Ticket, please.
Just one, please.
Two, please.
Enjoy the show.
Yes, sir?
One adult.
Strong, silent, sensibly new.
The 1960 impala convertible
by Chevrolet.
Hey, Tony.
Evening, Mr. Kimmel. Have you
met my girlfriend? She's a...
Greater leg room.
Roomy reasons why Chevrolet is
first in the value that lasts.
Across the USA,
Chevrolet is the way
to start the sixties right.
Saratoga Springs,
the body of a woman was found
brutally stabbed just yards away
from Harry's rainbow grill,
one of the bus's regular stops.
The husband has put out a plea
to anyone who saw anything,
to come forward.
Now boarding green
line bus to Saratoga Springs
at gate 5.
Clara!
Honestly. Why do you always
insist on seeing me off
if you're going to be late?
So you heard,
my mother is dying, again.
I have some good news.
Well, I think it's good news.
My story's
in this month's issue!
That's the good news?
Why don't you focus
on your real job?
Wait till you read it.
I will wait.
I have to work.
I have all the paperwork on
the sale of the Carter house.
People are boarding.
I wish I could drive you.
We could stop on the way
just like old times.
I like the bus.
Gives me time to think.
Well, could you
think about our party, please?
I suppose I have to.
- But don't invite Jon.
- You know Jon has to be there.
If we don't ask, he won't
come again, just like Jack.
And what a loss he's been.
Let's not quarrel, honey. Okay?
See you in a few days!
We'll make it a hell of a party!
Send my regards to your mother.
Thank you.
Sorry, folks!
Our first rest stop is gonna be
a bit further on up the highway.
Harry's rainbow grill is closed.
Some sort of
police investigation.
Nothing we can do.
Take care.
It was a good turnout
for Mrs. Kimmel.
Yeah. Thanks, Tony. She was...
She was really loved.
Any more news, detective Corby?
No, nothing new.
But I never give up.
You can tell that to Mr. Kimmel.
Should be comforting.
I'll be sure to tell him, sir.
- I'm so sorry.
- Thank you very much.
- I'm so sorry.
- That's very kind. Thank you.
God, I hope they don't
drag snow into the house.
What are you talking about?
They're walking up the path.
None of the women want to
ruin their shoes. Lighten up.
Come on, kids.
Oh, bill!
Betty.
- Great to see you.
- Hi Betty.
Can you believe it?
The Stackhouse's entertain.
Okay.
Thank you very much,
Walter. And I must say,
your wife is the
most wonderful person.
There's not a house
she can't buy or sell.
You're gonna be able
to quit work soon.
Taking on her pretty face was
the smartest thing I ever did.
Sorry, I have to go,
do my duty.
Martha.
So glad you could make it.
I hope you don't mind that I
brought my friend Ellie along.
She was having a dull day.
I'm sorry I can't
promise fireworks.
But we'll do our best.
Martha!
Excuse me.
So this is the good life?
Yeah.
- Let me get you a drink.
- Any chance of a beer?
A beer?
I think we got one of those.
Don't move an inch.
Martha gave me
the story you wrote.
I loved it.
Ah well. They've taken another.
That's really cool.
Here I was, thinking
you were just a...
Straight up architect.
Oh no.
Nothing straight up about me.
Well, what do you do? Or...
Maybe I should try and guess.
- I might take offense.
- No, I want to guess.
Indulge me.
Musician...
Of some sort. You write poetry.
You live in the village.
Two out of three,
that's not bad.
I don't write poetry.
- There you are.
- Uh.
This is Jon Caar.
We work together.
Martha puts up with
both of us. Jon meet Ellie.
Ellie Briess.
I meant to ask.
Can you get away on Sunday?
I don't know,
- Clara and I are supposed to...
- Don't do it.
Same old story.
Give me a break, man. Okay?
They need food. And soon
before they start to fall over.
Who was that girl
Martha brought?
I don't know her name.
I do.
It's Ellie Briess.
Who is she?
Oh, I don't know.
And I don't care.
Come on.
Come on, come on, come on.
You are a sex maniac.
You used to love my mania.
Come on, kits,
let's try to remember.
Why don't we start by
christening every room
in this house?
Please, Walter.
Not tonight.
Can't you just go to sleep?
Ah, god. When is it going
to fucking end, Clara?
Why are you so unhappy?
Hm? You promised me
you'd go see someone.
I just don't wanna see anyone.
And it's not my fault. Can't you
just... just leave me alone.
I told you, detective.
I don't know anyone who would
have wanted to kill Helen.
I appreciate you coming around,
but I need time.
Time to grieve.
Yes.
I understand.
I'll find
your wife's killer, Mr. Kimmel.
I want you to be
reassured by that.
There's no one smarter than me.
"Nobody holds
a good opinion of a
man who holds
a low opinion of himself."
Mark twain.
Same century, mister...
Corby, but it was
in fact, Anthony Trollope.
I'll sleep easier, detective,
knowing a man of your
intelligence is on the case.
I'll leave you to your
picnic, Mr. Kimmel.
I have a job, for god's sake.
I can't just drop everything
every time you get sick!
I can't take
much more of this, mother.
I have tried to tell you. And
you never listen. You never do!
I can't promise.
Walter has just got back.
I have to go.
I have to go. Goodbye.
Hi, kits. You all right?
Don't let her get to you.
How's the lovely, Ellie?
Why don't you spend the
rest of the evening with her?
That's right.
Go to her.
Get out.
Just go to her.
A police chief
told the press today
they are still looking
for clues to the brutal killing
of a woman now identified
as Helen Kimmel
at Harry's rainbow grill.
Investigations are continuing.
Corby.
The Helen Kimmel murder.
It's building nicely.
I can taste it.
Kimmel has a strong alibi.
We've already turned him over.
There's nothing there.
That kid Tony Ricco
swears Kimmel was at the movies.
He's in the clear.
Hi there, Mr. Kimmel.
How's it going?
It's going okay, thanks.
That detective's
been here again.
He keeps asking me
the same questions.
Well, Tony, you just keep
giving him the same answer.
I got you a special treat today.
You're spoiling me, Mr. k.
It's all a question
of who you know...
And who you trust.
Hash browns with lots of onions.
- And one of your frankfurters.
- You got it.
And give me
some cheese with that.
Sure thing Mr. k.
And a big slice of that
chocolate banana cake.
Still going on about this.
I saw you.
Everyone saw you.
Are you out of your fucking...
- Mind.
- Ellie Briess. Ellie Briess.
Don't dare deny it.
It's not worth denying.
I have... I have really tried.
But you are making it
impossible for me.
What the hell
happened to us? Did we...
We had one good year.
Was that it? Was that
all we got? One good year?
Well? Was that it?
Stop it! Stop shouting at me.
Good night, Claudia.
You married me
"in sickness and in health."
- Remember?
- Whatever happened to "health"?
It's not my fault!
I can't help it.
I promise. I promise. This
time I will go and see someone.
I know I've said it so many
times, but believe me, Walter.
- I will go and see someone.
- Calm down.
- I promise I will.
- Sure. Go right ahead.
For god's sakes, Clara,
don't being so melodramatic.
Leave me alone!
All right.
All right. I will.
You're on your own!
House is all yours tonight.
Are you following this story?
Not closely.
I'd say he looks like
a man who murdered his wife.
That's ridiculous.
You can't tell that
just by looking at someone.
Well, I'd say he did it.
I've worked it out.
He followed her bus,
lured her away from the stop,
killed her.
Simple as that.
Turned around and headed home.
Left no clues.
Seems he has a great alibi.
He's real smart.
Clara!
Clara!
Clara!
Oh, for god's sake.
Open the door. Clara!
Oh god no, no, no!
Clara! Clara!
Clara!
Clara. Come on, Clara.
Clara, wake up.
We'll pump her out.
We should know in 48 hours.
Walter?
Who was she seeing?
What?
Her analyst, what's his name?
I'm sorry.
I couldn't persuade her
to see anyone.
I tried.
You should have tried harder.
Dr. Palmer,
please dial the operator.
She took every god damn
pill in the house.
I knew she was going to.
We'd had another fight.
I stood my ground this time.
I told her. I've fucking had it.
I didn't sign up for this.
But at that moment I think
I really wanted her to.
No, Walter,
you're not thinking straight.
Hi there.
Remember me?
Sure. Of course. Hi.
Good to see you again. Come in.
Some orchids. Lots of them.
To thank Mrs. Stackhouse
for the party.
She'll love them. Thanks.
So, what brings you up here?
Oh, you know, I like to get
out of the city on the weekend
and just drive.
Me and my car found ourselves
driving north, so...
Here I am.
So your wife is at work?
I remember you saying
that she worked on Saturdays.
Yeah, it's her busiest day.
She sells houses.
And I build them.
So this is your design?
How long have you lived here?
We move in a year
after we got married.
Yeah.
How long ago was that?
Four year ago now.
Yeah.
Kids?
No. Not yet.
I'm moving soon.
Oh?
Still the village,
but a...
Little place of my own.
Time to grow up.
It's not all
it's cracked up to be.
No, honestly.
I need to slow down.
Packed a hell of a lot
in these past five years.
You're making me jealous.
Oh no. I'm not so sure.
Grass is always greener.
Well...
I'd better get going.
What'll you be doing tonight?
Singing...
At a little club
off Macdougal...
Called "Molly's."
You should come along sometime.
I'm there almost every night.
Maybe one day I will.
It was nice to see you.
You too.
I'll take a rye.
Rye. Double. Neat.
Don't ever leave me.
Promise?
Who did you tell?
Don't worry.
Everyone thinks
you had a bad flu.
Kind of a pneumonia.
Thank you.
I knew
it's what you'd want, kits.
The orchids downstairs,
who brought them?
Was it Betty?
I completely forgot. Martha's
friend, Ellie, brought them.
To thank you for the party.
- How long did she stay?
- I don't know. Not very long.
Long enough to fuck her?
Oh, Clara.
I was right, wasn't I?
- Admit it.
- I can't...
I can't have this
conversation right now.
I'm going out.
I will be back.
I promise.
But this can't go on.
This has to end.
Are you looking
for anything in particular?
Yeah. I'm looking for a book
called "the living city"
by frank Lloyd Wright.
You happen to have it in stock?
I'm sure I don't.
As I thought, I don't have it.
I do have a copy
of Lloyd Wright's
"disappearing city."
I've got that.
In fact,
I have a 1932 first edition.
I could try to find it.
Do you want me
to order it for you?
Uh, yes. I would, thanks.
Just fill in
your name and address.
Do you own this bookstore?
Yes.
What is it to you?
I heard your wife died recently.
She was murdered.
Sorry.
Have they found her killer?
No.
Well...
I hope they find
the man who's guilty.
So do I.
Thank you for your concern.
I'll be in touch
if I find that book.
You shouldn't be up this late.
Neither should you.
No doubt you had a couple
of scotches with Jon?
Yeah. That's exactly what I did.
We needed to let off some steam.
Where did you go?
Some dive.
I don't remember the name.
I followed you from the office.
I saw you.
With your whore.
Ellie Briess.
- I knew all along.
- No. You didn't.
There's nothing to know.
Don't think there's a future
in it because there isn't.
I'm going to divorce you, Clara.
I'm calling our lawyers.
Do what you want.
It's your life.
If you divorce me,
then I will kill myself.
And everyone will know
it's your fault.
And everyone
will blame you, Walter.
There will be blood
on your hands.
Mr. Stackhouse.
I thought you were
with Mrs. Stackhouse
seeing her off
at the bus station.
What are you talking about?
A telegram.
Her mother.
It seemed
very serious this time.
She was aiming to catch
the 6.30 up to Saratoga.
Watch it, mister.
Clara!
Why didn't you
tell me you're going away?
Why should I make it
easier for you?
It seems my mother
is really dying this time.
So, you get to spend another
48 hours with Ellie Briess.
Think that will make you happy?
You don't look at all happy.
Excuse me. How much time
do we have at this stop?
Fifteen minutes.
So they say.
Oh, Mr. Stackhouse.
I just received
a call from the hospital.
To say that
Mrs. Stackhouse's mother
died during the night.
Oh, god.
Oh, no.
Thanks Claudia. I'll call
Mrs. Stackhouse back right away.
But she isn't there.
She never arrived.
- No. That's impossible.
- Oh, dear.
Do you have the number of?
Who did you speak to?
- You sure you got this right?
- I didn't make a mistake.
I swear.
Stackhouse residence.
Is this Walter Stackhouse?
Yes.
My name is detective Miller,
Saratoga Springs
police department.
I'm afraid we have something
we need to talk to you about.
You okay, Mr. Stackhouse?
Yeah.
I'm afraid I still need to go
through a few things with you.
Can you do this now?
Sure.
I think so.
I'll be fine.
What do you think happened?
We're not sure, sir. She may
have taken her own life, she...
She may
have been pushed, of course.
How do you do? I'm detective
Lawrence Corby, homicide.
Uh, Walter Stackhouse.
I'm so sorry for your loss.
I'll take over this now.
Just leave your notes.
When was the last time
you saw your wife?
Yesterday, at home.
But I spoke to her
on the phone...
From my office
before she caught the bus.
Do you have reason to believe
your wife would commit suicide?
Well, she's tried before,
I'm afraid to say.
But I just can't imagine
Clara would jump off a bridge.
Well.
I've seen the bridge.
It's not likely
that she slipped and fell.
Well, I hope someone's going
to make some investigations.
Don't worry, I will,
Mr. Stackhouse.
When you left work,
after speaking to your wife,
did you go straight home?
Yes.
Well, actually, no.
Actually, I was trying
to reach a friend.
I drove around for a while.
Did you ever reach your friend?
Yes.
I'll need his name and address.
Ellie Briess,
38 Cornelia street,
it's in the village.
So, they have my name?
I hope they won't blame me.
No. She always
had mental problems.
Neurotic, jealous.
Oh, hi Martha.
Ah, Jesus.
No. How awful.
Poor Mr. Stackhouse.
Do... do they know what happened?
Yeah.
Bye.
I didn't think I should
tell Martha you were here.
Good day, Mr. Kimmel.
Stackhouse.
Walter Stackhouse.
Walter Stackhouse.
Walter Stackhouse.
I'm not open today. I'm sorry.
It's me.
Detective Corby.
I think we need to talk.
Did you read a story
in today's local paper
about a woman who
died at Harry's rainbow grill?
Yes, I did in fact.
A bit of a coincidence,
don't you think?
What are you saying?
Well...
Your wife...
And now some other...
Poor man's wife.
What was his name?
I have no idea.
The paper said it
was a suicide most...
The husband's name
was Stackhouse.
Walter Stackhouse.
He's under investigation.
Just like you are, Mr. Kimmel.
Statistics tend to make me
suspicious of husbands.
And I love statistics.
What specifically did you
want to ask me, detective?
You know.
I've been going over your
wife's case again and again.
Your movie alibi...
It bothers me.
Anthony has given his statement.
Anthony Ricco...
Seventeen...
Young...
I'm talking to him regularly.
All your colleagues know
me very well, detective.
So I believe, and I wanna
get to know you better myself.
You know.
We've got a lot in common.
My family comes from Newark.
We can't let your wife's killer
get away with it, can we?
I'll be in touch again soon.
Thank you for your time,
Mr. Kimmel.
Hello?
Tony?
You wanna come over
for some beers this evening?
It was her choice.
Wasn't it?
Of course it was.
You can't blame yourself.
I mean, you tried everything.
Did I? Did I really?
What's the difference
between wishing someone dead
and actually
doing something about it?
One hell of a difference.
- What are you talking about?
- No, uh...
I don't know.
I honestly don't know anymore.
Morning, Claudia.
I'm sorry.
I don't want to
work here anymore,
Mr. Stackhouse.
I've come
to collect a few things.
There's no reason
for you to leave.
Okay.
I understand.
If that's the way
you prefer to handle things.
I don't want anything.
I'm sorry, Mr. Stackhouse.
Truly.
Mr. Stackhouse,
please have a seat.
This is Mr. de Vries.
Have you ever met
Mr. de Vries before?
I don't think so. No.
Well?
Yeah. That's him.
I never forget a face.
That's him.
- Everyone I know always says...
- That's fine.
Thank you, Mr. de Vries.
You can go now.
So.
Mr. de Vries says he spoke
to you at Harry's rainbow grill.
You asked him
how long the bus stopped,
the night your wife died.
Yes, I was there.
I...
Followed the bus.
I wanted to talk to Clara.
And did you?
No. I couldn't find her.
I looked everywhere.
Why didn't you tell us this?
Thought she got off
at one of the other stops
on the way.
Had some other plan.
So, your story about
driving around, was...
Yes. It was very stupid of me.
I should have told you.
Well.
You better tell me now.
Exactly what did happen?
Cigarette?
Well.
I felt...
I felt we had to
finish something.
You'd been arguing?
No.
Just a question
of finishing something...
Important
that we were discussing.
Were you
and Mrs. Stackhouse happy?
Actually,
we were getting a divorce.
Did you both want this divorce?
In all honesty,
she didn't want a divorce,
but she knew there was
nothing she could do
- to stop me from getting one.
- Seems she tried.
I followed up on those
previous attempts that she made.
Can you prove suicide
in this sort of case?
Coming off a bridge that high,
with so many injuries,
it's hard to get a consensus.
But I just like to eliminate
all the other possibilities.
One more thing.
Did you ever hear about
another woman's body found
near Harry's rainbow grill?
It happened not too long ago.
She was badly beaten.
Knifed.
She was definitely murdered.
No. I didn't.
Kimmel.
Helen Kimmel.
No.
I'm working that case too.
I haven't found the killer yet.
Well.
Thank you very much for coming
in. I'll be in touch soon.
Where are those Martinis?
Coming right up.
You ever been to Paris?
Of course. Have you?
No. I haven't.
All architects
ought to go to Paris.
- And all writers have to go...
- I know.
Somehow I never
got around to it.
Well.
It's still there.
It's that
goddamn detective Corby.
Um.
You know.
Maybe it's better
if you weren't around.
Just come with me.
Let's go downstairs.
Okay.
He won't stay long.
This is weird.
Good evening, Mr. Stackhouse.
Do you have a moment?
Yeah. Come on in.
I've interrupted you.
I can only apologize
yet again.
What did you wanna say?
I talked to Kimmel.
- Kimmel?
- The man whose wife was killed
at Harry's rainbow grill.
- Oh. Yes.
- I'm convinced he's guilty.
So why tell me? I've...
Everyone thinks it was some
sort of random maniac. But...
You've given me ideas.
Is this house your own design?
Very...
Adult.
Would you be willing
to show me around?
Sure.
Let's start back here.
Just my den.
May I? I'd like to
complete the picture.
Nice.
I like this.
What's this?
It's a kind of scrapbook.
Ideas. Pictures and things I
cut out of newspapers, you know?
They're my clippings.
Crazy stuff.
Inspirations for my
short stories that I write.
Maybe one day
I'll write a novel.
Who knows.
Quite a hobby.
This is about Kimmel.
Is it?
My god.
You cut it out?
I must have. I don't remember.
I've hundreds of cuttings
of all sorts.
I just cut things out.
You've never actually
met Kimmel? Have you?
Me? Kimmel? God no.
This doesn't look too good
for you, Mr. Stackhouse.
I don't like it.
I followed
Clara's bus to the rest stop.
I waited...
Looking all over for her
till the bus left.
And then I came home.
So you...
Knew she was missing and...
When you came to see me?
And later we...
Well, I couldn't understand it.
When she didn't get back on,
I thought maybe she'd
gotten off earlier.
Anyway. It was stupid of me.
She might have had
some crazy plan.
She knew where you lived.
She'd followed me there before.
The trouble is...
I was seen...
At the rest stop.
They might try to make
something of it. That's all.
Make something of it?
What are you talking about?
What are they gonna make of it?
- Walter, you're scaring me.
- No, don't be scared.
I haven't done anything.
But it could seem strange
that I followed her bus.
I don't know why I did it.
What will seem strange
is that you didn't tell
the police right away.
You told a stupid lie.
You panicked. Pure and simple.
Big deal.
You were in shock,
for god's sake.
I reckon once they check out
Clara's history it'll be over.
So just relax.
Though it might not be
a bad idea to get an attorney.
No. I...
No.
That'd make it look like
I have something to hide.
Ellie, can I get you a drink?
No. I have to go.
I have to get up early.
Call me later. Bye Jon.
I know what you're thinking.
Ellie complicates things.
Well, yes.
Until this blows over, I'd keep
Ellie right out of the picture.
I've got one
lying bastard and one...
No. Make that
two lying bastards.
Both killed their wives.
I know it.
I'm watching them. Close.
Look. Stackhouse is
a classic copycat killer.
And Kimmel is a psychopath.
His wife was in the way.
We need more than
your textbook theories, Corby.
I'll give you a lot
more than that.
I don't think it's gonna
be long until I nail this.
Did you know Mrs. Stackhouse?
I only met her once.
Look, this isn't the best
time for me to talk to you.
And I don't like you
touching my things, okay?
I have rehearsal this morning.
I need to be there.
Well.
I'm gonna have to
delay you, Ms. Briess.
See, I'm a bit confused.
Your "friend" lied about where
he was the night his wife died
and now he's lied again.
Not that long ago
another woman's body was found
murdered at the same rest stop.
Mr. Stackhouse says
he'd never heard about it.
But guess what? He had.
I don't understand.
He's got a newspaper clipping
in his scrapbook
all about the case.
This is it.
I appreciate your cooperation.
I'm back.
And I've brought
someone with me.
Mr. Kimmel,
I'd like you to meet
Mr. Stackhouse.
How do you do?
I'm good.
How are you?
You two have a lot in common.
This is your chance
to commiserate.
A strange thing...
Mr. Stackhouse was so interested
in the death of your wife,
that he cut this out
and put it in his scrapbook.
Now why do you think
he would do a thing like that?
Hmmm?
I have no idea.
You should ask him.
I've already told you,
I cut out hundreds of things.
I write stories.
Do you have any particular
literary interests,
Mr. Stackhouse?
I'm always interested
in rare architecture books.
You should browse our shelves.
I have a substantial collection.
I was right.
Common ground indeed.
And why shouldn't there be?
Kimmel...
You're a fucking liar!
You thought you were
home and dry. Admit it.
This guy, Stackhouse...
He threw a wrench
in your works, all right.
I don't know what you're
talking about, detective.
Are we through?
Yeah.
For today.
Good bye.
This is just too much!
Why, for god's sakes, go look at
a guy whose wife was murdered?
Just look at me and swear
to me you didn't do anything.
- You have to ask me that?
- I just want you to swear.
I did not kill Clara!
I don't know how this
has gotten so out of hand.
I can't get something
you said out of my mind.
What? Tell me. What?
"I have this fantasy
she's no longer there."
Is that the real
reason you lied?
Because you were thinking
about it all the time.
You were thinking about it
long before you met me.
Tony.
Please.
Excuse me, sir.
What do you want?
I wanna say thanks.
Whatever you did,
I want you to know that...
It doesn't matter to me.
I'm not guilty.
- Did it never cross your mind?
- No.
But it obviously crossed yours.
But... I...
I didn't actually do it.
- But I feel...
- What do you feel?
I don't know.
I guess in some way that
we have something in common.
No. We have nothing in common.
We're all guilty of something.
I feel you are my guilt.
And what the hell
does that mean?
It means I share in your guilt.
I may have
thought about it, but...
But you did it.
Get out of here.
Do you realize
what you're doing to me?
You're ruining my life.
I can never tell when that cop
is gonna walk through that door.
I detest you.
Get out of my shop.
- Now.
- I'm sorry.
I really am.
You okay, Mr. Kimmel?
That man pestering you?
Who is he?
Don't you worry.
I deal with customers
like him all the time.
He's a nobody.
Yes!
He was here.
So what?
And what did he have to say?
He said he was sorry
he brought the police down
on the head of an innocent man.
Yeah? And what did you do?
Discuss architecture?
We're both innocent men.
In a similar situation.
Pursued by a man
who invents crimes.
You're a sad bitch, Kimmel.
Did you murder her for the
simple reason that you thought
that you married beneath you?
For that simple reason?
Who would believe it?
Well. You know what?
I do.
A man of your intellect.
How did you ever
let that happen?
She was always bugging you
with her inane chatter.
So, you...
You got rid of her.
But you never reckoned
on Stackhouse, did you?
Now, admit...
That you know he's guilty
and you're as guilty as he is.
Admit it.
Is everything okay,
Mr. Kimmel?
Mr. Kimmel? You all right?
That's all for today.
See you tomorrow.
Corby is obsessed with me.
You should see him.
He's eaten up. He's uh...
He's got it in his twisted
little mind that I killed Clara.
But Jesus!
To a lot of people
around here...
Certain things do seem
a little hard to figure out.
People can go to hell.
I'm through with it.
Maybe you should think about
taking some time out. You know?
Some sick leave.
Sick leave?
Well, I thought you must need
some time to yourself.
Oh.
You thought that, did you?
Well, thanks a lot, Jon.
Tony, open the door.
- Open up!
- Leave me alone.
I can explain.
Just five minutes.
I'm calling the cops.
Go away.
You just give me five minutes.
Please.
That's all I ask. Five.
Open the door.
A Mr. Schaeffer
is here to see you.
He says he has an appointment.
That's fine Martha. Send him in.
What are you doing here?
I think you owe me.
Corby knows you came
to see me, but I said nothing.
I didn't even give him this.
I think detective Corby might
just make something of this.
Your little visit to your
favorite bookstore in Newark.
I want money.
A discreet arrangement
between you and me.
A serious way of saying sorry.
I'm not giving you
a fucking cent.
I can make you look very guilty.
No, you can't.
I haven't done anything.
You can't prove anything.
Proof is not the key thing.
It's doubt.
Doubt is everything.
You should know that.
I'll keep this safe.
Until I hear from you.
Detective Corby!
Detective Corby!
Mr. Stackhouse.
I need to talk to you.
I went to see Kimmel.
I know. We've been
watching the shop.
No. I didn't mean
the other day. I went before.
I went before Clara died.
I went
to his bookstore in Newark.
I ordered a book...
I left my name and address.
Jesus Christ.
Boy, I'm impressed.
Can you tell a lie?
Why did you go there?
I wanted to see Kimmel.
Why? I don't get it.
Well, I know it sounds crazy,
but I wanted to see...
If he looked like a man
who could murder his wife.
It... fascinated me.
It fascinated you?
Yeah.
I'm a writer, remember?
As far as excuses go,
that one doesn't fly.
So, why are you telling me?
Well, he's got
my dated order slip.
He just tried to blackmail me.
It's laughable.
No. It's interesting.
Well, it's a little
private transaction. I...
But I feel better
now that you know.
I wanted to tell you.
He might have some
fantastical story.
He won't need to use
too much imagination.
- I didn't do anything.
- So you keep saying.
What's the next revelation
gonna be, Mr. Stackhouse?
I'm just watching you
digging your grave
and it's getting
deeper and deeper.
If you wanna press charges,
feel free.
This young man
wants to change his statement.
You fucked up trying
to blackmail Stackhouse
with that order slip,
didn't you?
Big mistake.
I don't know
what you're getting at.
You get nailed.
I'm getting closer
and you know it.
He gets away with murder.
That's what I'm getting at.
You gotta face it.
He's got the cute blonde
to replace his wife.
His smart friends,
his neighbors.
Oh, yeah.
And he's stinking rich.
As for you Kimmel...
Well...
The luck is just not
on your side now, is it?
I couldn't care less
about Stackhouse.
Amazing, though, isn't it?
Looks like he can actually
get away with it.
Scott free.
I told you I don't care.
But...
Your alibi is falling apart.
Could be death row for you
while he's out there,
living the good life.
You're not gonna
get away with it.
Stackhouse
is your problem, Kimmel.
Back on the bus in 15 minutes.
- Helen!
- Marty!
What the hell
are you doing here?
I got something for you.
You drive here at night...
Without... who the hell
do you think you are?
I told you to throw
that ugly jacket out.
My friends think
you look like a hobo.
I can never ask...
If you divorce me...
Then I will kill myself.
Do what you want.
It's your life.
Go right ahead.
Go.
I've got a Jackson
following Stackhouse.
Kimmel's taken
the bait, all right.
Let's stick with him.
He's lost control.
What do you think he's gonna do?
I don't know.
But I know what I hope
he's gonna do.
Why didn't Stackhouse
take a cab?
Where the fuck is he going?
I don't care. As long as
I have a ringside seat.
Aaargh!
Stackhouse! You blunderer!
I did it.
Police! Drop it!
- Jesus Christ.
- What a mess.
I have this fantasy.
I have this...
I have this fantasy.
That she's no longer there.
I haven't done anything.
I didn't set out
to tell such stupid lies.
I wanted to see if he
looked like a man
who murdered his wife.
Wishing someone dead.
It's fascinating.
I haven't done anything wrong.
We're all guilty of something.
I'm a writer.
I write stories.