01x02 - Web of Death

[bunniefuu]

Either of you jocks so much as move,
you'll wind up in the morgue in a Dixie cup.

Let's go. Come on.

All right.

You got nothing on us, man.

Come on. Six nickel bags?
Now, you call that dealing?

My needs are simple, Ferro.

How about 90 days at Rikers?
Will that satisfy them?

You gonna toss me too?
No, Pinky. You I'm gonna blow
over to Bay Shore tonight.

Halt or I'll sh**t!

Look at that dude fly.

All right, Pinky, give!

I swallowed it.
Honest, Nick.
Come on!

You'd swallow a bushel of kitty litter
before you'd swallow that fix.

Give!

I don't know what you want with me.
I'm nothing.

I need an arrest, baby.
You may be nothing,
but you're my nothing.

Hey, man. Wait, listen.
I'm really bent bad.

It's two days since I copped.

Let me score, huh?

I gotta nod, man. I just gotta.

You got your kit with you?

Manhattan South Precinct,
Detective Squad.

Sergeant Vine speaking.

Ferro? What are you doing up?

I figured you'd be tucked in bed
by this time.

You what?

Driving home from my sister's,
I made a narcotics collar.

I busted him in hand to hand.

Okay, okay. So I'm bucking
for cop of the month, hmm?

Just dig me up a fresh typewriter ribbon,
will you, Sarge? I'll be there in 10 minutes.

What was that about?
You're not going to believe me.

Hey, Bob.! He's here.!
All right, come on, everybody, wake up.!

Hey, Nick, come on in.!
Come on in. Don't be afraid.

Don't be shy.
We love ya. We love ya.

All right,
everybody wake up.! Nick Ferro's here.!

Lieutenant, it's him. He's here.
Here he is. Hey, the supercop!

If you're after my job, Ferro, just say so.

Okay, so I got carried away.

I get those impulses too,
but then I think of all that paperwork.

So if you wanna
save yourself the paperwork,

next time you get that feeling
of gung ho coming on, do what I always do.

What's that?
Ah, you whistle down a rookie patrolman
and hand the collar over to him.

I'm booking our friend here.

Oh. Good luck.

Oh, yeah.
I'll need a, um, property envelope.

Night, Sergeant.

And what, might I ask, Detective Ferro,
is this supposed to be?

Well, it's not vitamin E,
Sergeant.
No, that it's not.

And it sure isn't Big Harry.

Begum and bejabbers, man.

You can't jug a junkie
for sh**ting soap.

Car 723K, 10-1 your command.
Call your command.

Repeat. 10-1 your command.
Call your command. Acknowledge.

Car 723, 10-4.

What?

How are you, Pinky?

Close the door.

Come on, sit down. Sit down.

Hum it for me again,
why don't you?

Man, you're too much for my head.

Like, hum what?

You were my alibi, junkie...

foolproof and air tight.

That's why I allowed you to fix.

With you flying on an oven-fresh high,
you wouldn't remember the end of the world.

But your connection
was pushing roach powder.

It was cut so many ways,
it wouldn't freak a midget.

And you came down
faster than I'd counted on.

Fast enough to dig on a tune
overheard in a service alley...

and denote maybe the fact
that you were all alone in the car,

that Detective Ferro was nowhere to be seen.

That's... That's bad news
all around, hype.

It's bad for me,
it's bad for you.

I'm holding, Pinky.

Get the cooker going.
Hey.

L-I'd never cop. No bull, man.

You bounce me off the walls,
I wouldn't cop.

Ajunkie's promise.

The supreme high, Pinky.

Come on. Hmm?

Like it comes off the boat.

Come on.

Hmm.

- Forensic been notified?
- On the way.

The M.E.?
Yeah.

- Who's that?
- Mr. Polichek, the building super.

He found the body.
It is really the noise... that Victrola.

People, uh... People could...
impatient, they complain.

I can't understand it, so I just, uh, phoned
and, uh, there was no answer.

So I put my clothes on,
went upstairs and knocked, knocked.

Nothing again,
so I opened up here with my passkey.

- Well, it's not playing now.
- Yeah, of course. I turned it off.

Ah. You shouldn't have
done that, Mr. Polichek.

Did you touch anything else?

Yeah, yeah.
Yeah, of course. The doorknob.

All right, Mr. Polichek.
It's all right.

Hi, sweetheart. You should have called.
I would have put something in the oven.

No, I caught a beef dip
at McGuinness's.
Oh.

But could I ever use a highball.
Okay.

Hard day, darling?
Nah, a breeze.

Hey, redhead,
how's that drink coming, hmm?

I'm parched.
In a minute, babe.

I'm just calling Dolly to remind her
we're on for backgammon tomorrow.

Sweetheart?
Uh, why not?

- Al? Theo. Who's on standby?
- Just a second.

- Ferro and Olney.
- All right. Drag them off the charts
and give them a forthwith.

Why do you drink so much?
Because I like it.

Everything you like to do is wrong.

According to you, everything I like to do...

is either illegal, immoral or fattening.

Morning.
How do you feel?

I swung by.
I figured we'd ride in together.

We caught a homicide.
Oh, Nick just got home!

Kojak's orders. Must be heavy.

Mayfair Apartments,
some guy named Harris.

Hey.

You look awful.

You should see me
without the pancake.

Don't wait up.

Oh, no. No!

No! No!

Ohhh, no!

And absolutely no way
the k*ller could have gotten past you?

Not through the front lobby, no, sir.
7:00 p.m. To 7:00 a.m., nobody enters
or exits that I don't okay.

Tradespeople, tenants, guests...
everybody logs in and out. Everybody.

7:00 to 7:00 and no relief.

You must have cement kidneys.

Okay, so no non-bona fides entered
the premises after you came on duty?

How about before?
Someone could have, uh,

entered during the daylight,
hidden somewhere,

waited for nightfall,
committed the m*rder...

and then slipped out
through a service exit?

Yeah, but that still didn't explain
how he got into the apartment.

- The door was locked, you know.
- Hmm. And no sign of any break-in.

You know, that's a very good point,
Mr. Polichek. Thank you.

Twenty feet from the door. Why there?

The cannon is pointing at him,

and he stands there
sipping a martini, hmm?

At a guess, approximately 10:30.

You'll get my fine line
with your breakfast oatmeal.

Whoever did it, tell him
Agajanian said
he's some fancy sh**t.

Oh, you should be
home in bed, Olney.

Whoa.! Come back here, Doctor.

Oh-ho. Agajanian's right.
I've picked floaters out of the East River
that look better than you do.

I'm okay, Theo.
I'll be okay, Theo.

If I sent you to Coney Island, the whole beach
would be throwing sand in your face.

Why don't you take him inside
and do a number on him?

And if it's catching,
I don't wanna hear about it.

What's the matter with you?
Huh?

Oh, nothing.
Just a slight case of athlete's foot,
but I'm off the critical list.

Well, I'm glad to hear that,
because this case has warts on it.

Okay. The victim leased the apartment
a year ago under the name of Edward Harris.

The I.D. In his billfold reads Quincy Forsythe...

a named partner in a Wall Street law firm,
Scarsdale home address.

He used the apartment infrequently,
never weekends, always at night...

an occasional Wednesday matinee.

The doorman's log can provide you
with exact, uh, dates.

There was a string of them, all knockouts.
The last blonde named, uh, Miss Johnson.

You putting this down?
Yeah. Miss Johnson.

She must have copped rave reviews
because he held her over about three months.

Okay, she arrived this evening around 7:30.

Ingram... that's the doorman...
permitting her to go straight up,

those being the instructions
of Mr. Harris or Mr. Forsythe
or whatever you want to call him.

And at 10:30, according to our M.E.,
he shuffled off this mortal coil.

What time, uh,
did you say she left?
Shortly before 10:00.

- Then that lets her off the hook.
- Well, that's neat.

A very neat homicide. Right, g*ng?
Culprit? Motive?

But I should worry?
I've got you and Olney on thejob.

I can take two weeks in the Catskills.
One week. Olney's been scratched.

Of course, it's a long time
since I probed the vitals of a living person,

but a first-year med student
could diagnose the fact...

that Detective Olney
has a ruptured appendix.

Sorry, partner.
I thought it was just a case of measles.

Take care, Olney.

What are you worried about?
You'll have a partner. Me.

Information? Yes, please.
I'd like the number of a Quincy Forsythe,

911 Woodbridge Drive, Scarsdale.

First thing we should do is try to, uh,
get a line on this Johnson chick.

See if we can't run down the cabbie
who picked her up tonight, huh?
Right.

Yes. What was that number again?
Mm-hmm.

Nose around. I mean,
three months on the best-seller list,
she must have left some souvenirs.

Yes. This is the New York City
Police Department,

Lieutenant Kojak,
Manhattan South Detective Squad.

I'm calling in regard to Mr. Quincy Forsythe.

His wife?

Yes, l... I think you better wake her.

Yes, I know it's late, but it's urgent.

Yes, Lieutenant Kojak.

Yes, I'll wait.

In two years, Lefkowitz,
you'll be a hopeless diabetic.

You got the doorman's log?
Yeah. Right here.

Where'd you leave your car?
I'll drop you off.
Oh, I didn't. Olney drove me in.

All right. Come on, I'll drive you home.

No, it's all right.
I'll take the subway.

What, and get mugged?
Come on.

Just one.
All right. Maybe just a quick one.

Honey, hustle us up some drinks.

Retsina okay?
Retsina? You got to be kidding.

You're actually holding?

It's not exactly in big demand.

Five years, and I still have
the same bottle you gave us
for our housewarming.

It doesn't spoil, does it?
Spoil? You buy it rotten.

You could drop a dead cat into it
and it wouldn't make any difference.

I'll call St. Luke's,
see how Olney's doing.
Yeah.

Why don't you let a bachelor
defend his rights?

Yes. Hello. This is Detective Ferro.

Oh-ho-ho.

Okay.

How's the world treating you, Jo?

Like a fairy princess. You?
Oh.

Well, I'm parting my hair
a little bit differently.

Hey, I'm sorry to be
dragging your old man out
at this ungodly hour.

It's okay. That's why
they invented, uh, backgammon.

That's great.
Thank you very much. Thank you.

Well, the operation
was a huge success.
Good.

And Olney's resting comfortably
in postoperative care.
Mm-hmm.

And a year from now,
he'll be telling us he got the scar
from a big dockside rumble.

Red, you're notjoining us?

No, I'm way ahead of you.

Well, I guess I'd better split.
I got a big day tomorrow.

Yeah, well, your big day is my big day.

Thanks, Jo.
I'll see you tomorrow.

Good night.
Good night.

That was my engagement gift to you.

It cost me three weeks salary.

Where do you hide your wig?

Where?

Well, get it!

Come on.

All right, with this we close the door.
There will be no discussion,

and neither of us
will ever refer to this again!

And when I presume you to be home,
you will be home.

Yes.

And when you tell me you're going
someplace with the girls, that's exactly
and precisely what you're gonna do,

with every second rigidly accounted for.!

- Do you read me, Joanna?
- Yes. Yes.

Now, he never phoned you, did he?
I mean, there's no way they can...
they can connect you.

No, I was very careful.

Ohhh.

- Then how come I found out?

Soap?
Soap. Soap!

All right. Who d*ed?

Nick Ferro's heavy drug collar?
Pinky Hollister?

Turns out he was carrying soap.

All right.
What have you got for me?

Autopsy confirmed time of death...
10:30 p.m.

Hmm. Agajanian must be
doing handstands.

Yeah. Ballistics identified
the make of the w*apon.

A nine-millimeter Browning,
sil*ncer equipped.

Send it through for match up?
It's already in the works.

From the female attire
hanging in the closet,

plus some lingerie
we found in the dresser drawer,

Forensic is able to give us
some reconstructive statistics...

regarding the probable height, weight
and age of the lady known as Miss Johnson.

The doorman could tell me that.
Ah! But he couldn't tell you this.

The tattling sheets on Forsythe's bed...

indicate that an indoor track meet took place
between 8:00 and 10:00 p.m. Last night...

and that the female contestant wore...

an inexpensive, over-the-counter
blonde nylon wig.

Okay, so what do you want?

A departmental citation
or a free trip to Cuba?

I'll settle for a cup of coffee.

All right. Here.

You're kidding?
All right, go ahead.

I'm buying, just as long
as you're pouring, Sergeant.

Widow make it to the morgue yet?
Yeah, Crocker was with her.
He got a written statement.

How'd she take it?
Like a Spartan.

It seems her husband's chasing around
came as no surprise to her.

The way she saw it,
as long as he kept it out of Scarsdale,

it was simply a harmless hobby...
you know, like collecting stamps.

Hmm. Is she alibied?
Up to her earlobes.

It seems while Mr. Forsythe
was being aced,

Mrs. Forsythe was hostessing a party
for the local chapter of the Beethoven Society.

Got to be a moral there someplace.

There, lying on the carpet
underneath the coffee table...
what the devil is it?

Well, that could... - that could be
tin foil or crumpled cellophane.

Well, there's nothing in Forensic's
inventory that fills that bill.

Prince. What's your beef?

Hey, Kojak.

Of course we did.
We vacuumed the whole apartment.

Well, if it is not on the inventory,
somebody must have swung with it.

Now, look. You blow up that photo,
and if it turns out nice,

maybe I can swing
a showing at the Guggenheim, okay?

Thank you.
Any progress
with the cab companies?

That could have been
a cruising gypsy cab picked her up...

or an off-duty hack
sneaking an unreported fare.

All the same, you stay with it.
Miss Johnson came from somewhere,
and Miss Johnson had to go somewhere.

Hey. You're... You're not saying that...
that maybe she iced Forsythe?
Why not?

She could have paid for the taxi
a block away, then doubled back.

The doorman said
she had her own key, right?

She could have come early, sneaked in
and then left, leaving the service door
entrance open.

A woman with a handgun,
six yards from her target,

squeezes off a sh*t
and hits him between the eyes?

Come on, Theo.
And how about the sil*ncer?

She didn't pick that up
at her favorite boutique.

Well, uh, I didn't say
it was an idea I cherished.

What's your theory, Sherlock?
A professional hit?

Well, it's got all the earmarks,
hasn't it?

Now, you show me a lawyer
who hasn't made some enemies,
and I'll show you a notary public.

Huh.

Prince's takeout. What'll you have?

Any evidence to indicate
the color of Miss Johnson's natural hair?

No?

Well, did you check
Forsythe's comb and brush set?

Well, try the bathtub, the drain.
Pick up the pipes if necessary.

Just doesn't scan.

Quincy Forsythe and a nylon wig...
that's chateaubriand and hominy grits.

You know, if he'd gone the hooker route, okay.
But that wasn't his scene.

So if Miss Johnson wasn't
wearing the wig for show...

She was wearing it as a disguise.

Brilliant.

Assuming Wall Street law firms
keep normal business hours,

it's time we paid a call on Breckinridge,
Rathbone, Meyers and Forsythe.

Hey, Pinks.

Hey, man, it's Elmo.

Well, two hours, nine interviews
and a common consensus.

Quincy Forsythe
was a prince among men.

He was a paragon of integrity,
and he hadn't an enemy in the world.

He had one.
Miss Johnson's husband.

Her husband?
Where did you get that?
Forsythe's secretary.

She says he only played around
with married stuff.

It was a cardinal rule...
no widows, no divorcées, no maidens.

And no complications.
That was the idea, anyway.

So you're a bored, suburban husband
looking to connect with some bored,
suburban housewife.

But being a big-time Manhattan barrister,
you have to keep a low profile.

I guess we better go talk to someone
at Mr. Forsythe's favorite watering hole...
the Time Out.

Yeah, I remember that one.
Hey, how could I forget?

She was something else, let me tell you.

Just as hungry as them,
uh, if you know what I mean.

Sat through four days
of steady propositions,

bobbing and weaving,
before she decided to score.

Must've taken.
She hasn't been back since.

Is this the dude?
Yeah, that's him.

You know, funny thing...
some joker was in here a couple of weeks ago,

asking about the same blonde.

Can you describe him?

Hey, women I remember, dad, but, uh, men?

Well, they're, uh... they'rejust like
suits and ties to me, you know?

Just sit tight. Just sit.

We located the cab driver,
but he's not gonna do us much good...

unless we can give him somebody
he can take a look at.

Uh, hold it.
All right. Ballistics follow-up.

The slug that cooled Forsythe,
uh, matches the one...

dug out of a man wounded in
a liquor store holdup six months ago.

That's just what we needed.
Hey, just trying to make your day.

Get me everything you can
on that package store sh**ting,
and make it fast.

No sooner said...

It's not tin foil. It's not cellophane.

It's a piece of jewelry.

A pendant, a broach, an earring?
Well, what the hell happened to it?

Stavros!
Yo.!

Come here.

All right, you've had five years in Burglary,
what's your opinion?

Mid-range quality.

It's not Cartier's,
but it could be traceable.

Why don't you have it blown up some more,
circulate it through the jewelry trade
and see what shakes?

Thank you very much.

You can put my name
at the top of your Christmas list.

Guess what we found in the shower drain?

A redhead.
Prince, you're a pussycat.

All right, Nick.

I want you to assemble
the doorman at the Mayfair Towers,

the cab driver,
the bartender at the Time Out.

Put them in a room
with a departmental artist...

and come up
with a version of Miss Johnson...

a redheaded version.

Right.

Hello, Joanna? Now, listen, do you still have
the jewel box that the broach came in?

All right. Get it.
I need the name and address
of the place where I purchased it.

Don't you remember that?

No, I don't remember.
It was West 45th Street, I think.

It's been six years.
Just get it, okay?

- What are you gonna do?
- Do? What I have to do.

Some place there's my name
on a... on a sales record.

I have to destroy it.

I was just checking the hospital
to find out about Olney.

Oh, yeah. Give him my best.
What did you say?

Kornbluth Jewelers. 337 West 45th.

Ah, you say he's taking a nap?
Well, that's all right.

Uh, no, don't bother him. I'll call later.
Thank you very much. Thank you.

That package store holdup?
Here's the report.

Prime suspect, a Foster Bridges.

There's a yellow sheet on him
the size of Delaware.

The victim failed
to make a positive I.D.,

and since the arresting officer
couldn't produce the w*apon,
the case was dropped.

Well, then, uh,
Bridges is our boy, huh?

Well, he can't be
in two places at once, can he?

And one place we know he was
when Forsythe was being k*lled...

was in the Tombs,
sweating out a B&E.

But the g*n wasn't at the Tombs,
and a piece doesn't care who uses it.

Now, look, I'm going down
to the Tombs.

You stick around here
and bear down on that sketch
of Miss Johnson,

who's a redhead.
Right.

Hey, Nick! I was just down
in the morgue checking on a John Doe.

Yeah.
You know who else was there?
Your pal Pinky.

Go ahead, Foster.

Go on. Be my guest.

And now for the tab, right?

I ain't making no promises, baby.

It's like I'm, uh, still studying on it.

A nice private cell,
a little sweet-talk to the D.A.,
a speedy swift trial,

and 60 days from now
you're back out on the street, huh?

Kojak,

you know, that's some
heavy, heavy necktie you got.

I mean, a cat on the loose could
cop an awful lot ofheavy, heavy trade
with a tie like that.

Foster, you drive a hard bargain.

Here.

- He didn't waste that ofay.
- Who didn't?

He's hustling cars, you dig?

The cannon's just for status.

I mean, like, ain't no uptown mama
gonna fat-mouth...

a brother who's packing a magnum
under his vines.

Who, Foster? Who?

What was that name again, Lieutenant?

Burgess Venable?

Right.

Where's Ferro?
He went to get something to eat.

Hey, Theo, don't worry about it.
Christmas is coming.
What does that mean?

We're gonna take a collection,
get you some ties.

Were they sure, Weiner?

Well, they weren't the best eyewitnesses
I've ever dealt with.

It seemed fairly certain at the beginning,
but when Ferro pinned them down...

All right. Have them run off
and distributed.

Okay.

Here are the yellow pages
on Burgess Venable.

Dig those priors.

Crocker!

Emilio Weiner just left.
Get him back here.

Dispatch a squad car to Mayfair Towers...

and collect that, uh, doorman, Ingram.

And one more thing.

I wanna see Nick Ferro's work schedule
for the past three months.

Theo, Nick Ferro?

Light a candle, baby.

A get-well card won't do.

That's her. That's her to a "T."
I told him the nose was all wrong,
but that Detective Ferro...

All right, Mr. Ingram. Thank you very much
for coming down. I appreciate it.

It was the sil*ncer.
I should have picked up then.

What?
Well, there was no way
he could have known.

He hadn't seen the ballistics report.

But I figured when he mentioned it,
after 16 years on the force,

a man's entitled to an educated guess.

There were other signals too.
I was just slow in tuning in.

A day? You call that slow?

Oh, Frank, it hurts.
I pinned the gold on him myself.

Theo, don't gouge yourself.
He kept it polished.

Mm-hmm. Until last night.

You're that sure of it, huh?
That sure?

Ah, look, Frank.

Nick's past duty schedule,
the exact dates that Forsythe
spent over at his apartment...

For the past three months,
they coincide exactly with the times
that Nick was pulling night duty.

After the package store sh**ting,

Foster Bridges unloads his Browning
on Burgess Venable.

He warns him that the piece is hot,
but Venable doesn't care.
He only wants it for show anyway.

Two months ago, Venable is collared
on a morals charge, later released.

Arresting officer,
our hero, Nick Ferro.

No mention here
of any weapons confiscation.

Check! And there should have been.

You know, Foster said that Venable
was so in love with that cannon
that he even slept with it.

There's just one thing
wrong with that, Lieutenant.

Ferro's alibi for the time
of the Forsythe job.

He phoned in a drug collar
10 minutes before.

Are you positive of that, Sergeant?

Captain McNeil, I logged it myself.

Ferro needed an airtight alibi.

What could be sweeter?
I want to interview that junkie.

No way.

Pinky Hollister was so happy
that he was released,

he went home and O.D.'d.

Oh. Did you see the autopsy?

No.

This is Lieutenant Kojak,
Manhattan South.

Let me speak to Agajanian.

Hello, Doc?

You processed an O.D. Today,
name's Hollister?

What's his story?

Yeah, it figures. Thanks.

Eighty-seven percent pure.

As lethal as a cyanide pellet.

Now, what's a nickel-bag hype
doing with uncut horse, huh?

Or a street pusher, for that matter?

Only an importer
handles the product before it's cut...

or a cop who's in
on a high-level bust,

like the Pelegrini collar,
which occurred this past summer
with Olney and Ferro.

So that makes it two homicides.

Exactly, which explains the piece of jewelry,

explains Joanna's uptightness,

even the precise time
of Forsythe's m*rder,

which for Ferro's purposes
had to occur at the exact time...

that he and his partner were
the next up on the assignment roster.

So he could catch his own case.

The only thing he didn't anticipate
was Olney's appendicitis.

Circumstantial, Theo, all of it.

I know it's circumstantial.

But it won't be
once I've spoken to Burgess Venable.

Al, I need a location on Nick Ferro.

Car 723, we have a location
on Detective Ferro's car.

425 West 89th Street.

Car 723, 10-4.

Venable, get down!

Hold it, Ferro!

What's the point?
Where would you go?

If the subway went to Outer Mongolia,
I'd still come after you.

Come on.

Send an ambulance
to 485 West 89th Street right away.

Come on. Take it easy.

Kornbluth's.
Kornbluth Jewelry...

on West 45th Street.

Chances are they never
would have remembered me,
but their sales records would.

First Burgess Venable,

and then the jewelers,

and then home
to the little woman, right?

Well, that was the idea.
Mm, you wouldn't have
stopped there, Nick.

Then the cab driver,
and then the doorman,

and then the bartender
at the Time Out,

And you know something?
In the end, Nick, it would have been me.

Yeah, I guess I always knew that
after you took over for... for Olney.

But I gave you good time.

I always gave you my best, didn't I?
Didn't I, Theo?

It's not what you gave me.
Me, you could give party favors.

It's the badge. You used it, Nick,
and that's not what it's there for.

It's not a credit card.

It was personal.

What's the matter?
A cop can't be human?
He can't be like other people?

You tried it.
What's your answer?