03x32 - Listen, Listen...!

[bunniefuu]

Good evening, ladies and gentlemen,

I hope you'll excuse
the use of this mechanical device.

But I have a mild case of laryngitis
and I don't wish to strain my voice.

Tonight's story is in... Tonight's story is in...
Tonight's story is in...

Good evening, ladies and gentlemen,

I hope you'll excuse this broken record.
But it was improperly handled.

Tonight's play is called
"Listen, Listen!"

"Listen, Listen!"..."Listen, Listen!"...

But, "Listen, Listen!"
really is the name of the story.

"Listen, Listen!"..."Listen, Listen!"...

I think we have
made that point quite clear.

Now to save my voice, I think
we shall indulge in some mental telepathy.

Look at the expression on my face
and see if you can tell

what is coming next.

Sergeant Oliver?

Good afternoon, Sergeant.

Yeah?

At last the weather seems to be clearing.
The rain's almost over.

Uh-huh.

I was told outside that you were
the detective in charge.

I thought you might listen to
something that I...

Listen to what?

It's my belief...
I have a theory that...

Have a seat. Smoke?

No, thank you. I've never smoked.
Nor drank, for that matter.

My wife and I, we were raised that way.
Very strict.

Some people consider it old-fashioned.

All our neighbors, I mean,
they consider us old-fashioned. But...

What did you come here to tell me?

Are the police satisfied with the solution
of the Stocking Murders?

Very.

You shouldn't be.

Why not?

It's the third m*rder.

What about it?

Everybody knew about the first two murders.

Anybody could copy them, the stocking,
the lipstick,

just copy them for the third m*rder,
the Jamieson girl.

What's your name?

Smith.
Jasper. Jasper F.

Occupation?

I am a bookkeeper.

Uh-huh.

Jasper F. Smith. Bookkeeper.

Did you k*ll the Jamieson girl? No?
Did you see anybody else k*ll her? No?

Good. We've got that straight.

It's my theory...

Yeah, I know and we appreciate your theory,
Mr. Smith. Very, very much.

It indicates civic pride,
you know what I mean?

But I've got to tell you what I've told the
others with civic pride who had a theory.

It just so happens, see, that all three of
them Stocking Murders are sewed up tight.

So if that's the only reason you've come
to this office on a rainy afternoon...

No, no, please...

You've come to the wrong place.

The Jamieson girl wasn't even k*lled
in this district.

Yes, I know that, but I thought if you'd
listen to my ideas and...

Was taken to
the East st Street station.

East st Street.

Who... Whom shall I ask for?

You ask for Lieutenant King. He's in charge.

Lieutenant King?

Yes, sir. He'll be glad to listen to you.

Thank you.

Don't forget now. Ask for Lieutenant King.

Me, I'm a simple Sergeant, see,
but him, he's a Lieutenant.

If you'd just listen...

Good afternoon, Mr. Smith.

What did you say your name was?

What did you say your name was again?

Morgan. Cyrus Morgan.

Yeah, Cyrus Morgan.

Okay, what can we do for you?

It's about the Stocking Murders.

What about them?

Well, I thought...

Yes, Mr. Morgan? You thought what?

I understand you're in charge of the case.

I was.

Oh?

The case is now in the hands
of the District Attorney.

But you could give the District Attorney
new evidence?

We have all the evidence we need.

For all three cases?

Well, for the first two.

But it's the third case,
the m*rder of the Jamieson girl...

I tell you, we could always use someone

to testify that they saw Schultz
go into the Jamieson girl's place.

Did you see him go in that night?
Is that why you're here?

No. No. Nothing like that.

Then why are you here?

My theory is...

Mr. Morgan, please, my time is valuable.

If you just spare me a few minutes.

Okay. sh**t.

Three girls, all very young,
all living in walk-up apartments alone.

Then three weeks ago today,

the first girl was found
by her cleaning woman in her pajamas

dead, strangled, with a brand new
nylon stocking knotted around her throat.

And on her forehead was scrawled
a capital "A" in lipstick.

Then one week later,
the second girl was found in her bathrobe,

strangled with a stocking, an "A"
smeared on her forehead with a lipstick.

And another week later, a third...

Wait a minute.

Either take the rap for Schultz and confess,
or stop handing out details I know by heart.

I assure you I'm very familiar with all
three cases. I happen to be a very busy man.

But, it's the third case, the last m*rder.

Helen Jamieson was found
exactly like the other two.

The next day, we picked up
this phony stocking salesman

we'd been hunting for since the first m*rder.

There he was, a look in his eye,
gold lipstick in his pocket

and he'll get the chair.
So what's your point?

The papers say that Schultz hasn't confessed
to the Jamieson m*rder.

Yeah.

So you see...

We've got him cold on the first two murders
and as far as the Jamieson case...

But you aren't sure that he k*lled
the Jamieson girl. Don't you see?

Supposing somebody else did it?

No, now see here, Mr. Morgan,
all three murders fit a pattern.

That's just it! Please, please listen.

The first two murders make a pattern.
The stocking, the lipstick.

So anybody who wanted to k*ll the third girl
could do it the same way without any risk

because they could count on the police
believing it was the last of a series.

My dear Mr. Morgan, when you were a child,
I bet you were a whiz at cops and robbers.

I say the police are making a mistake!

You say, do you?
So you think the police are incompetent?

No, no. I...

Well, I wanna tell you something,
you've come to the wrong place to say so.

I didn't mean... I know how difficult it is.

It's not difficult at all once you understand
it's a pattern.

Nylon hose, red lipstick, crazy man caught,
stop wasting our time.

Take your complaints
to the District Attorney.

Take them to the Commissioner.
Take them to City Hall, for all I care!

But get out of here
before I call the psycho ward at the hospital

and have you committed
as a public nuisance!

Hey, what's the matter, you sick?

No. I'm all right, thank you.
A little dizzy, but I'm all right.

You're sure?

Yes, you see, I forgot about eating lunch.
Thank you for listening to me.

Hey, you better get yourself
something to eat.

Okay. All right, what time?

: , okay, thank you.

Could I speak to a reporter?

A reporter? This is the Want Ad desk.

Look, if you want to talk to a reporter,
why don't you go to Aces?

Well, isn't this the Chronicle Building?

Sure it is. But right now all the reporters
are off duty, hanging one on.

Hanging one on?

You know, having a belt. A drink.

Oh. Where is Aces?

Hold on. Eighth near rd.
Most of them go there.

Aces, th near rd. Thank you, young man.

Good evening, sir.

Is this Aces bar?

Yes, sir. Can I help you?

I didn't expect a place like this to look
so clean, so pleasant.

What will you have, sir?

Have? Oh, nothing.

Nothing?

Well, I really don't know.

May I suggest a sherry?

Wine? Yes, I guess that's harmless enough.

A small glass of sherry.

My, what a pretty color.
It's like gold.

Just like gold.

Would you care for another?

No. No, thank you.

They say that newspapermen
use this place a lot?

Mmm-hmm. Some do.

Are there any here now?

That's Mr. Beekman of the Chronicle.

I think I may have another sherry.

Mr. Beekman?
You're on the Chronicle?

Mmm-hmm.

Who's your friend?

My name is Reid. Ralph Reid.

Oh, Mr. Ralph Reid, meet...
What's your name?

Slats.

Meet Slats.

How do you do?

Hi.

Perhaps, I could buy you both a drink?

Oh, you sure can! Another round, Charlie,
on Pop's check.

Sure.

And I'll have another sherry.

Yes, sir.

As a reporter, you must be very
interested in the Stocking Murders.

Well, what do you think?

I want Mr. Beekman to listen to my theory
about the Jamieson case.

Oh, sure.

Mr. Beekman, were you assigned to them?
The Stocking Murders, I mean.

I imagine you got a real kick
reading about them, huh?

Cute little devil you are, Pops.
Interested in pretty girls? Dead.

You don't understand!

Here's to little men who are fascinated
by pretty girls who get strangled.

No, no. It's the last m*rder, don't you see?

The police are wrong. I know they're wrong
and I want you to print...

Easy, Pops. Come on, take it easy.

Could I sit down?

Sure, old fellow. Right over here.

Take it easy. Here, sit down.

What's wrong?

I'm a little dizzy.

I shouldn't have ordered the wine.
I'm not used to wine at all.

Will this pay for the drinks?

I mustn't stay here anymore!
I shouldn't have come here at all!

Well, it's all right, now don't get excited.

The police are fools!
And you're a fool, too, for not listening.

Take it easy, you silly old man.
Go home and sleep it off.

Poor Helen, she wasn't k*lled
by that man Schultz.

You could have a headline if you'd listen!

All right, that's enough.
You need some fresh air. Let's go.

Please. I've got to tell him about Helen!

Some other time. Out!

Please. Please, I...

Pardon me.

Is there someone in there
who would listen to me?

You mean a priest?

Yes. I need a priest to listen to me.

Well, by now I imagine Father Rafferty
is in the rectory.

Right next door. You see, over there.

That's right. He'll be happy to help you.

Thank you.

Yes, sir?

May I see Father Rafferty?

Step in, please.

I'll tell Father.

Good evening, sir.
Won't you come in please?

I'm Father Rafferty.

How do you do?

My name is Herbert Johnson.
My real name, that is.

If you wish confession, Mr. Johnson...

I'm not of your faith.

Then why...

I saw your church.
It looked friendly.

I thought maybe someone like you
would listen to me.

Listen? Of course.
But you look ill, Mr. Johnson.

No, no.

My housekeeper can fix you a cup of hot tea.

No, no, thank you.
If you'd just listen to me.

By all means.
Let's take off this wet raincoat.

You sit right here by the fire.

Well, now?

It's about the Jamieson case.

Jamieson, Mr. Johnson?

The last of the three murders.
You know about the three murders.

Perhaps this is a matter for the police?

I've been to the police.

How can I help you?

By listening.

Very well.

It's a heavy burden for me to bear all alone.

Perhaps we can lighten it.

This third m*rder, the last one...

Before you speak, Mr. Johnson.

Yes?

If there's m*rder on your conscience,
and you wish to be absolved...

Absolved? You mean forgiveness?

By God.

No, I didn't come here for that.

Very well then.

A mistake has been made.
You've read about the three girls m*rder*d?

Three girls?

The Stocking Murders. Just recently.

Oh, yes. Pitiful, those young women.

I remember reading in the papers.

The first two murders were in all the papers.

Even pictures, close ups. You remember
of that big "A" on their forehead.

Father, if anyone wanted to k*ll
the Jamieson girl

it would be the easiest thing in the world
to do it the same way,

and the police would arrest the first k*ller
and never bother to look for another.

Don't you see how simple it was?

Was?

You mean, you think that's how it happened?

Mr. Johnson, you must be wrong.

Somewhere I've read that
they caught the man

who really committed
those dreadful murders.

He committed only the first two murders,
not the third.

Well, then, if you have definite evidence,
go to the...

But you said you've been to the police.
And they found your theory wrong?

Set your mind at rest.
You did what you thought was right...

No, no, you don't understand.

You see, I know
the Jamieson girl's family very well.

Poor people. May God comfort them.

Her father, her mother... I mean, her family,
they were very, very strict.

Helen left home when she was only .

Seventeen? That's so young.

So young, so pretty, so alive...

Now I see that she only wanted
to have a little fun.

Like all young people, Mr. Johnson.

No. Not all young people!

Some men, some women have no fun,
no joy while they're young!

But this girl, this Helen Jamieson,
she liked pretty clothes and going to shows.

The theater?

Yes, she loved the theater.

So when she left home,
she went on the stage with a new name.

And she worked hard and she got along
and she kept in touch, but...

She never saw her father and mother

because she was tired of the way
they preached at her about the wages of sin.

The wages of sin are death.

She was warned and she was m*rder*d.

No, no, you can't mean that!

Do you realize
how monstrous your notion is?

Better keep such unhealthy theories
to yourself, Mr. Johnson.

Now, let's take it
from the police point of view.

They've arrested a man and they're
convinced that he k*lled all three girls.

But, he didn't!

Well, is it likely the police are wrong?
I hardly think so.

But if you feel that strongly about it,
perhaps I can help you.

How?

Let me give you a letter to a friend of mine.

He's a detective at st street.
King is his name.

Lieutenant King is a fine and...

What's the matter?

I've seen the gentleman.

He dismissed me.

Dismissed you?
Well, then, obviously...

Sorry to disturb you, Father, but it's :
and the Mission Society is waiting for you.

Oh, yes. I better get ready.
Thank you, Miss Andrews.

Mr. Johnson, my advice is
to forget all this theory of yours.

Yes, Father.

This tragedy happening to people
you know well has worried you a great deal.

You're a kind man.

But you've dwelt too long
on this poor girl's death.

Get some rest.

Have faith in the police
and in God's justice.

God's justice. Yes.

As I thought. You have a fever.

You get right home and take a hot drink
and go to bed.

By tomorrow, you'll have forgotten
all about this theory of yours.

But, Father, don't you...

Yes. Thank you. Goodnight, Father.
I'm sorry I troubled you.

Oh, Herbert, wherever have you been?

Are you soaked through and through?

Oh, dear, I've been so worried
you'd catch cold in this weather.

I'm all right.

Do you think it thoughtful to worry me
by being gone all day

and not even coming home in time for...

I'm sorry I was late for dinner.

I cooked your favorite dessert,
grenadine rice pudding.

Well, I'll just set the table.

No. No, please. I couldn't eat.

You look so tired.

Go to bed, Herbert.
Get a good night's sleep.

You know, I tried to tell them,
but I couldn't get the words out.

They listened all right,
but they wouldn't understand.

How could they?

All right, dear, let's not talk about it.

You're exhausted and that nasty rain.

Let me fix you a cup of nice hot soup.

I even went to the police today.

Yes, dear, don't talk about it.

I'll just fix you something nice and warm.

Please, no. I said, no.

Well, then take off your slicker.
You'll catch cold sitting here like this.

You think about things too much.

Now be a good boy and let me help you
get off with this nasty, dirty raincoat.

And your hat.

I tried to tell them.
They never will believe me now.

I haven't the courage to say anything
ever again.

I tried to make them understand.
But they wouldn't listen.

They wouldn't believe that
a mother could do such a thing.

To speak and not be heard.

That is a frustrating feat.

It probably accounts for the strange behavior
of our sponsor.

So for the next minute, pay strict attention,

lest you become more neurotic than he is.

I shall see you in seconds.