05x12 - The Fighter

[bunniefuu]

(theme song playing)

♪♪

♪♪

♪♪

♪♪

(distant cheering,
whistling of crowd)

(distant shouts of crowd)

♪♪

MAN: The lab here
at the medical center

ran different tests.

In all the tests, the
results were the same:

No trace of steroids was
found in Billy Leon's system.

It can be stated conclusively

that he is not using
steroids at the present time,

nor has he used them
in the past six months.

Despite rumors to the contrary,

Mr. Leon's excellent physical
condition appears to be

nothing more than the result

of good old-fashioned
hard work and determination.

- Thank you.
- (applause)

Now, you heard the
man... Billy here is clean.

He earned the title

of heavyweight champion,
and make no mistake,

he's gonna keep
that title next month

when he fights Boomer Wilson at
the fabulous Crown Resort Hotel

- in Atlanta!
- Get him, champ!

Now that all this steroid stuff

has been laid to
rest once and for all,

maybe you guys could
go back to writing the truth,

which is that Billy
Leon is the world's best

damn heavyweight boxer!

We're gonna see in
Atlanta! Thank you!

That's enough, folks.

- (reporters shouting questions)
- That's enough!

No, no time. I'm sorry, but
thank you for your concern.

Okay, folks, party
time. Let's get home.

Let's get packed.
Let's get to Atlanta.

- He was here.
- Who was here?

Nick Underwood, that little worm
that started this mess was here!

Of course he was here. He
broke the story. It'd be weird

for him not to be here.

Everybody would think that
he made the whole thing up.

- He did make it up!
- Come on, Billy, it's over.

- Let it rest.
- I can't! I thought the guy was a friend

- of mine, and he suckered me!
- REPORTER: Alana, can

- you tell us how you feel...?
- Billy, forget it!

This story's not your
problem anymore, it's his!

When this story comes out
and they find out what happened,

Nick Underwood's gonna
have a lot of explaining to do.

Please, get in the
car. Just get in the car.

- REPORTER: You got a moment, Billy?
- The man is scum.

It's like something from
the bottom of your shoe.

What happened was I
got fed false information,

that's what happened.

Of course... I confirmed
it with two doctors.

They must have
been paid to lie to me.

I mean, that's all I can figure.

No, but I'm sure gonna find out.

Oh, no, no, come on, Bill,
don't, don't print an apology.

That's gonna make
me look so stupid.

Look, give me three weeks, okay?

I'll find out who was
responsible for this.

I'll make him write the
retraction, I swear it.

Okay.

Okay, you're a peach.

Ciao for now.

(click)

(exhales) It's : ,
Wednesday the th.

I've got three weeks to
figure out who set me up.

The people I talked to
were totally convincing,

therefore, they must
have been coached by...

someone who knows Billy well.

Therefore, I am going to
find out everything I can

about Mr. Leon's
close personal friends.

(spectators and trainers
shouting, conversing)

WOMAN: Hey, Billy,
you're looking good!

(indistinct chatter)

Good jab! Hit with the jab!

MAN: Nice left.

(chatter continues)

(trainer speaks indistinctly)

MAN: One minute to go.

All right, let's go! Come on!

Come on, champ! Who's
the champ? Who's the champ?

Underneath!

You're headhunting,
Billy. Go to...

I want some Billy stuff here.

Who's the champ?
Who's the champ?

I just got off the phone
with the cable company.

MAN: Oh, that's sweet, champ!

- That's sweet!
- % increase in subscriptions.

Wow, you must
be kicking yourself.

Yeah? Why is that?

For not negotiating
a better cut.

Next time, Alana. Next time.

(indistinct shouts, grunting)

All right, that's it. Take five.

- Take five, Billy. Way to go.
- (bell clangs)

- You okay, Nate?
- Yeah.

Nice.

- How's the eye feel, Billy?
- It feels okay.

Now, you gotta
protect that, kid.

- It'll open up fast.
- Yeah.

- Way to go, champ.
- Good workout. Good workout.

Get him out of here!

Looking good, Billy. Can
I talk to you for a minute?

- You want to talk?
- Yeah.

Preferably in private.

- I'm gonna break your head!
- Come on.

Get him out of here, will
ya? Somebody get him out!

- Listen...
- I found out some things, Billy.

- Get out! -Nick...
- Will you listen to me?

- I can explain what happened!
- Take a walk, Nick.

I don't want to hear you!

- I don't want to see you!
- He said good-bye, Nick.

- Get out of my face!
- He said good-bye!

(spectators murmuring)

Nick's crazy.

(indistinct conversation,
mellow jazz playing)

Good. Well, gonna
see you at the fight.

Thank you very much for coming.

Alana, you look
positively edible.

Ooh. Thank you, Clayton.

How do I look?

The cumberbund is
fastened in the back,

- not in the front.
- The what?

- Help him.
- Oh, Mickey, it's not a back support.

Where's my guest of honor?

That's just what
I was wondering.

I don't remember inviting you.

An oversight.

Would you do me a favor, please?

Would you get, like, a security
guard over here, please?

Thank you very much.

You like being thrown
out of every place you go?

No. As a matter of fact,
I don't like it at all, really.

But that's how badly
I want to talk to Billy.

Who is, uh, where, by the way?

He'll be back later...
He went for a run.

MICKEY: Yeah, my orders.

I thought it would
settle him down

after what happened today.

Get his mind back to boxing,

not b*ating the tar out of
headline-grabbing sportswriters.

Don't count me out yet.

As I've been
trying to tell Billy,

I made some very
interesting discoveries

about those nearest
and dearest to him.

My next story is gonna
knock your socks off.

Would you remove Mr. Underwood
from the premises, please?

- I... I believe he's trespassing.
- Ah.

Registered guest.

Ciao for now.

Ciao.

Very nice color on
you, Mickey, very nice.

Always a pleasure.

(button clicks)

It's : p.m., Friday the th.

I went over to
Clayton's cocktail party

to try and talk to Billy,
but he wasn't there,

and I wound up
getting the bum's rush.

But I'm gonna keep on trying.

I owe him that much.

(phone ringing)

Hello?

I thought you might call.

Sure, if you want to.

: ?

: it is.

Bingo.

(clicks)

Excuse me.

(knocking at door)

Housekeeping.

Excuse me, sir,

would you like your
bed turned down?

Sir?

(men conversing indistinctly)

Oh. Mr. Matlock.

Monroe Weber of Stewart,
Tidyman, Herzog & Harris.

Look, thank you for coming down.

Uh, our main area of
expertise lies in contract law,

not criminal law, I'm afraid.

I'm not making any promises.

Mm-hmm.

You said there'd be some coffee.

Whole pot of coffee...
It's right in there with Billy.

Why can't these things
happen in the daytime?

Well, % of all homicides
happen after : p.m.

- Huh.
- Mm-hmm.

I hope Billy hasn't
drunk all the coffee.

(laughs): Me, too.

Uh, anyway, Mr. Underwood
caught a b*llet through the chest.

The police are pretty
sure it came from a g*n

they found in a Dumpster
on the hotel grounds...

Billy's g*n.

He travels with a g*n?

Protection.

A lot of nuts out there,
especially if you're famous.

Look, here's the
police report. Go on in.

If there's anything I can
help you with, I'll be right here.

(sighs)

I went for a nice,
long, slow run,

just like Mickey told me to.

I got done a little after : .

I went to my bungalow,
took a shower

so I could get over to the
party Clayton was throwing.

Next thing I know,
there's a bunch of sirens

and... people
running all around.

(sighs) Pretty soon my
wife comes in and tells me

that somebody just
sh*t Nick Underwood.

Next thing I know, the police
are knocking at my door,

asking whether this g*n
they were holding was mine.

I said, "No, mine's right here."

Only, when I opened
the drawer it was in,

it was gone.

About then they started
reading me my rights.

(sniffs)

How many people knew you
kept your g*n in your room?

It wasn't any big secret,
if that's what you mean.

Figured if people knew I had it,

they wouldn't mess with me.

(Billy sighs)

You leave your door locked
or unlocked when you were

- on that run?
- Unlocked.

Lose stuff a lot when
I run... Keys and stuff.

Hmm.

Well, the maid said
she saw you running

from the direction of Nick
Underwood's bungalow

just before she found the body.

She saw me running?

That's all! I didn't
even know the guy

had a bungalow, damn it!

I'd just got done telling him I
was gonna tear his head off.

Any sane person would've
been on the first plane out of there!

Take it easy, son!

I didn't k*ll him,
I'm telling you!

I didn't k*ll him!
I didn't k*ll him!

(grunting)

(officer calling out)

- I didn't k*ll him!
- OFFICER: Calm down!

I didn't k*ll him!

That man's a stick of dynamite.

He's been here all night.

He's just letting
off a little steam.

(clamoring)

I've seen enough.

OFFICER: Now
please, sir, settle down!

Sorry to drag you out of bed.

Just send us your bill.

It'll be included in my fee.

W-Wait a minute, wait, wait...

You're, you're taking the case?

Well, it's clear as a day
in July he didn't do it.

If Billy had wanted
to k*ll that man,

he wouldn't have used a g*n,

he'd have just
ripped him to pieces.

Well, here you go.

Okay. Okay.

Now, you see, the fight was
postponed till after the trial.

Billy's found guilty,
they'll cancel it altogether.

You like to go to the
fights, don't you, Bob?

Well, I wouldn't mind
if you got Billy off.

(chuckling): Oh...

Well, I'll give it my best sh*t.

(chuckles)

Well...

Looks like Mr. Underwood
was sitting here reading

when he got sh*t.

Eh... b*llet was
lodged in this chair?

Yeah. Came from
Billy Leon's g*n.

We just got the
ballistics report.

This, uh,
Mr. Underwood's briefcase?

Found it in the closet.

That's odd; you'd think
a sportswriter would have

a notepad or a piece
of paper or something

to write on, wouldn't you?

Well, apparently, he didn't
write any of his stories.

He dictated them into this.

Secretary back in New
York transcribed them.

Uh-huh.

Where'd that come from?

- Briefcase.
- Uh-huh.

Now, apparently, it served
as a kind of diary as well.

He was recording what had
happened earlier that night

when somebody called him.

We think it was the k*ller.

Yeah?

This is what's at
the end of the tape.

- NICK (over recorder): Hello?
- Yeah.

I thought you might call.

Sure, if you want to.

: ?

: it is.

(phone hanging up)

Bingo.

Maid saw Billy Leon running

from the direction of this
bungalow at approximately : .

Oh, daggone.

JUDGE ALDEN:
Bail for the defendant

is set at one million dollars.

- Next case.
- (gavel pounding)

A million dollars?!

With all due
respect, Your Honor,

don't you think that's
a little excessive?

- Ben...
- My client has

no criminal record
and was a national hero

when he represented this
country in the Olympics.

- Ben, it's okay.
- And he has never shown himself

to be anything less than
an outstanding citizen.

- It's okay.
- Your client is a man

whose violent temper is
a matter of public record,

Mr. Matlock, and whose fists
are registered lethal weapons.

Bail stands.

- Next case.
- Your Honor,

I strenuously object to the
punitive nature of this amount.

It's okay, I can pay it.

What?

The man wants a million
bucks, I'll give him a million bucks.

One phone call and it's
in my checking account.

Got a pen?

Your Honor, bail's fine.

Ah... Want a
little piece of pie?

Oh, no, I better not.

- Little coffee, though?
- Oh, sure.

- Okay...
- Yeah. Thanks.

There you go. (muttering)

You know, I've seen this
Billy Leon fight a few times.

- Uh-huh.
- He's pretty good.

- Yeah.
- But he's got one weakness.

- Yeah?
- He's a sucker for a left hook.

- Is he?
- Oh, yeah.

You keep throwing that
right, you make yourself

a sucker for a left hook.

I know that from
my own boxing days.

(chuckles)

I didn't know you were a boxer.

Oh, yeah, neighborhood club
stuff, but I fought pinweight.

Pinweight?

I thought flyweight
was the lightest.

No, pinweight.

I fought pinweight.

Anyway, let me
show you what I mean.

Come on, put 'em up. Come on.

(Matlock chuckling)

Okay, now...

in slow motion, throw
a right at my chin.

Go on.

Now I see it coming,
so I tilt my head.

And now your
right jaw's exposed,

so here comes the left hook.

- Pow!
- Yeah.

- See that?
- Yeah.

That's being a
sucker for a left hook.

Yeah, that's good.

Okay now, let's do
it for real this time.

Les, I don't think we
ought to be doing...

Come on, come on!

Don't worry, I won't
hurt you, I'll stop short.

- Go on, throw it!
- Okay.

Ooh! Oh... Oh...
I'm so... I'm sorry!

Are, are, are you all
right? Are you all right?

Yeah, I'm fine,
I'm fine, I'm fine.

You walked right
into that, you know.

I know, I know.

You didn't do it right.

- MICHELLE: Ben?
- Uh, in here.

I better go.

You don't wanna
finish your coffee?

I have coffee at home!

- Oh, hey, hi.
- Hi.

(door closes)

What happened to him?

Just one of life's tragedies.

- What have you got?
- Transcripts.

Just in from New York.

All the tapes Nick Underwood
made in the last month.

The man could sure talk.

What do you suppose
we got in there?

Secretary said he'd been working

the last three weeks,
day and night, to try to

figure out who'd fed him
that fake steroid story.

- Have any luck?
- Plenty.

Apparently, his next
article was going to reveal

what he found out about some
of the people closest to Billy.

Who?

His promoter Clayton Ross,
his trainer Mickey Callahan,

- and his wife Alana.
- (gasps)

Secretary said he
had dirt on them all.

This is the article right here.

Oh... well, as Sherlock
Holmes used to say,

we've got ourselves
three suspects.

Did Sherlock Holmes
really say that?

I don't know... but
it would've been

a good line for
him, wouldn't it?

(Matlock laughs
quietly, then mutters)

Come in, Mr. Matlock.
Please, sit.

- Right...?
- Yes, fine, thank you.

Were we in my real
office, up in Chicago,

I could offer you any
number of beverages,

but since I'm just
renting this place

while we're in Atlanta...

Warm diet pop?

No, thanks.

Uh-huh, okay, good.

So...

What can I do you for?

Well, I understand
that Nick Underwood

knew a few things about you

that were, well...

(whispering):
rather embarrassing.

Really? Like what?

He knew about
those fights you fixed

back when Billy was
just getting started.

I don't know what
you're talking about.

You figured all Billy
needed back then

was a good dose
of self-confidence,

so you paid three fighters
to take dives, and it worked.

That's crazy.

Well, it makes
perfect sense to me.

You call Mr. Underwood...
Anonymously, of course...

And give him the names
of people who say they saw

Billy using steroids,
and you pay them to lie

and then sit back and
wait for them to go to press.

But Billy is my
bread and butter.

Why would I go
ruining his career

by planting a story like that?

Because you knew it wasn't true.

Once he was tested,
he'd be exonerated.

And all the press would
be millions of dollars

in free publicity.

(groans, chuckles)

I would never do
anything like that.

So you're denying
you had an affair?

(sighs)

Once.

I cheated just once.

It was when Billy
was in Tokyo last year

for that exhibition match.

It was short and... not
even particularly sweet.

I don't know how the hell Nick
Underwood found out about that.

Well, he did.

And if he'd gone public
with what he knew,

Billy would've divorced you
and left you without a penny,

wouldn't he?

He would've tossed
me out on the spot.

He hates getting lied to.

And fixing a fight is about
as big a lie as you can get.

So you'd have lost a job
that pays what, six figures?

I can't give you an
exact figure, but, uh...

But if Billy'd
cancelled that fight

to get back at you
for planting that story,

you'd have been out a
lot of money, wouldn't you?

Yeah, sure, right.

But if you're suggesting
I k*lled Nick Underwood

in order to keep that from
happening, you're wrong.

I was in the hotel ballroom
that night, hosting a reception.

You never left?

Don't you think
somebody would've noticed

if I left my own party?

Not if you were only
gone a few minutes.

Well, I arrived
just after it began,

and I didn't leave until
the sirens started going by.

Then I went outside
with everyone else

to see what was going on.

Did you hang out with anyone in
particular while you were there?

Usually when I
go to these things,

all I do is eat and drink.

Mostly eat.

I don't socialize too good.

So no one can say for sure that
you were there the whole time?

Yeah, someone
can say that... me.

Look, I got a lot of
work to do, okay?

Oh, I understand
you're a very busy man.

You know, promoting fights

is what a lot of people
claim we lawyers do.

(laughing)

Well, you just give me a holler

if there's anything
else I could do for you.

Okay.

(Matlock chuckling)

- Bye, Mr. Ross.
- Bye-bye.

(door closes)

Good-bye, Alana.

- I'll see you later, Mickey.
- Yeah.

Anybody here yet?

Anybody here?

Anybody here?

I'm here!

I'm here.

I got great news.

- So do I.
- Me, too.

ALL: I think I know
who the k*ller is!

MICHELLE: They all had motive.

- Yes, they all had motive.
- They all had access

- to Billy's g*n.
- They all could've left the party at...

- They all could've left the party...
- They all had motive.

MATLOCK: They all could've
left the party and committed

- the m*rder, yes.
- CONRAD: And they all had access

- to Billy's g*n, I know.
- MICHELLE: And all the arguing

and the background
material in the world

isn't gonna tell us
which one of them did it.

- MATLOCK: No...
- LES: Ben?!

Uh, in here, Les.

Oh! Your door was open,
so I thought you were...

Oh, you're busy.

Well, yeah, kind of.

We're having a little
disagreement over who the

real k*ller is in the
Billy Leon case.

- Ah, the old deadlock, huh?
- Yeah.

- What's up?
- Well, you know the

other night when I was giving
you those boxing pointers?

Oh, I'm sorry about that.

No, no, no, it's all right.

Boxing is one thing, but
defending yourself is another.

- So, you know what I use?
- CONRAD: What?

Karate.

You know karate?

Are you kidding?
I'm a gray belt.

MICHELLE: What's a gray belt?

Senior citizens.

Now, Benj, I want you
to pick up that ruler,

pretend it's a Kn*fe.

This ruler's a Kn*fe?

Yeah, pretend, pretend, pretend.

Okay.

Now, in slow motion,

I want you come at
me and try to s*ab me.

Oh, Les, I don't think we...

Oh, come on, Ben.

Slow motion.

Hah!

Hah?

Karate. Hah!

Okay. Here I come.

See there?

- That's a karate block.
- Huh.

- See?
- Yeah.

You like that?

Now I just take my other hand

and I form a vise.

And now your hand is

completely tied up, right?

- Pretty good.
- Yeah.

All right, now, forget
the slow motion

- and really try to s*ab me.
- Well, Les...

LES: Come on!
No, no, it's karate.

Come on, give it
everything you got.

Hah!

Okay.

Hah! Hah!

Hah!

Hah... Aah...!

(Les groaning)

(Les thuds onto
floor, whimpering)

(gasping)

You-You want to let me up, Ben?

What?

Let me up?

Oh, okay.

Are you all right?

Yeah, fine, fine.

You didn't do it right.

- I'm sorry.
- It's all right.

Uh... well, uh, you
people go back to work.

And, uh, as you were.

(thud)

(door closes)

Why does he always
do things like that?

One of life's tragedies.

MATLOCK: Wait a minute.

He's wearing reading glasses.

A lot of people wear
reading glasses.

Yeah, but when the
police found his body,

his glasses were
in his briefcase

and his briefcase
was in the closet.

Well, maybe he was
wearing contacts.

Not according to the coroner.

Hmm.

Maybe he wasn't just
sitting there reading the paper

when the k*ller walked in.

Maybe the k*ller
wanted it to look like

he was sitting there
reading the paper.

We know from the b*llet hole

that Mr. Underwood
was sitting in that chair

when he was sh*t.

What we don't know
is where the chair was.

It may not have
been at the desk?

That chair's on casters.

We don't even know
if it was in his room.

HOTEL MANAGER: Impossible.

But there-there must
be a way of telling

if this chair was moved in
here from another bungalow.

Well, not really, you see.

The chairs were ordered
at exactly the same time,

in exactly the same style

and upholstered in
exactly the same fabric.

They are, to all
intents and purposes,

absolutely identical.

Are they marked to tell
what bungalow they're from?

Uh, there would be no need.

Well, would any of
your housekeeping staff

be able to tell them apart?

I don't think so.

Maybe they'd recognize a
rip or a tear or something.

Well, of course, you
are most welcome to ask,

but I do think
it's most unlikely.

I'm really very sorry.

I really wish I could
be a little more positive.

Well, we got three of them.

Same motive, same opportunity

and the very same
chair in every room.

- CLAYTON: Mr. Matlock.
- Huh?

Mr. Matlock.

I, uh... hello. I don't
believe we've met.

- I'm Clayton Ross.
- That's Conrad McMasters.

Michelle Thomas.

CLAYTON: Great. Pleasure.
I... I was looking for you

when they told me in the
office that I might find you

- out here.
- Well, yeah.

Well, I have
something to say to you.

Something rather urgent.

- May-May I speak freely?
- Oh, of course.

- Of course.
- Our conversation the other day

got me to thinking
about the party I threw

the night of the
m*rder, and suddenly,

I remembered something.

What's that?

I remember seeing
a red stain on the...

on the right sleeve of
Mickey Callahan's suit.

Ri-Ri-Right... right about here.

- Yeah?
- Yeah.

Any idea, uh, what
time you saw that?

Yeah. Well, it was...

it was just before
the police arrived,

because I remember
I was just about

to say something
to him about it,

but then being interrupted
by the, uh, sirens.

So, it was about, uh,
ten after : , then?

Sure.

I realize this
could be construed

as a rather transparent
attempt on my part

to cast suspicion on
another human being, but I...

Oh, no, no, no, no, no.

We know you're just
trying to be helpful,

- and we appreciate it.
- Good.

- Yeah.
- Good. (chuckles)

Good. Well, if I
could, uh, be helpful

- in any other way, um...
- Yeah.

- Let-let me know.
- Okay.

Nice to have met you.

(Matlock chuckles)

(sighing chuckle)

I want you to watch
him like a hawk.

I'll be all over him.

Yeah.

He could be telling the truth.

Yeah.

MICKEY: Stick him, Nate. Stick.

Don't block with your head.

Tuck your head.

All right, get off of there.

Get off of there! Pretty!

Who's the champ, Billy? Come on.

That's it. That's it.

Work, work, work, work.

- Don't stand there!
- I don't know.

He's taking too many
sh*ts in the face, Mick.

Come on, tell me about it.

His mind ain't here today.

Hey, Ben!

MATLOCK: What say, Billy?

All right... break.

I-I'm Ben Matlock,
uh, Billy's lawyer.

- Hi.
- You must be Mickey Callahan.

Yeah, I know who I
am, but who is this?

Michelle Thomas.

Hi.

MATLOCK: Don't be embarrassed.

I react like that every day.

Could I speak with
you for a moment?

- Yeah, sure.
- Alone?

Yeah. Uh, Freddy!

Do me a favor, huh?

Get Billy on the
heavy bag for a bit.

Work him. I'll be right back.

FREDDY: Okay. All
right, Billy, let's go.

Come on.

(Billy grunts)

MAN: Coming along
real nice, champ.

You mind if I sit down?

Go ahead.

FREDDY: Come on,
champ! Work, work!

You always watch him work out?

ALANA: Always.

FREDDY: That's it! Forward.

Work, work!

The perfect wife.

No, Ms. Thomas.

I'm just trying to make
up for not being perfect.

FREDDY: Work! Work!

Work!

Well, I'll be darned.

I did get something
on this sleeve here.

Oh, yeah. Ah.

Any idea what it is?

Well, I was drinking beer.

It can't be wine or anything.

Yeah?

(sniffs)

What were you eating?

Whatever they were serving.

I'm not what you call picky.

Uh-huh.

They serve shrimp?

- Sure.
- You like shrimp?

Oh yeah.

- Cocktail sauce?
- All the time.

'Cause that's
what I think this is.

(both chuckle)

See, that stain could've
proved you were the k*ller.

Instead, it just proves
you're kind of messy.

(both laughing)

Ain't that the truth, huh?

- Yeah.
- Yeah.

Yeah... Yeah...

Anything, uh...
anything about that night

you, uh, happen to remember?

No. I... I can't say
that there is. I...

Well, did, uh...
did Clayton Ross

and Mrs. Leon stay at the
party till the police arrived?

Well, as far as I know.

Alana and I went together.

Their bungalow's
right next door.

Uh, but once we got inside,
we split up pretty quick.

I sort of made a
beeline for the food.

(chuckling): Yeah.

Yeah, well, I'll let you
get back to the gym.

Billy's not going to
have much time to train

once the trial starts.

Oh, he doesn't need
any more training.

I mean, the kid is there.

He's ready.

It looked that way to me.

- Yeah.
- Yeah.

Okay.

Uh, Mr... Mr. Matlock,
uh... uh, listen...

I... I know that you know
about how I fixed those fights.

I just want to thank
you for not telling Billy.

Well, the trial starts tomorrow.

I wouldn't be thanking me yet.

(birds chirping and squawking)

(tennis balls
volleyed in distance)

Ben, are you all right?

What are you staring at?

Something I should
have seen a long time ago.

MICHELLE: These
chairs are all alike.

Nothing is exactly alike.

- Whew! Boy.
- It's not possible.

Boy, it is so hot in here.

- Yeah. Yeah.
- (Michelle sighs)

Yeah.

This window faces south.

And the sun has been shining...

in here all afternoon.

Yep. Yep.

Yep, yep, yep.

- Let's go.
- MICHELLE: Hmm.

You may call your first
witness, Mr. Matlock.

Defense calls Alana
Leon to the stand.

I thought you said her testimony
wouldn't do us any good.

I was wrong.

MATLOCK: How long

have you and Billy
been married, Mrs. Leon?

Three years.

How'd you meet?

I was the hostess at a
restaurant in Phoenix,

and he walked in.

And it was love at first sight.

Ours is a very happy marriage.

Um, I wonder why Nick Underwood

came to the Crown
Hotel so early.

I mean, the fight was
a whole week away.

What was he doing there?

Well, how should I know?

He didn't come to cover
the fight at all, did he?

He came to tell
Billy something that

he had found out about you

and one of your husband's
former sparring partners, Tom Kirby.

PROSECUTOR: Objection.

Calls for speculation.

JUDGE ALDEN: Sustained.

You had an affair with Tom
Kirby a year ago, didn't you?

(whispers): Uh...

It was the stupidest
thing I have ever done

in my entire life.

I'm sorry, Billy.

He didn't mean a
thing to me, I swear.

According to
Mr. Underwood's notes,

which his secretaries
transcribed,

he not only knew about
your affair, but was planning

to reveal it in an
upcoming issue

of Sports Week.

And if that had happened,

Billy would've divorced you in
a matter of days, wouldn't he?

Well, I'd like to think that
he would've forgiven me.

Given his temper, he
would've divorced you

in a heartbeat, and you know it.

No more sports cars,
no more diamonds,

no more trips to Paris.

You couldn't handle that.

So you left the
cocktail party that night,

called Nick Underwood,

told him to come
to your bungalow.

You pled with him

not to reveal your secret.

But he turned you
down, didn't he?

So you took Billy's g*n out of
the drawer, and you k*lled him.

- No!
- Objection!

There's no basis in fact
for any of these questions.

There is basis, Your Honor,

if the court will bear with me.

Overruled. For now.

Thank you.

With the court's
permission, I'd like to replay

People's Exhibit
, which is believed

to be the last recording ever
made by Nick Underwood

before he d*ed.

(button clicks)

NICK (over recorder):
It's : p.m.,

Friday the th.

I went over to
Clayton's cocktail party

to try and talk to Billy,

but he wasn't there, and I
wound up getting the bum's rush.

But I'm gonna keep on trying.

I owe him that much.

(phone ringing over recorder)

(Nick picks up receiver)

Hello?

I thought you might call.

Sure, if you want to.

: ?

: it is.

(button clicks)

Now, in first listening to
that, you would assume

that Mr. Underwood was
planning to meet someone,

presumably his k*ller, at : .

- But how about this?
- (button clicks)

(button clicks)

NICK (over recorder): Hello?

"This is Alana Leon."

NICK: I thought you might call.

"There any chance
we could talk?"

NICK: If you want to.

"Come to my room as soon
as you can... bungalow nine."

NICK: Nine?

"That's right."

NICK: Nine it is.

(button clicks)

Objection.

Your Honor, this
is pure speculation.

Your Honor, I submit that nine

is not when Mr. Underwood
was k*lled but where he was k*lled,

and I intend to prove it.

The objection's sustained.

Prove what you want,
Mr. Matlock, but please

stick to the facts.

Yes, sir.

Mrs. Leon, would
you kindly tell the court

what bungalow you are staying
at at the Crown Resort Hotel?

Bungalow nine.

Objection!

It's already been
established that the decedent

was sh*t and k*lled
in his own bungalow.

It has been established
that that is where

the decedent's body was found.

I intend to demonstrate that
it does not necessarily follow

that's where he was k*lled.

Overruled.

Thank you.

Conrad.

This'll take a
moment, Your Honor.

(gallery murmuring)

MATLOCK: Good, that's good.

Okay, right here.

That's good.

(Matlock mutters, grunts)

There. Goes there.

That's perfect,
perfect, perfect.

Thanks.

I hope everybody can... can see.

Now, Mrs. Leon, you're familiar
with the Crown Resort Hotel,

are you not?

Yes, I am.

Okay, this is, uh,

an overhead view of the
hotel, uh, and-and the grounds.

And, uh, these desk
chairs which you...

you may recognize

were subpoenaed from
the hotel this morning.

They-They were taken from

bungalow three, bungalow
, bungalow ...

Uh, which was, uh, Nick
Underwood's bungalow...

And bungalow nine,
which again was

your bungalow, wasn't it?

- Yes.
- Yeah.

Now, at... at first,

all these chairs look alike.

I mean, similar, don't they?

Just about.

I suppose.

Yeah.

But on closer inspection,

you see there are
small differences.

You see, this one here

has got a little slit in
the back there, see?

Little slit in the back.

And here, this one,
this one's got a little,

a little tear right on the arm.

See there?

(chuckles)

Do-Do you notice
anything else different

about these chairs, Mrs. Leon?

No, I don't.

Now... (clears throat)

This is bungalow .

Now, the sun shines
in the afternoon

from this direction.

This direction.

So, bungalow ...

Not , not nine, not three...

Bungalow is the
only bungalow that gets

the afternoon sun shining
through this window

onto the desk and chair.

Now, Mrs. Leon...

what would you think
would happen to the fabric

of that chair

if it was exposed
to the afternoon sun

day after day after day?

I don't know.

Well, it would
fade, wouldn't it?

(Matlock mutters)

See, you... you
might not notice it,

except it is up against
these other chairs.

See?

This chair is faded.

From the sun.

And you would think the tag

would say that this chair
came from bungalow .

Nick Underwood's bungalow.

But it doesn't.

It says it came
from bungalow nine,

your bungalow.

While this chair, the one with

the b*llet hole in it,

the one Nick Underwood was
sitting in when he was m*rder*d,

is not faded at all.

You switched them, didn't you?

(sighs)

You left the cocktail
party that night...

called Nick Underwood
to your room.

And when he got there,

he sat down in that desk chair.

You begged him not
to reveal your affair.

And when he wouldn't
back down, you sh*t him.

Then you simply left
his body in that chair,

wheeled him out of your bungalow

through the darkness
into his bungalow,

placed a newspaper
in front of him,

so people would think
he'd been reading,

wiped up your
fingerprints... and then...

you took this chair

that had been in number ...

Nick Underwood's bungalow...

And wheeled it back
to your bungalow.

Mrs. Leon...

when you commit a m*rder,

you can't make
even, even the tiniest,

not the tiniest mistake,

because as sure as the
sun rises every morning,

someone will find it.

(whispers): Oh, God.

(sobs softly)

Nothing further.

(sighs)

(sobbing)

(reporters clamoring)

Outside! Outside, folks!

Give you a statement outside.

- Please, please.
- He's a free man again.

Give him a break, folks.

Hey, would you give
him a break, please?

Thank you.

Well, I'm...

sorry to blindside
you like that, Billy.

- I understand.
- (camera shutters snapping)

You okay?

I'm fine.