03x11 - No Immunity for m*rder

[bunniefuu]

[Music]

Why this place?

I know what I'm doing. Don't worry.

Come on in, honey. We gotta talk price.

Blondes are more fun, honey.



I just thought you ought to see this one.

This guy by the name of
Colin Fletcher gets mugged.

Same M.O. as the others.

Hooker picks up some
guy, takes him upstairs.

There's a dude waiting behind the door.

Zack!

Claudine the Dream?



His wallet was here.
He had a half a pint of whiskey.

It smashed when he went down.

There's whiskey on his breath.

That seal looks broken to you.

How come he's still got his watch and ring?

Well, like I was saying, there were credit
cards in his wallet that they didn't get.

I'll notify next of kin.

Hey, look, man. I just work in a bar.
I don't do nothing illegal.

You don't take anything for
stirring John's through a good time.

What, a girl wants to lay a tip on me?
That's against the law?

Hey, why don't you get off my back?

You're kidding, right?

Talk nice to the officer.

You want to hurt his feelings?

All he wants to know is this
girl with the platinum hair.

Now, what's her name?

Honest, I ain't never seen her before.

She comes in here and she
picks up this dude at the jukebox.

And she lays her money
down on the bar for my tip.

Her money?

Yeah, underneath the bar.

Well, how come this
Claudine the Dream character

winds up in the same
room with a stiff?

Hey, Manny, you always double book?

I guess that other girl
just took a key without

asking for it and put it
back without telling me.

I gave the same room to Claudine.

How did I know there was
a body to be cleaned up?

I just want you guys to know that I think
you're a couple of beautiful human beings.

Of course I'm scared.

Fletcher was going through the
books of a company I was operating.

Fletcher gets m*rder*d.

Fletcher had some kind of accident.

Nobody says it was
connected with you in any way.

So forget it, Mr. Marshall.

Still, I'm scared.

You made certain guarantees, Mr. Cain.

You'd better stick with them.

I'm watching out for you as best I can.

Now you just do your part.

Well?

He says Fletcher's death was an accident.

Not to worry.

You, you, you, and you, and all the idiots.

Here's your coffee, Lieutenant.

Oh, uh, Blige?

I just come from the
borough commander's office.

And he was boiling.

He says... Pun said
he isn't fun anymore.

I know, Frank.

Why don't you tell him to
move to Detroit? I don't know.

To continue.



The commander pointed out that Fletcher's
death was a homicide off a Murphy game.

And that 27 out-of-towners
have been victims

of Murphy games in
the past three weeks.

Only this one puts us on the front page.

I know, Frank.

I know.

Now, what about Fletcher?

Colin Duncan Fletcher,


a bookkeeper for investment
securities and corporate of Cleveland.

On vacation in town alone
with a wife and kiddies? What?

Word from Cleveland
Police Department is that

he was in New York on
temporary assignment

to check some books or accounting
procedures of an outfit over on 8th Avenue.

Lester LeBaron dresses.

The wife is flying in from
Cleveland to identify the body.

It's gonna be hard to explain to her.

Explain what?

That this is just a routine Murphy game
that went sour on her husband? Is that it?

I think it stinks.

I'll tell you why.

Because this blonde
puts her money up front.

And because the dive
never saw her before, right?

Never saw her, but yet she
knew the routine so perfectly

that she was able to take a key off the
hook without many even knowing about it.

You know, somebody I'd say had done
some very thorough research on his project.

What else bothers you, Theo?

Wallet, watch, the ring, a
few credit cards they forgot.

Hey, Frank, that's the whole point
of the Murphy game, isn't it, greed?

But I want a rundown of Fletcher's
last day, second by second,

at his hotel, at the
clothing manufacturers.

I want to know if he was playing
around, and if he was with whom.

Also, how he found out
about that side street bar.

Well, we got a description from
Claudine of the alleged prost*tute.

Description? I can hear it now.

Ah, blonde and cheap, honey.

Come on, will you, Fatso?
And what was the man with her?

A tall dude in dark clothes.
That's terrific.

That means we gotta pick up almost
everybody on the West Side of 55th Street.

What about the whiskey
bottle in Fletcher's pocket?

The lab feels that the bottle
was sealed when it was smashed.

Uh-huh. And the autopsy?

No alcohol in his
bloodstream, not much at all.

So we got a platinum blonde
nobody's ever seen before,

with a male accomplice, working
a fake Murphy game on an aditana.

We have a dead man,
and that's all we've got.

Rizzo, were they able to
lift any prints off their wallet?

Three partials, lieutenant, small
enough to be that of a woman's.

Left hand, but they weren't Claudine's.

That's no help to us without
a full set for comparison.

All right, I thought I asked you to find
out what Fletcher was doing yesterday.

Every second.

So maybe it was just a Murphy game.

I mean, they get interrupted.

The victim doesn't have to be drinking.

They don't get the credit cards, huh?

Maybe Fletcher was Casanova
disguised as a bookkeeper.

The hooker, a jealous husband in drag.

Why go through the whole charade? Why not
just knock him off in an alley?

Hey, Frank.

Suppose I said I thought
he was hit, professionally.

A contract on a minor league
out-of-town bookkeeper?

Who says that's all he is?

You know, here we are looking
at a botched-up Murphy game

when I really think what we
have here is a well-planned,

coordinated, cold-blooded execution.

Come in.

Mrs. Fletcher.

You told me you were the
man investigating Collins.

Please, sit down.

They explained the
circumstances of his death.

But I don't believe that Collins went
up to that room with that woman for sex.

He wouldn't.

That was a prost*tute.

You mean alternative.

He called me just a couple of
hours before they say he d*ed.

Mm-hmm.

Where would you from where?

That office where he worked.

Well, tell me, how
did he seem?

Seem.

You know, same as always. How's the kids?
How's the weather? How's this?

He said he had an important appointment.

A very important appointment.

I guess he sounded...

excited.

Mrs. Fletcher?

Are you keeping anything back from me?

Nothing, Lieutenant.

Nothing at all.

You guys, I mean, give me a break.

I had the same conversation
with you last week.

It's the same dress, the exact same dress,

and there's a two-inch
difference in the sleeves.

What am I supposed to do with them?
Who can I send that to, huh? Excuse me.

Excuse me. I'm Detective
Crocker, Manhattan South.

This is Detective Saperstein.

Hi. How are you?

And I am Rick Levine. Hi.

I guess it's about Fletcher's death, huh?

Well, we'd like to talk to the
manager, Mr. Adrian Marshall.

Adrian Marshall.

Well, Adrian Marshall no longer
has the key to the establishment.

It seems his relationship has been severed.

What's your relationship with
this little barren dresser, Mr.

Levine? Well, I work for
Investment Securities, Incorporated.

We manage the business.

Well, that's the same
company Fletcher worked for.

Right, except I worked for New York, and
he was hired out of Cleveland headquarters.

You know, I didn't meet him, so let's wait.

All right, if you don't mind, I'm
a little confused about all this.

Who is Lester LeBaron?

Lester LeBaron is a rich playboy-type kid

who founded this
organization three years ago

because he wanted to
score with a lot of models.

Then he hires this hippie chick who
creates a spring line that is dynamite.

I mean absolute dynamite.

The buyers couldn't believe it.
They ordered left and right.

Only LeBaron couldn't fill them.

Why not?

I just told you.
He didn't know anything about the business.

I mean, he didn't have the right cloth.

He didn't have the right cutters.

If I tell you that he could move


when each of the big five wanted 5,000 units
a week, you know what I'm talking about.

And it was then that
our company stepped in.

So that's how investment
securities got into the act, huh?

They were looking for a place
to put their money to work.

So they bought Lester LeBaron dresses.

Now, this guy in San
Diego, Adrian Marshall,

he convinces them he's the genius
that should operate Lester LeBaron.

He's slick, drew himself a top salary.

He had them convinced
that they could just sit up

there in Cleveland and
have the shackles just roll in.

Well?

And nothing, the shackles rolled out.



So Marshall rips off investment
securities for close to $3 million.

I wish I knew for sure.

I came in, I went over the
books, I talked to Marshall.

I was sure that man was
absolutely ripping him off.

I mean, he charges private planes
for business junkets and for pleasure.

Besides, he wants to show
the spring line in Los Angeles.

So what does he do?

He flies 75 buyers out
there, plus his family.

And how long did
management put up with this?

For over two years.

The guy was an incredible talker.

He said he was building
an image for the company.

I say he was building an image for himself.

He had a Rolls Royce, a
Mercedes with color television,

a Maserati coupe.

How about a $95,000
wardrobe for his wife?

Italian.

I told my employees, get an
injunction, get that man out of here.

Oh, any criminal charges?

Well, we went to the U.S.
Attorney's office.

Showed them the evidence,
and they said last week

that we didn't have enough
for a case against him.

So he's in Long Island,

doing no work and getting a lot of pay.

Collecting his pay?

Still?

Sure.

He threatens a countersuit.

Defamation of character.

So we got a stalemate,
except he's way ahead.

Three more years at 200,000.

And our victim, Mr. Fletcher.

What exactly was he doing
for investment securities?

Well, he was doing everything I was doing,

except with Fletcher,
it meant a microscope.

That guy kept his pencil
sharp enough to draw blood.

These are things he was
working on before he was k*lled?

Yeah, I guess so.

I see.



Well, what's this?

Beats me.

You're the detective, you figure it out.

Hey, wait a minute, let me see that.

Last week, Fletcher was
going through a ledger.

And all of a sudden he
lets out a long whistle

like he suddenly found a naked chick
pressed in between the pages, you know?

Then he writes down the figures
and puts it back in that lockbox.

Which ledger?

Who knows?

You gotta understand that he was shuffling
them around like he was dealing stud.

He told me that he knew
Marshall was cooking the

books and he was the
boy who was gonna prove it.

Very, very self-righteous dude.

His wife said he'd call from here a
couple hours before he was k*lled.

Said he had an appointment.

Did he say anything to
you the night he was k*lled,

who it was with or anything like that?

No.

No, he never talked much.

Just did a lot of arithmetic.

Three horses of parlay, Irish swoop steaks.

What is this?

Hey, lieutenant, where
are we going?

Long Island.

I want to see that 96,000
banana wardrobe firsthand.

Malcolm Kane, please.

Malcolm, this is Wilson.

I thought I'd better call you right away.

Thought you ought to know.

They were in there with him a long time.

I'm Lieutenant Kojak to see Mr. Marshall.

This is Detective Stavros.

Come on in, please.

Thank you.

My father will be with
you in just a moment.

All right?

How do you do?

I'm Lieutenant Kojak.

This is Detective Stavros.

Detective.

Good afternoon, Lieutenant.

What can I do for you?

Well, tell me about Colin
Fletcher, Mr. Marshall.

I didn't know Fletcher personally.

We never met face to face.

Do you mind if I
smoke?

Of course.

Thank you.

Mr. Marshall, you must have known
that Fletcher was going through your books

looking for questionable transactions,
you know, embezzlement, fraud.

It sure is elegant.

There is absolutely no
proof of those alleged crimes.

And the United States Attorney's
Office apparently agrees.

I suggest you be careful
what you say to me.

I'll take anyone into court
who I think deserves it.

Court?

I've already filed suit
against investment securities.

I'm going to get back in control.

I didn't think there was
very much left to control.

In my opinion, the company
has a brilliant future.

Frankly, that's all I have
to say for now, Lieutenant.

You know, I was down in the Virgin Islands.

It was very nice.

Did you buy this down there?

No, we've never been to the Caribbean.

I can't remember where we picked that up.

Hey, Stavros, how come you
know so much about the Caribbean?

I mean, why isn't it Tahiti?

Well, Lieutenant, it's very easy.

Look, you see, there are no coral reefs

and the waves break
right down on the beach.

That surely isn't the Pacific.

Should I be impressed, Detective?

Or are you just jumping to conclusions?

What about, say, the Andaman Islands?

Where's that?

Off the coast of India.

They're quite primitive.

Oh, well, I doubt if
it's India, Mr. Marshal.

Why do you say that?

Well, why, with people
water-skiing and all that?

Thanks for your time.

Call 7-4-0, K.



Respond to list of a bar and dress company,



Relative to a past as*ault
and possible kidnapping, K.

Right.

Excuse me for a minute.

Rick Levine was just grabbed
right off the street in broad daylight.

This is his wife, and
she saw them take him.

Did she help?

She can't even remember
what they looked like.

Just two big g*ons grabbed him off,

took him off the street,
and took him off in the car.

Levine snatched off the streets?

Fletcher snatched off
the mortal call entirely?

You know, somebody hasty
snoops from city investing.

And if I hadn't been with Mr.

Marshal while this was
happening, who knows what

naughty thoughts I'd be
having about him right now.

Yeah, well, I think this guy,

he has a connection, this Mr. Marshal.

All right, get some answers, okay?

Try to impress your superiors.
Go ahead.

Now, you get in touch with
city investment in Cleveland,

find out everything you can about Levine.

He's bonded, so he's got to be Prince.

I want a copy of
Mr. Marshal's prints, too, if they

got them, and all the
background they got on them.

Here, have the lab lift Mrs.
Marshal's prints from this ashtray,

and try to get some sort of
rundown on her background, too.

How come?

Well, what you said about the
Caribbean made sense, that painting,

and the other souvenirs,
probably from that area.

Only she makes a great big deal
about never having been there.

Probably nothing to it.

But I got news for you.

I'm curious.

Hey, Frank.

Look, I got a work for Levine.

What's your excuse fagging
around this hall? Just $1.



Figure $1.



Hey, that's some moonlighting.

What is that arrangement?

That's my pizza warmer.

I have a piece.

Got any cream soda?

Good thing I've got under
your chin and shed it. All right.



Okay.

What's wrong, Theo?

I told you I thought Fletcher
was hit, right? Professionally.

Because the blonde
who took him upstairs did

a research on that
hotel and bar perfect.

And because he got
hit a lot harder than any.

sapper's gonna hit anybody
unless he wants to k*ll him, right?

He was meant to die.

Maybe he wasn't professional.

Maybe it was just a good job.

We run across a
lot of slick amateurs.

Well, what about
the two cool Sharpies

who shuffle being off the streets
in midday with no commotion?

There's something very
professional going on, Frank.

Where is Lester
LeBaron in all of this?

He's in Europe

looking for new models.

It's true.

It's been confirmed.

Yeah.

Make anything of this?

He was in a lockbox
in Fletcher's desk.

Somehow it was important to him.

It's not a phone number.

It's not a safe combination.

It's not an address.

Call Washington.

It might be a numbered
Swiss account.

I called four government
agencies myself.

I don't like mysteries, right?

So far nobody's called back.

Incidentally,

whatever happened to that
FBI report we're supposed to get?

You didn't get that yet?

I didn't get it yet, no.

Let me sleep on my winnings.

I'll follow up tomorrow for you.

Hey, Theo.

I love your pizza, Robin.

Yeah.

Lieutenant Kojak? That's right.

Who's this?

Just listen.

I got people on the streets.

You got cops on the streets.

So what's he compromise?

That's how we're going
to save the city, right?

Hey, it's too late, baby.

We're already down at tubes.

What does it all mean, huh?

It means we got
something for each other.

On this kidnap number today.

I'm in the bar at the
corner of 7th and Broadway.

I'm waiting on you.

Who was that?

I don't know, Frank.

Whatever it was.

Has something to do
with the Levine caper?

Can't pass it up, can I? Kojak.

Mo Pearl.

You never heard of him.

Uh-huh.

Now, Mo used to be the
biggest Shylock in Long Island.

What'd you do, give
up country living, Mo?

Mo Pearl is dead.

He d*ed in Denmora.

Understand?

My name is Jim Ryan.

I sell fixtures, hangers, racks.

Supplies in the district here.

Yeah, sure.

Legitimate business, man, right?

Buy a thousand gross on my coat
hangers or I'll break your arm, right?

Hey, you think what you want.

I-I can't stop you.

Now, this is causing me
big trouble with this kidnap.

This guy, uh, Sky Levine,

he snatched East of 7th.

Well, East of 7th
belongs to somebody else.

That is somebody else.

Figures I'm intruding
on his territory.

Guys are calling me up,

laying heavy numbers on me.

Let me get to the point.

Hey, you got high blood pressure?

Mo, talk nice to the captain.

Captain? Uh-uh.

Hey, I'm sorry.

Who knew? Go on.

Anyhow, I asked around.

Finest book you saw to snatch.

Stood on the corner watching.

Couldn't believe it.

You're lucky.

He keeps numbers in his head
like you guys remember holidays.

And, uh, I got the license on a
limo that drove off with that guy in it.

Hey, ain't you glad?

You know I've been looking
all over for witnesses, right?

So I've done you a favor.

Mo, you want something?

Don't put too big a price on it.

Okay, you just get the word out.

It wasn't me.

I never made a move East
of 7th Avenue in my life.

You got it.

$149, CZU.

New York State.

Okay, we can call it from here.

I don't want to be at the bureau.

One problem, Kojak.

Lucky you don't think I'm
playing games with you.

Now, why would I take that, Mo?

Well, I wanted to find out if this car
belonged to my competition, understand?

He could have been setting me
up or, uh, make a patsy out of me.

So I had this friend, uh,

check out the ownership for me.

And?

It's, uh, registered to an outfit
called the Altamont Corporation.

It's a dummy corporation.

Belongs to the feds.

The feds?

Yeah.

They, uh, they got a couple
of special strike forces.

Real heartbreakers.

Hey, get you something good, huh?

The feds kidnapped Rick Levine.

No wonder nobody in
Washington is returning my calls.

Huh.

Our victim's back and
better arrested than any of us.

Oh, Levine?

Yeah, apparently he got in at 10
o'clock last night, came in the back way,

saw a man on
stakeout, didn't pick it up.

And neither he or
his wife called us.

Now, you get his Fanny down here.

I want to talk to him.

On advice of counsel,
Lieutenant, uh, Mr.

Levine is not talking with any cops
unless a warrant is issued against him.

Advice of what, counsel?

He wouldn't say.

He referred me to a Malcolm Cain
who works for some federal agency.

Malcolm Cain.

That's what the man said.

Uh-huh.

That figures.

How have you been, Mel?

Fine, thank you.

Kojak, have you ever thought what would
happen if the feds leaned on you real good?

Well, you terrify me.

I got a talk with one of my
witnesses in a m*rder case.

That's m*rder, Mel.

Now, what do I find?

I find my man has been snatched
on a public street in broad daylight.

by a couple of your necktie salesmen.

And when he gets back home again, what?

He never heard of me.

Talked him out, he says.

So, here I am.

Rick Levine is under federal wraps.

End of explanation.

No questions, no answers.
Period.

And I do mean period.

Now, this is supposed to get
me off my m*rder case, Mel.

I mean, this baffling development
I'm supposed to somehow ignore.

Baby.

You got me hooked
on this case forever.

See you later, Mel.

Yes, Commissioner.

No, Commissioner.

You can rest assured, Commissioner.

Right.

Guess who that was.

Now, what are you?

You are some detective.

About Fletcher's m*rder.

We're instructed to limit our
investigation to routine channels.

And report all names of
suspects and witnesses

to the Chief of Detectives
before the court.

Before we interrogate them.

In other words,

a properly managed investigation.

Theo, who knows
this whole Cuchafrito,

the real story?

Maybe Levine is CIA and Marshall is a
Russian spy they've got under observation.

Hey, with his background,

nothing's impossible.

Why?

Marshall's resume,

has he supplied
at the city investing.

High school, college,

first place of employment.

I called a few of
these references.

Everybody gets very, very
cagey when I ask for specifics.

One administrator remembered
him at the high school here.

One dean remembered
him at college.

Yeah, A, B.

Here's his marks,
not bad either.

It's just a transcript, Theo.

I call the person in charge
of housing at the college.

He never had a room there.

You know why?

Because Marshall never
even went to that college.

He's a paper man, Theo.

Paper, the wife
and the kids too.

A paper man, huh?

And who phonies a
background better than the feds?

Huh, will you really go
to suggest the Russians?

Theo, I've done enough
research on my own

to think that we better play
this game the way we were told.

Well, you have, Frank.

You've given me my instructions.

What, you're going
to follow?

Uh-huh.

You really want to
know the answer to that?

No.

All right, thanks.

Hey, Theo.

Look at those numbers you
showed me that Fletcher wrote down.

Well, take a look at this.

My hero.

Now, what numbers
set up like this?

The one indispensable number
you need to pay your taxes,

to have a bank account,

to receive income from
any... Social Security number.

All right.

Now, Fletcher runs across four
Social Security numbers in sequence.

And somehow that's
very special to him.

Now, you used to mess around
with some girl in welfare, right?

She must have a pipeline
into Social Security records.

You go make a date with her.

Check these out.

And do not make it an
official police request.

You get the prints
on Marshall? Yes, sir.

They came in this morning with his resume,
but there's no arrest record on him.

Tell fingerprinting I want
them run through Interpol

and don't memo their
request to any federal agency

and have them check their Caribbean
files for starters, okay?

Yes, sir.

I haven't heard a thing.

What have I had?

Why Interpol?

Because they're not under the
thumb of some United States agency,

And because Marshall's house was
filled with souvenirs from the Caribbean.

And maybe because
Interpol can tell me if Mrs.

Marshall's lying,

which she makes a big deal out of
saying they've never been down there.

Social Security number.
That's very good.

Tell me, Frank, how'd you
come up with it?

I didn't.

My niece Shannon did.

The eight-year-old?

So?

Just takes after me.

Captain, Lieutenant, jackpot.

Father, mother, daughter,

son in sequence.

Now, call me in, Kroger.

How does the Marshall family get four
Social Security numbers in sequence?

By having them all
issued at the same time.

Which ain't possible, right?

Well, let's just say it takes about the
heaviest cloud imaginable from Uncle Sam,

which makes me think
we'd better slow down.

Hey, Frank, are you
kidding?

Slow down.

I got a woman without
a husband, right?

Three kids without a father.

I'm not slowing down
for his m*rder*r, Frank.

Hey, forget it.

Very serious charges, Theo.

They're not charges, Evan.

Good questions.

For instance,

why were no criminal charges
filed against Adrian Marshall?

Because the complaint lodged by investment
securities gave me nothing on which

to base a true
bill of indictment.

The line between mismanagement

and embezzlement is
not an easy one to fix.

Now, if it makes
you feel any better,

my own feeling was that Marshall probably
was guilty of misappropriating funds.

But, uh, proof.

Legal proof.

They just didn't give me any.

So?

Your decision not
to file was arrived at

without pressure from
any other federal agency,

Pressure?

No.

There were inquiries.

From Malcolm Cain?

I mean his people?

From Cain, yes.

I was able to tell him honestly we just
didn't have the evidence for a conviction.

You think he would have pressured
if we were ready to prosecute?

That's outrageous.

That's right, baby.

Now, there's a man, Levine.

I want to talk to him.
Can you help?

You claim Mr. Levine you
never talked with Martin

Cain or any member of a
federal investigation agency?

I understand it, lieutenant.
I'm not supposed to be here.

I mean, I wasn't kidnapped, right?

There is nothing I can say to help you.

Listen, Mr. Levine.

You're in the middle of something that
neither one of us clearly understands.

That's the m*rder of Colin Fletcher.

A man pretty much like you.

I was told not to say anything.

That's all I know.

Okay.

I'll ask some questions.
You don't have to answer.

However, if you look toward that window
over there, maybe I'll take it to mean yes.

Okay?

Let's talk about Marshall.

You know him by any other name?

You know anything about his wife?

His family life?

Do you know the
color of your eyes, Mr.

Levine? Or maybe Mama's name?

Or your own name, Mr.

Levine? I was told in the
interest of national security...

Mr. Levine, national
security begins right up here.

With brains you don't let
other people scramble for you.

And m*rder doesn't happen to be in the
best interest of this country, Mr. Levine.

Fastein? I'm sorry.

Mr. Levine, why don't
you go home?

Thanks a lot.

Lieutenant.

Lieutenant, Interpol's escort
for us on Adrian Marshall.

Thanks to a certain
detective's perceptive

observations about his
interest in the Caribbean.

If this is good, Stavros, I'll buy you
a blowfish lamp, okay? Don't worry.

Go ahead.

Well, it seems that Interpol had some
partial fingerprints on a syndicate employee.

A man who spoke Spanish, ran three mob
control casinos in the Caribbean for them.

And a man who just vanished,
family and all, three years ago.

They knew him as Ariana Maseca.

We know him as Adrian Marshall.

My, my, my, my.

What the hell have we got here?

You're trying to tell me
now that Adrian Marshall is

really Ariana Maseca, formerly
casino manager for the mob?

Him and his whole
family, they lived in Cuba.

Moved out after Castro to
some of the other islands.

Interpol had their eye on him.

He went to Miami three, four years
ago, apparently got picked up by the IRS.

That's the last the four little Maseca
were ever seen by that name again.

Yeah, the IRS wiped out half the Miami mob
on tax evasion charges about the same time.

Maseca's help, no doubt.

Probably made a deal with him.

No identity, relocation.

He probably went underground in San
Diego and got stiff with some dull job.

Probably dug up some
action for himself in New York.

Ripping off Lester LeBaron's dresses.

You know, Fletcher stumbles on
Marshall's funny social security numbers.

Figures Marshall has some
sort of pool, probably a lot to hide.

Fletcher could have
blackmailed him or maybe

tried to sell the
information to the syndicate.

Fletcher? No, I doubt it.

I think he was a lot straighter than that.

Well, if Fletcher was
that straight, maybe he

leveled with Marshall and
demanded an explanation.

What about this appointment
that Fletcher told his wife he had?

The one that made him very excited.

So? I mean you were the flashy blonde?

That's exciting all by itself.

That lady was more than just flashy, baby.

She was smart. She had good timing.

Cased the situation perfectly.

And Frank, guess who fits that description?

A lady who's handled a
lot of ups and downs in

her life, like a very
cool, cool cookie cookie.

All right, check the prints
found on Fletcher's wallet.

Against the prints of Mrs.
Marshall, we lift her from that ashtray.

Mrs. Marshall?

Thank you.

Hello?

This is Kane with a problem.

Interpol came up with your real name.

Marseca. They gave it to the NYPD.

But you said that couldn't happen.

I said there's no reason
why it should have happened.

And it wouldn't have, except for
this investigation into Fletcher's death.

I talked to Levine yesterday.

I found out he had
steered this lieutenant Kojak

onto some numbers that
Fletcher had written down.

Well, Levine doesn't
know where his best social

security card to be
ran through for you is.

Fletcher never got in touch with
you about these numbers, did he?

No, I never met Fletcher in my life.

Tell me, Kane, how bad
is a cover blown? Tell me.

Straight.

My men checked your
place from time to time.

There's no sign of trouble yet.

Your men come out here?

What if they're followed?

Mr. Marshall, you've got other worries.

This Kojak has got
something to work on now.

There's not much we
can do to slow him down.

There's leaks in every police department.

I told you when you wouldn't stay in San
Diego, we would cooperate on one more move.

Now the problem is yours.

I'm a man of action, Kane.
I was dying out there.

I can sell campus for the rest of my life.

Kane!

Return everything we can into cash.

First, jewelry, everything.

No. If there's real danger, we
don't want to waste one minute.

I'm sorry.

Sorry? Don't say that, Aureano.

We came from nowhere,
you and me, with nothing.

And we had 20 good years south of Miami.

And we'll have 20 more
good ones somewhere else.

We tried our best.

Or I should say, our worst.

k*lling Fletcher.

It was a mistake.

We'll pick up the children at school.

My jewelry's in the safe with the cash.

That's right. Mr. and Mrs. Aureano Marsica.

You'd better include the name
Adrian Marshall on the warrant, too.

As soon as possible.
We'll come by and pick it up.

Right.

Frank, Mrs. Marshall's prints
were found on Fletcher's wallet.

We're getting a warrant heading
out to his house right now.

Don't you think a warrant
with Marshall's name on it

could get back to Kane,
who might warn Marshall?

You could be right.

We'll pick up Kane, tell him we gotta talk.

If we got him with us, he can't
get too far ahead of us, can he?

Get Kane on the phone for the captain.

There he is now.

Kojak, what's this all about and
where we're going? Get in, Mal.

It's important.

So?

So, we're arresting Mr. and Mrs. Marsica.

Why? Because you know their real identity?

Stay away, Kojak.

Stay away from Fletcher's murderers.

No way, baby. Come on.

We got the warrant!

Get in the other car.

Right.

You know, we put Mrs.
Marshall in a platinum wig.

Try it on a lineup, see if
Claudine the dream recognizer.

Also Hunk, other people in that bar.

Why would the one that k*lled Fletcher

and why go through this
whole hooker masquerade?

Well, I don't know for sure, Mal,

but if I don't try and find the answers,

you're certainly not gonna help, are you?

You think I'm a real
hard-nosed bum, don't you?

That I don't cooperate, right?

How would you like to
go around knowing that

one slip you make will
cost a family their lives?

If anything happens to Marshall and
his family once you blow their cover,

then their lives are on
your conscience, Kojak.

And thank God there's a few less on mine.

Around the back with Stavros.

Anybody?

I still can't get used to this.

Oh, my God.

Theo.

Yeah.

Was it worth the
baby?

It was quick.

I know.

They made me watch.

This is Marsica.

Did you make any
notifications?

Marshall.

Our name is Marshall.

My children.

I don't want to lose them.

I don't want them coming here.

I'm sorry.

I don't think this is the
fault of anyone here.

Of course it is.

It's his fault and it's hers.

You pay your money and
you take your chances, right?

Only that wasn't really
fair for Fletcher, was it?

He wanted money.

Like everyone else.

We said we'd have to meet him someplace

where we wouldn't be recognized.

Crocker, help the lady outside.

We sent up four syndicate
hulums thanks to him.

Yeah, for how long?



This is not an easy job, Theo.

It's not easy for anybody, man.

Just got to keep trying.