about?
A woman...
who thought she was in love.
But the man she fell for
wasn't who she thought he was.
If she loves him...
maybe who he is is okay.
No, this fella is smart
and handsome and kind.
And for a while,
she thought he hung the moon.
- Did he hurt her?
- Not her.
Then what is the problem?
If there is love between two people,
nothing else matters.
The problem is things
he's done in the past.
How can she believe them
if for her, he hangs the moon?
Miss Kinney, you have that letter?
Oh, yes, yes.
Here.
Going to a Miss Johanna Hoffman on pine?
Yes.
So Lo didn't receive that note,
she wrote it to Johanna.
Sent it the day she d*ed.
But Johanna had left Philly for good,
so it went back to Lo.
Did your, um...
uncle see this letter?
No.
But I told him what is said.
Anton stood by while
your real uncle was k*lled,
and when Lo Kinney found out
about his lies,
he k*lled her, too.
I always wondered why he
stopped talking about her.
Where is he?
Tell us, for Noah.
Anton.
Anton Bikker.
Where you going, Anton?
Why do you call me that?
Where do you think
you can run to now?
My name is Noah Pool.
Noah Pool is dead.
Talk to David, my nephew.
He'll tell you.
We did talk to him.
Told him how you took his uncle's name
to hide what you did during the w*r.
- Oh, he wouldn't believe that.
- How do you think we found you?
He was disgusted by you,
just like Lo.
- Lo saw who I was and loved me.
- No.
When she knew the truth,
she gave up on you.
- No, she was confused!
- Heartbroken.
But she was going to do the right thing.
Expose you.
"This will not stand."
I am better than the worst thing I ever did.
I have to be able to go on now, to live. I...
That's asking too much.
She knew me!
She should have been able to understand.
What you did, no one can understand.
If she had let herself love me...
it all would have been okay.
You were expecting Johanna.
Why?
I wanted to show her a story I wrote.
A story?
A story about what?
A n*zi... who pretended to be a Jew.
Did you know that when the camps
were finally liberated,
soldiers pushed empty baby carriages
out the front gate... five at a time?
Why are you telling me this?
People watching said it took
an hour for them all to pass by.
And you believe this woman
more than you believe me?
Tell me your name.
Don't play games, Lo.
Tell me your name.
Johanna saw the photo,
the one we took together in the park.
How could you?
I am not a monster.
Did you k*ll Noah Pool or
just watch him die?
I watched him paint.
Hour upon hour,
just the two of us,
talking about his family in America,
about a nephew David...
how he wanted to meet them on day,
and poetry and music and art.
And in those hours, I saw.
Saw?
He was a man.
Better than I.
Forgive me.
- No one can forgive you.
- You can.
Because you loved me.
With you, I was free.
- You're wrong.
- That day in the park, you understood
No, I didn't.
Now let me go.
You know me!
Better than anyone!
Noah Pool is dead, and
everything I know is a lie!
How we feel about each other...
that is not a lie!
I love you!
And I know you love me!
No, Anton, no!
I loved Noah.
♪ Hide your heart from sight ♪
♪ Lock your dreams at night ♪
♪ It could happen ♪
♪ to you ♪
♪ Don't count stars ♪
♪ or you might stumble ♪
♪ Someone drops a sigh ♪
♪ And down you tumble ♪
♪ Keep an eye on spring ♪
♪ Run when Church bells Ring ♪
♪ It could happen ♪
♪ to you ♪
♪ All I did was wonder ♪
♪ How your arms would be ♪
♪ And it happened ♪
♪ to me ♪
♪ Keep an eye on spring ♪
♪ Run when church bells ring ♪
♪ It could happen ♪
♪ to you ♪
♪ All I did was wonder ♪
♪ How your arms would be ♪
♪ And it happened ♪
♪ to me ♪