- Here we go, Nick.|- All right
- Good morning, Detective.|- I want a shot of the two detectives.
Keep it back, folks.
- Howdy.|- Morning.
Up there.
- How's it going, Gus?|- Morning, Pete.
- Who was this fucking guy?|- Rock and roll, Gus. Johnny Boz.
- Never heard of him.|- Before your time, cowboy.
- Hey, Ronny, where they hiding?|- Upstairs, to the right.
Mid '60s, had five or six hits.|Got a club down on Fillmore now.
Not now, he don't.
- Do we have a time of death?|- Almost.
- Do you guys know Captain Tallcott?|- Sure.
- What's the Chief's office doing here?|- Observing.
- You get that stuff out of the wall?|- I got it.
- What's it say, Doc?|- Ninety-two degrees. About six hours.
Puts time of death|at around 2:00 a.m.
Can somebody close|the drapes over there?
Maid came in about an hour ago|and found the body.
- She's not a live-in.|- Maybe the maid did it.
She's 54 years old|and weighs 240 pounds.
- No bruises on the body.|- It ain't the maid.
Never know.
Sorry.
He was last seen leaving the club|with his girlfriend about midnight.
- What was it?|- Ice pick. Left it in the living room.
There's come stains|all over the sheets.
- Very impressive.|- He got off before he got off.
Gentlemen, this is sensitive.
Mr. Boz was a major contributor|to the mayor's campaign.
He was chairman of the board|of the Palace of Fine Arts.
I thought he was a rock and roll star.
He was a retired|rock and roll star.
A civic-minded, very respectable|rock and roll star.
Then, what's that over there?
Looks like civic-minded,|very respectable cocaine.
Listen to me, Curran.|I'm gonna get a lot of heat on this.
I don't want any mistakes.
What's Boz's girlfriend's name?
"Catherine Tramell, 162 Divisadero."
Tied up like that,|he didn't stand a chance.
- Always a pleasure, Captain.|- He's up bright and early.
He doesn't usually punch in|'til after his 18 holes.
Johnny and the mayor|must have been very tight.
Nick, keep your 3:00.
You want me to work the case...
- I said, keep it!|- All right.
I'll keep it.
Good morning. I'm Detective Curran.|This is Detective Moran.
San Francisco Police Department.|I'd like to speak to Catherine Tramell.
Come in.
Sit, please.|Just a moment.
Ain't that cute?|They got his and hers Picasso's.
- I didn't know you knew a Picasso.|- Sure I do. It says right here.
Hers is bigger.
Sorry to bother you.|We just got a couple of questions.
- Are you vice?|- No, we're homicide.
What do you want?
When was the last time|you saw John Boz?
Is he dead?
Why do you think he's dead?
Well, you wouldn't be here|otherwise, would you?
Were you with him last night?
You're looking for Catherine, not me.
- Who are you?|- I'm Roxy.
I'm her friend.
Well, Roxy, do you know|where your friend is?
She's out at the beach house|at Stenson. Seadrift 1402.
Thanks.
You're wasting your time.
Catherine didn't kill him.
Miss Tramell?
Good afternoon. I'm Detective Curran.|This is Detective Moran.
- We're with the San Francisco Police...|- I know who you are.
So, how did he die?
He was murdered.
Obviously.
- How was he murdered?|- With an ice pick.
How long were you dating him?
I wasn't dating him.|I was fucking him.
What are you, a pro?
No, I'm an amateur.
How long were you|having sex with him?
About a year and a half.
- Were you with him last night?|- Yes.
Did you leave the club with him?
- Yes.|- Did you go home with him?
No. We had a drink at the club.|We left together.
He went home,|and I came out here.
Was there anyone|with you last night?
No. I wasn't in the mood|last night.
Let me ask you something,|Miss Tramell.
Are you sorry he's dead?
Yeah.
I liked fucking him.
Look, I don't really|feel like talking anymore.
Listen, lady, we can do this|downtown, if you want.
So read me my rights and arrest me...
and then I'll go downtown.
Otherwise, get the fuck out of here.
Please.
Nice girl.
I'm sorry, Beth.|I got hung up in Stenson.
- How are you, Nick?|- I'm fine.
Come on, Beth. You know I'm fine.|How long do we have to keep doing this?
As long as Internal Affairs|wants you to, I suppose.
- Have a seat.|- It's bullshit. You know it is.
I know it is. But sit down, anyway,|so we can get it over with, okay?
So, how are things?
Things are fine.
I told you, all right?|Things are fine.
How is your personal life?
My sex life is fine.
My sex life is actually pretty shitty|since I stopped seeing you.
I started developing calluses.
Sorry.
How's the booze?
Haven't had a drink in three months.
- What about the coke?|- No.
No. I'm working my ass off.|I'm off the sauce.
I even stopped smoking.
How is not smoking?
It sucks.
Now, will you tell I.A.|I'm just your average...
healthy,|totally fucked up cop...
and let me out of here, please?
Yes.
Thank you.
I still miss you, Nick.
- How are you doing?|- Fine.
Tallcott's in there.|They're waiting. How did it go?
She misses me.
Boy, when that girl mates,|it's for life.
All right, let's start.|Harrigan.
Well, we got 31 stab wounds,|neck and the chest.
No usable prints,|no forceable entry, nothing missing.
No prints on the ice pick, either.|You can pick it up at any KMart.
The scarf was Hermes.|It's expensive.
They sell about 20,000 a year,|worldwide.
Bottle was cocaine. High quality,|high content. He inhaled it.
There were minute quantities|on his lips and penis.
Mr. Boz leaves $5 million.
No direct survivors.|No criminal record.
He liked his drugs. He liked his girls.|He liked his rock and roll.
He liked the mayor too, right?
What about his girlfriend?
- Is she relevant here? Is she a suspect?|- She's a suspect.
On what basis?
"Girlfriend: Catherine Tramell. Age 30.|No priors. No convictions.
Magna cum laude at Berkeley, 1983.
Double major:|Literature and psychology.
Daughter, sole survivor,|Marvin and Elaine Tramell...
killed in a boating accident, 1979.
Catherine Tramell, sole heir.|Estimated assets: $110 million."
You're shitting me.
"Formerly engaged|to Manuel Vasquez, deceased."
Whoa, whoa! Manny Vasquez?
Former middleweight contender.|Killed in the ring, Atlantic City, 1984.
I love it.|She's got 100 million bucks.
She fucks fighters|and rock and roll stars...
and she's got a degree|in screwing with people's heads.
You forgot about her degree|in literature. She's a writer.
She published a novel under a pen name.|Want to know what it's about?
It's about a retired rock and roll star|who gets murdered by his girlfriend.
Page 67, cowboy.
You know how she does the boyfriend?
With an ice pick, in bed...
his hands tied|with a white silk scarf.
Dr. Garner.
I've asked Dr. Lamont to consult|with us. This isn't really my turf.
Dr. Lamont teaches the pathology|of psychopathic behavior at Stanford...
and also on the Justice Department|Psychological Profile Team.
Dr. Lamont.
I see two possibilities.
One: The person who wrote this book|is your murderer...
and acted out the killing described|in ritualistic, literal detail.
Two: Someone who wants|to harm the writer...
read the book and enacted the killing|described to incriminate her.
What if the writer did it?|Then what are we dealing with?
You're dealing with|a devious, diabolical mind.
You see, this book had to have been|written at least six months...
maybe even years...|before it was published...
which means the writer must have planned|the crime in the subconscious back then.
Now, the fact|that she carried it out...
indicates psychopathic|obsessive behavior...
in terms not only|of the killing itself...
but also in terms of the applied|advance defense mechanism.
Sometimes I can't tell|shit from shinola, Doc.
What was all that you just said?
- She intended the book to be her alibi.|- Correct.
She's going to say, "Do you think|I'd be dumb enough to kill anyone...
in the exact way|I described in my book?"
I wouldn't do that because|I know I'd be the suspect.
So, what if it's not the writer?|What if it's someone who read the book?
You're dealing, then,|with someone so obsessed...
that he or she is willing to kill|an irrelevant and innocent victim...
in order to place the blame|on the person who wrote that book.
I'm talking about a deep-seated|obsessional hatred...
and an utter lack of respect|for human life.
So, we got a once in a lifetime,|top of the line looney-tuney.
That's what you're saying,|right, Doc?
You're dealing with someone|very dangerous...
and very ill.
You know there's no case here.|You've got no physical evidence.
She hasn't got an alibi.
She hasn't got a motive, either.|Believe me...
her defense would just beat us to death|with this copycat thing.
Anybody who read the book|could have done it.
- What do you want to do now? Nothing?|- We call her in for questioning.
She's got enough money|to burn the department down...
She was the last person|seen with the guy.
I'll take the responsibility.
It's yours.
It won't do any good.
She'll just waltz in|with some superstar lawyer...
who'll get us all canned|for wasting the taxpayers' money.
- That's exactly what she'll do.|- No, she won't.
I don't think she'll hide|behind anybody.
I don't think she's|gonna hide at all.
Then she's as crazy|as you are, Curran.
You know what they say:
Takes one to know one.
Miss Tramell, we'd like you to come|downtown to answer a few questions.
Are you arresting me?
If that's the way|you want to play it.
Could I change|into something more appropriate?
It'll only take a minute.|Come on in.
Make yourselves comfortable.|I'll be right back.
- Hey, Gus.|- Hmm?
- So, how long is this gonna take?|- I don't know.
Do you always keep|old newspapers around?
Only when they make|interesting reading.
- I'm ready.|- You have the right to an attorney.
Why would I need an attorney?
- Do you have a cigarette?|- I don't smoke.
Yes, you do.
- I quit.|- Congratulations.
I thought you didn't|have any cigarettes.
Oh, I found some in my pocket.|Would you like one?
I told you, I quit.
It won't last.
- You working on another book?|- Yes, I am.
It must really be something|making stuff up all the time.
Yeah, it teaches you to lie.
How's that?
You make up believable stuff.|It's called suspension of disbelief.
I like that!|Suspension of disbelief.
What's your new book about?
A detective.|He falls for the wrong woman.
What happens?
She kills him.
I'm John Carreli, Miss Tramell,|assistant district attorney.
I have to inform you|this session's being taped.
- This is Captain Tallcott.|- My pleasure.
- And Lieutenant Walker.|- Hi.
- Can we get you a cup of coffee?|- No, thank you.
Are your attorneys|going to join us?
Miss Tramell has waived|her rights to an attorney.
Did I miss something?
I told them you wouldn't|want an attorney present.
Why have you waived your right|to an attorney, Miss Tramell?
Why did you think|I wouldn't want one?
I told them you wouldn't want to hide.
I have nothing to hide.
There's no smoking|in this building.
What are you gonna do?|Charge me with smoking?
Would you tell us the nature|of your relationship with Mr. Boz?
I had sex with him|for about a year and a half.
I liked having sex with him.
He wasn't afraid of experimenting.
I like men like that.
Men who give me pleasure.
He gave me a lot of pleasure.
You ever engage in any|sadomasochistic activity?
Exactly what did you have|in mind, Mr. Carreli?
- You ever tie him up?|- No.
You never tied him up?
No.
Johnny liked to use|his hands too much.
I like hands and fingers.
You describe a white silk scarf|in your book.
I've always had a fondness|for white silk scarves.
They're good for all occasions.
But you said you liked men|to use their hands, didn't you?
No, I said I liked Johnny|to use his hands.
I don't make any rules, Nick.|I go with the flow.
Did you kill Mr. Boz,|Miss Tramell?
I'd have to be pretty stupid|to write a book about killing...
and then kill somebody|the way I described it in my book.
I'd be announcing myself as the killer.|I'm not stupid.
We know you're not stupid.
Maybe that's what you're counting on|to get you off the hook.
Writing the book gives you an alibi.
Yes, it does.
The answer's no.|I didn't kill him.
- Do you use drugs, Miss Tramell?|- Sometimes.
- Did you ever use drugs with Mr. Boz?|- Sure.
What kind of drugs?
Cocaine.
Have you ever fucked|on cocaine, Nick?
It's nice.
You like playing games, don't you?
I have a degree in psychology.|It goes with the turf.
Games are fun.
What about boxing?|That's a game. Is that fun too?
I don't think that's relevant|to this inquiry.
Boxing was fun 'til Manny died.
How did you feel when he died?
I loved him.|It hurt.
How did you feel when I told you|Johnny Boz had died?
I felt like someone had read my book|and was playing a game.
- But it didn't hurt?|- No.
- Because you didn't love him?|- That's right.
Even though you were fucking him?
You still get the pleasure.
Didn't you ever fuck anybody else|when you were married, Nick?
How'd you know he was married?
Maybe I was just guessing.
What difference does it make?
Would you like a cigarette, Nick?
- Do you two know each other?|- No.
How did you meet Mr. Boz?
I wanted to write a book about the|murder of a retired rock and roll star.
I went down to his club,|I picked him up and I had sex with him.
You didn't feel anything for him?|You just had sex with him for your book?
In the beginning.|Then I got to like what he did for me.
That's pretty cold, ain't it, lady?
I'm a writer.|I use people for what I write.
Let the world beware.
Do you want me to take|a lie detector test?
Wait here, please.
No blips, no blood pressure|variations, no pulse variance.
Either she's telling the truth,|or I've never seen anyone like her.
I guess that settles it.
- She's lying.|- Forget it. You can't fool the machine.
Trust me. It can be done.
And what makes you|such an expert?
Because I know people|that have done it.
Thank you.
Thanks for coming in, Miss Tramell.|Sorry to inconvenience you.
Could someone give me a ride home?
Sure.
Thank you.
Want to get a drink?
- Rough day?|- Not really.
Beating that machine can't be easy.
If I was guilty and wanted to beat|that machine, it wouldn't be hard.
It wouldn't be hard at all.
You took a lie detector test after|you shot those two people, didn't you?
I passed.
You see?|We're both innocent, Nick.
You seem to know|an awful lot about me.
You know an awful lot about me.
I don't know anything|that's not police business.
You know I don't wear|any underwear. Don't you, Nick?
Thanks for the ride.
Would you like|another glass of wine?
- Hi, Nick.|- Evening.
What's all this "Nick" stuff?
"Nick, do you want a cigarette?|Nick, can I have a ride?"
She didn't ask me to give her a ride.|She asked anybody.
- And you volunteered.|- Hey, Nick. Evian?
No, Chuckie. Get me a double blackjack|on the rocks, please.
What you doing, Hoss?
I haven't had a drink|in three months.
All right with you, cowboy?
- She doesn't know me, okay?|- Here you go.
I never seen her before|Gus and I talked with her.
- Thanks, Chuck.|- You're sure?
Yes, I'm sure.
Cheers.
Now what?
What "now what"?|Now nothing.
She passed the polygraph.|That's it.
She knew how to beat it,|that's why she took it.
How in the fuck do you know?|What is it with you and this broad?
Come on, Phil.|Don't let this one slide.
What about her parents?|What about what else she published?
Maybe all her books come true.
Her parents died in an accident.|I don't care what else she published.
What are you, a book critic?
How'd they die?|Was there an investigation?
You're saying she killed her parents?|Did she kill Manny Vasquez too?
Not unless she climbed into the ring|and turned into one mean son of a bitch.
Maybe she did.|Maybe she grew herself an afro...
developed a hell of a left hook|and put shoe polish all over her face.
- Let's polygraph her again.|- Fuck you.
Fuck you too.
Don't worry, Phil.|Nick'll fuck himself.
You guys are very funny.|Hey, Chuckie, get me another double.
Hey, shooter!
Are you back|on the blackjack, shooter?
- We're discussing a case here.|- I know that. I have no doubts.
Here you go, Nick.
A double, huh, shooter?
I'm off duty, Nilsen.
You hear me?|I'm off duty discussing a case.
Now, I.A. Shouldn't|have a problem with that.
Maybe I should put in|for some overtime?
Don't work too hard, shooter.|It might drive you to drink.
Stop riding me, man!|I'll kick your fucking teeth in!
- What's the problem?|- No problem, Doctor.
Here comes the shrink, just in time|to save her favorite patient.
Just fuck off, Marty!
You kids have a good time tonight, huh?
- He's asking for it.|- That's right, so don't take the bait.
Do you want to go?
- Yes.|- Let's go.
Sometimes I think he started banging her|just to get Internal Affairs off him.
He ain't that way.|He's got a heart.
Damn!
What was she like?
- Who?|- Catherine Tramell.
You had her pegged.|She used her book as an alibi.
I met her at Berkeley.
We were in some of the same classes.
Why didn't you tell me?
I'm telling you.
You've never been|like that before. Why?
You tell me.|You're the shrink.
- You weren't making love to me.|- Who was I making love to?
You weren't making love.
I need a cigarette.
I thought you said you quit.
It's the top drawer in the foyer.
Get it on your way out!
- Have you started?|- Waitin' on you.
- You look like dog shit.|- No, he looks a little shrunk is all.
And not just in the head.
All right, I made a couple|of calls to Berkeley.
There was a murder in '80.|A professor.
In his bed, multiple stab wounds,|with an ice pick.
Tramell was there then,|wasn't she?
University records say she was.
Okay, let's move on this.|Gus, get out to Berkeley.
Harrigan, find out|what else she's published.
Andrews, get me that file|on the parents' accident.
Copy Beth on everything.|I want psychological input.
- What about me?|- You're already getting input.
You go soak your head|in a tub of ice water.
You see where she leads.
You have a good weekend.
You too.
Drive carefully.
- I will.|- Bye-bye.
I'll call you.
Ain't you got nothing better to do|than to jack off the damn machine?
What are you doing here, cowboy?
I came in here to jack off|the damn machine.
One dead psychology professor.
Dr. Noah Goldstein.|And guess what?
He was her counselor.
Was she a suspect?
No, sir. They never|even got a statement from her.
Hazel Dobkins?
Do you know her?
Couldn't get it|out of my head for years.
Nice little housewife.|Three little kids.
Nice husband wasn't porking around.|No financial problems.
One day, out of the clear blue sky,|she does them, all of them.
Used a knife she got|for a wedding present.
Didn't even deny it.|Sweet as honey.
Said she didn't know|why she'd done it.
- Hi.|- Am I disturbing you?
No, come on in.
Let's go upstairs.
I'm using you|for my detective in my book.
You don't mind, do you?
I was just gonna|make myself a drink.
- Do you want one?|- No, thanks.
Oh, right. You're off|the Jack Daniels too, aren't you?
I've got a few more questions|to ask you.
I have some for you too.|For my book.
Do you have something|against ice cubes?
I like rough edges.
So, what did you want to ask me?
How does it feel to kill someone?
You tell me.
I don't know,|but you do.
It was an accident.
They got in the line of fire.
Four shootings in five years,|all accidents?
They were drug buys.|I was working undercover.
You want to tell me|about Professor Goldstein?
Well, there's a name|from the past.
You want a name from the present?|What about Hazel Dobkins?
Noah Goldstein was my counselor|my freshman year.
That's probably where I got the idea|for the ice pick for my book.
Funny how the subconscious works.
Hilarious.
- Hazel's my friend.|- Your friend took out her whole family.
Yes, she helped me understand|homicidal impulse.
I thought you would have|learned that at school.
Only in theory.
But you know all about|homicidal impulse, don't you, shooter?
Not in theory, in practice.
What happened?|Did you get sucked into it?
Did you like it too much?
I don't know|what you're talking about.
Tell me about the coke, Nick.
The day you shot those two tourists...
how much coke did you do?
Come on, you can tell me.
- I didn't.|- Yes, you did.
They never tested you, did they?
Internal Affairs knew.
Your wife knew too, didn't she?
She knew what was going on.
I think you got too close|to the flame.
I think you liked it.
That's why she killed herself.
Hi, hon.
You two have met, haven't you?
You're gonna make|a terrific character, Nick.
She's on the phone.|She'll be right with you.
- I'm gonna have to call you back.|- Detective, you can't go in...
- Who's got access to my file?|- What are you talking about?
Who has access to my goddamn file?
Nobody. It's a confidential|psychiatric record. It would be illegal.
Don't you fucking lie to me!
It was Internal Affairs, wasn't it?
No, please.
- Who?|- It's Nilson.
What do you want, Curran?
You sold her my file, didn't you?
Who are you talking about?
Catherine Tramell.|How much did she pay you?
Hey, Curran, come on!|Damn it, stop it!
How much?
Hey, back off!|Back off, Curran!
Nice and easy now.|Nice and easy.
You fucked yourself, shooter.|You hear me? You are out!
- Curran, take it easy.|- You are out!
Save it, save it.
- What's going down, Hoss?|- Nothing. I'll be okay.
- They're gonna want your badge.|- I'm tired of being played with.
You got a real conclusive way|of demonstrating that.
She knows where I live and breathe.
She's coming after me, Gus.
What is it you got between you?
- I don't know.|- Something, though.
Something.
He's short with no hair.
Nick, are you there?
Go away, Beth.|I don't want to see you.
I still have my key.
Put them on the table and leave.
Put them on the goddamn table|and leave!
Damn it! Don't shove me out!|You owe me more than that!
I don't owe you anything!
And you don't owe me anything.
We went to bed, what, 10, 15 times?
It wasn't memorable enough|to carry an obligation.
Sometimes I really hate you.
Why don't you get yourself|some friendly little therapist...
to work out|some of that hostility?
And maybe you can get off|once in a while.
Are you nuts?
I'm sorry.
I don't usually act like that.
How could you give him my file?
I had to!
He was going to recommend|your discharge from the force.
He didn't buy my evaluation.|He said I wasn't objective.
So I made a deal with him|to review the session notes himself.
I didn't think he'd|show them to anybody.
- You did it for me?|- Yes.
I care about you.|I did it for you.
Go away.|Please, just go away.
Yo.
I'm on my way.
One shot. Close range.|Probably a.38 caliber revolver.
Give me your gun, Nick.
You think that...
I don't, Hoss.|But I got the minority opinion.
Okay, I went after him!|I lost my temper.
Do you have any evidence that he showed|your psychiatric file to anyone?
We'll speak with you|afterwards, Dr. Garner.
- I'd like to sit in.|- I'd really rather wait...
It's all right if Dr. Garner sits in,|if Detective Curran doesn't object.
- Where were you last night?|- Home, watching TV.
All night?
Yes, all night.
Were you drinking?
Yeah, I was drinking.
- When did you start drinking again?|- A couple of days ago.
I saw Detective Curran|at his apartment about 10:00 last night.
He was sober and lucid.
I asked him, in my capacity|as his departmental therapist...
about his altercation|with Lieutenant Nilsen.
He expressed regret|and displayed no hostility.
- How long were you at his apartment?|- About 15 minutes.
I saw there was no reason|for my concern and left.
There's no smoking|in this building, Detective.
What are you gonna do?|Charge me with smoking?
Oh, for Christ's... All right, Nick,|I'm gonna ask you this just once.
For the record,|did you kill Marty Nilsen?
No.
I'm gonna storm into his office|in front of everybody...
in the middle of the day|and kill him that night?
I'm not that dumb.
Going after him before gets you off the|hook for killing him. That's your alibi.
Like writing a book about killing a guy|gets you off the hook for killing him.
Good point.
What are you talking about?
- A private joke, asshole.|- I don't think it's funny.
You're going on leave...
pending the outcome|of a psychiatric evaluation.
I'll get my stuff in a minute.
Thank you.
It's the least I could do.
Considering I got you into this mess|with those reports.
No, I mean it.|Thank you.
How do you know Catherine Tramell|saw your file?
She knows things about me|that I only told you.
She must really be something.
From a clinical point of view.
- What was she like in school?|- I hardly knew her.
She gave me the creeps.
I don't know why.
Get some rest.|Promise?
- I didn't mean what I said about...|- Yes, you did.
I'm a big girl.|I can handle it.
- You take care of yourself.|- What'd you find out about the parents?
No lead, man.
You're on psycho leave.|I'm talking to a possible wacko!
You know I'm wacko.|What'd you find out?
The boat blew.|There was a leak in the fuel line.
There were two previous repairs|and a five mil policy on both of them.
A real heavy investigation|but they got zilch.
Big goose egg.|It was an "accident."
I.A.'s gonna talk to you about Nilsen.|They're handling the investigation.
Stay in touch with Dr. Garner.|It'll help on the evaluation.
She killed him.
Beth? Now you've got|Beth killing people?
Catherine Tramell.|It's part of her game.
First you got her stealing your file,|now she's killing Nilsen?
Forget about her!|Go somewhere, sit in the sun.
- Get her the hell out of your system!|- You don't buy it, do you?
She knew nobody'd buy it.
She knew I'd say she did it|and nobody'd buy it!
She is screwing with your head!|Stay away from her!
I heard what happened.
What good's a shooter|without his gun?
- How exactly did you find out?|- I have attorneys.
They have friends.|I have friends.
Money buys a lot|of attorneys and friends.
I wouldn't know about that.|I don't have any money...
I don't have any attorneys,|and Gus is my only real friend.
I wasn't talking about real friends.
Why doesn't Gus like me?
I like you.
- You do?|- Yes.
You want to go upstairs|and have a drink?
I didn't think you'd ask me.
I guess you don't know|your character that well.
Maybe, but I'm learning.
Pretty soon I'll know you better|than you know yourself.
- Don't be so sure.|- Why not?
- I'm very unpredictable.|- Unpredictable?
You should put some warmth|into the place.
You don't want it|to reflect your personality.
I'm not trying to fool anybody.
Jack Daniels all right?|It's going to have to be.
- Ice?|- Great.
I was expecting you.
K-Mart.|A buck, sixty-five.
Why don't you let me|do this for you.
You like watching me do it,|don't you?
Could I have a cigarette too, please?
I told you|you'd start smoking again.
Would you light it for me?
Thanks.
So how much did you pay Nilsen|for my file?
Isn't he the policeman|that you shot, shooter?
What if I ask you|not to call me "shooter"?
Okay.|How about if I call you Nicky?
My wife used to call me Nicky.
Yeah, I know.|I like it.
Cheers.|My friend call me Catherine.
What did Manny Vasquez call you?
Bitch, mostly.
But he meant it affectionately.
Do you have any coke?
I just love coke|with Jack Daniels.
Got a Pepsi in the fridge.
It's not really the same thing now,|is it?
No, it's not.
So where's this going?
What do you want from me?
Say, "what do you want from me,|Catherine?"
What the fuck do you want|from me, Catherine?
Brought you something.
Aren't you going to say thank-you?
- What's it about?|- It's about a boy who kills his parents.
They have a play,|and he makes it look like an accident.
Why did he do that?
To see if he could|get away with it.
When did you write this?
You mean,|did I write it before my parents died?
No.|I wrote it years afterwards.
You wont stop following me around now|just because you're on leave?
Absolutely not.
Good, I'd miss you.
You could get in trouble.|You're not really a cop anymore.
- I'll risk it.|- Why take the risk?
To see if I can|get away with it.
- How's your new book?|- Practically writing itself.
I'll be leaving about midnight,|in case you are going to follow me.
- I'll be at Johnny Boz's club.|- I'll meet you there.
Hi, Gus.
Forgive me for asking, and I don't mean|to belabor the obvious...
but why've you got|your head so far up your ass?
She wants to play.|Fine, I can play.
Everybody she plays with dies.
I know what that's like.
- Hi.|- Hi, baby.
If you don't leave her alone,|I'll kill you.
Let me ask you something, "Rocky."
Man to man.
I think she's|the fuck of the century.
What do you think?
How long you been here?
You like watching,|don't you?
She likes me to watch.
Oh, God.
"The beach|C"
Good morning.
I guess Roxy's|not taking this too well.
She's seen me fuck|plenty of guys.
Well, maybe she saw something|she's never seen before.
She's seen everything before.
Honey, I thought I'd seen|everything before.
Did you really think|it was so special?
I told her I thought|it was the fuck of the century.
What do you think?
I thought it was|a pretty good beginning.
What about Roxy?
Is she more fun?
Would you like her|to join us sometime?
- Did she join you and Johnny?|- No, he felt intimidated.
Look what happened to him.
Tell me,|were you frightened last night?
That's the point,|wasn't it?
That's what made it so good.
- You shouldn't play this game.|- Why not? I like it.
You're in over your head.
Maybe, but this is how|I'll catch my killer.
I'm not going to confess all my secrets|just because I have an orgasm.
You won't learn anything|I don't want you to know.
Yes, I will.|Then I'll nail you.
You'll just fall in love with me.
I'm in love with you already.
But I'll nail you anyway.
You can put that in your book.
No
Not that bar again
Oh, I want to know you're the one
And I don't mean the one I regret
The heart's still going
- Thought I'd find you here.|- Where the fuck you been?
- I've been over to your place.|- Easy, cowboy, easy.
- I wasn't there.|- I went over last night too.
Well, I wasn't there either.
You fucked her.
God damned, dumb son of a bitch!
You fucked her!
God damn!|You are one...
dumb son of a bitch!
Next time, I'll use a rubber.
I don't give|a flying, chili bean fart about that!
- How about it, Harry. How much?|- Thirty-two.
I'm worried about him,|he's worried about rubbers.
You really gotta protect yourself.
What in the hell for?
You think I'm getting any? Sure, I can|get laid by blue haired women!
- I don't like them!|- Don't knock it 'til you tried it!
Feeling better?
I feel fine.
How could you fuck her?
Come on.
You want to die, Hoss?
What is it?|Those tourists?
You still so bad about that, you're|wiggling your way into an ice pick?
Got too many, god damn tourists|coming here anyway!
- Hold it down.|- Plenty more where they came from!
I'm not afraid of her.
Why the hell not?
I don't know.
I'm just not.
That's her pussy talking!|It ain't your brain!
Come on.
I.A. Did a track on Lieutenant|Martin D-for-dickhead Nilsen.
They found a safety deposit box|with $50,000 in it...
taken out three months ago|and not used since.
That doesn't make any sense.|She didn't know me three months ago.
Maybe it wasn't her|that paid him.
Maybe the money was for something else.|How the fuck do I know?
I'm just an old city cowboy|trying not to fall out of his saddle.
- All right, cowboy?|- Yeah.
Come on.|I'm going to drive you home.
In that little piss-ant car of yours?
Hell, no. I ain't getting|no back pain disability retirement.
I'm gonna get a full pension|and a real gold-plate Seiko watch.
I'm driving you...
You're not driving|my Cadillac car!
I won't let no head-up-his-ass person|drive my Cadillac car!
So long!
You wanna play?|Come on!
Lieutenant!|I got the information.
Get it down here!
You signed your name|to this crock of shit?
Why not?|It was an accident.
"Your driving around North Beach|and this car won't get out of the way."
I don't think she meant|to go off the edge.
- Could we have him for a minute?|- No, you can't!
Don't fuck with me on this. I don't need|a reason to put your ass in a sling.
Full name is Roxanne Hardy. Last known|address, Cloverdale, California.
No priors,|no convictions.
Car is registered to Catherine Trammel.
- You knew her!|- I met her at Trammel's house.
All I did was write her name down.
You wrote her name down|and then big surprise...
she rolls her car down a hill|and dies.
- Is that what you're telling me?|- That's all I know.
You know what then?|Fuck you!
- I want you at Dr. Garner's office...|- I told you to stay away from Trammel!
You didn't tell me|to stay away from the car!
- I want you at Dr. Garner's office!|- Who are you selling my file to now?
You are out of control, Curran.|You hear me?
Hello, Nick.|This is Dr. Myron...
and Dr. McElwaine.
They've been asked to consult with me|on this psychiatric evaluation.
Sit down.
We understand you're having difficulty|controlling your temper lately.
Only in regard to one person.
Do you think Lieutenant Nilsen|deserved to die?
I didn't know him well enough.
I won't miss him.
When you recollect your childhood...
are your recollections|pleasing to you?
Number one: I don't remember how often|I jerked off, but it was a lot.
Number two: I wasn't pissed off|at my dad...
even when I was old enough to know|what he and mom did in the bedroom.
Number three: I don't look in the toilet|before I flush.
Number four: I haven't wet my bed|for a long time.
Number five...
why don't the two of you|go fuck yourselves.
I'm out of here.
What's your problem?|I'm trying to help.
- Why won't you let me?|- I don't want your help!
- I don't need it.|- Yes, you do!
Something's going on.
You're sleeping with her,|aren't you?
- Why are you interested in her?|- My interest is in you, not her.
She seduces and manipulates people.
- She'll do anything she can...|- I thought you hardly knew her?
- I know the type. I'm a psychologist.|- That means...
you manipulate people too!
You're a practicing psychologist.
You're better at it than she is!
I feel sorry for you!
I should have known.
I came in to the house.
When we were down on the beach...
she looked at me so strangely.
She left right after you.
I...
I shouldn't have let her|watch us.
She wanted to watch me|all the time.
She tried to kill you,|didn't she?
- Did you like her to watch you?|- You think I told her to kill you?
No.
Everybody that I care about...
dies.
Make love to me.
You think she killed Johnny Boz?
For what,|to set me up?
She loved me.|She wouldn't frame me.
- Maybe she got jealous of Johnny too.|- No, she didn't.
She'd never get jealous before.
She got excited.
I don't have luck with women.
There was this girl...
I met when I was in college.
I slept with her once.
She started following me around,|taking my picture.
She dyed her hair,|copied my clothes.
Lisa...
something, Oberman.
It was awful.
I thought you didn't make confessions.
I never did before.
Another nice girl.
How old was she|when it happened?
Sixteen.
We seal juvenile records|until they're deceased.
That's why you couldn't find it|in your computer.
What was the motive?
She said she didn't know.|Just sort of did it on impulse.
The razor just happened to be there.|That's what she said.
- Help yourself to some coffee.|- Thanks.
I don't understand|what the hell is going on here.
It ain't hard, Hoss.|This young farm girl...
got tired of all that attention|going to her little brothers...
so she fixed them.
Just like old Hazel Dobkins|fixed her whole family.
Except young Roxy, here,|didn't use a wedding present.
She used daddy's razor.
Sure makes you wonder|what they talk about...
when they sit in front|of the campfire at night.
You ever met a friend of hers|that hasn't killed somebody?
Must of beat your ordinary,|every day girl talk.
I'm not sure, anymore, she did it.
Which one we talking about now?
We know Hazel did it.|We know young Roxy did it.
And the other one...
She's got that magna cum laude pussy|that fried up your brain.
"Oberman, Mark W.,|Donald M."
Sorry, no "Lisa."
You sure about the year?
Catherine Tramell graduated in '83.
She said Lisa Oberman was here|at the same time.
Yeah, we have Tramell.
But no Lisa Oberman.
Are you sure?|There can't be a mistake?
Only if you're making it, Detective.
Hazel, this is Nick.|I told you all about him.
Nick, this is Hazel Dobkins.
You're the shooter,|aren't you?
How are you?
Fine, thank you.|Can I speak to you for a minute?
Would you wait for me in the car?|I'll be right there.
Good-bye, shooter.
You like to hang out|with murderers, or what?
- You know that Roxy was involved...|- Yes, of course, I knew.
I write about unusual people,|and sometimes when I do my research...
I get involved with them.
It happened with you.
Killing isn't like smoking.
You can quit.
I gotta go.
I promised I'd get her home|by 6:00.
She just loves "America's Most Wanted."
There was no Lisa Oberman|when you were at Berkeley.
What are you doing?|Checking up on me?
For what?|I said "Hoberman."
"Hoberman."|Lisa Hoberman, with an H.
You do?
All right.|Thank you very much.
You know I can get|my butt kicked for this.
- You're not even supposed to be here.|- Come on, Sam.
- This is only gonna take a minute.|- Yeah.
Bring it up.
That's Dr. Garner, isn't it?
Bring up '83.
Come on.
You shouldn't leave your door open.
I didn't.|There's something wrong with my lock.
What do you want?
Tell me about Catherine.
She told you,|didn't she?
What did she tell me?
I slept with her once in school.
I was just a kid.|I was experimenting.
It was just that one time.
She developed a fixation on me.
She styled her hair like mine,|wore the same kind of clothes as I did.
It scared me.
Isn't that what she told you?
She said it was you.
You dressed like her.|You dyed your hair blonde...
I did dye my hair.|It had nothing to do with her.
- I was a redhead for a while too.|- Did you know Noah Goldstein?
- I had him for two classes.|- You saw all the reports.
Phil copied you.|You never said anything!
What am I supposed to say?
"I'm not gay,|but I did fuck your suspect"?
I was embarrassed. It was the only time|I'd been with a woman.
She's really sick, you know.
Do you know what she's doing?
She knows I went to Berkeley.|She knows I knew Noah.
She makes up this story|about me.
She's handing you somebody|who's obsessed with her.
She didn't hand you to me.|She doesn't know who you are.
You told me about a Lisa Hoberman.
She knows you'd find out who Lisa is.|You're a good cop.
She tell you casually?
Make it seem irrelevant?
Did she tell you in bed?
That's what I'd do.
Why'd you change your name?
I got married.|He called me "Beth."
He was on staff|at the clinic in Salinas.
Didn't last long.
Do you really think|that I could kill someone?
I never even met Johnny Boz!
And what about Nilsen?|What motive would I have to kill him?
- You should get that lock fixed.|- God...
She's evil!|She's brilliant!
Did I scare you?
I wanted to surprise you.
- What's wrong?|- I found Lisa Hoberman.
Oh, you did?|What's she doing?
You're not going to tell me|what she's doing.
- I thought we were done playing games.|- I did too.
She said you got it backwards.
She said you styled your hair|like she did.
And you believed her.
I had to go to the campus police|and file a report about her.
I suppose you still think|I kill people too?
Liar.
- Who'd you say you're with?|- Homicide, San Francisco.
Here we go.
Kind of.
There was a report about Lisa Hoberman,|January, 1980.
- But it's out of here.|- Who's got it?
One of your guys.|Nilsen.
- You know him?|- Yeah.
Thanks a lot.
Tell him to bring it back.|He's had it a whole year.
So Nilsen had a report on Beth.|You don't know what was in it.
- Catherine told me what was in it.|- If she's telling you the truth.
Gus, don't you get it?
If Beth killed Johnny Boz|to frame Catherine...
she wouldn't want anybody to know|what happened in Berkeley!
But Nilsen found out about it.|That gives her the motive to kill him.
How did she know Nilsen found out,|if it happened?
He probably asked her!
She'd have to be nuttier|than a 20 pound fruitcake!
She's not the one|who hangs out with multiple murderers!
- You're girlfriend is!|- She's a writer! That's her job!
I don't buy it. There must be somebody|at Berkeley who knows what happened!
I know what happened!|Catherine told me!
- Everything she says has checked out!|- You got tweety birds...
fluttering around in your head!
You think you can fuck like minks,|raise rug rats...
and live happily ever after?
Oh, man!
How'd you get in here?
What's this?
I decided to give you|a second chance.
- I missed you.|- I wasn't gone long enough.
Did you miss me?
No.
Why don't you come over here|and tell me no.
- I've seen them before.|- Yeah?
Well, you might not|see them again.
My book's nearly finished.
My detective's almost dead.
So I've got time|for a last cigarette?
Afterwards.
I've got to do some research|tomorrow morning.
I'm good at research.|I'll help you.
No, thanks.
What are you researching?
Oh...
a new ending to your book.
Oh, really?|What's the twist?
The detective falls|for the wrong girl.
But he doesn't die.
So what happens to him?
They fuck like minks,|raise rug rats...
and live happily ever after.
It won't sell.
Why not?
Somebody has to die.
Why?
Somebody always does.
Morning.|I'm looking for a Dr. Garner.
She doesn't work here anymore.|She's in San Francisco with the police.
Actually, I'm looking for her husband.
- He works here too, doesn't he?|- Dr. Joseph Garner?
- She married?|- You know him?
He died about|five or six years ago.
- How did he die?|- He was shot.
Thank you.
He was walking home from work.
He only lived|a couple of blocks from the clinic.
Somebody just drove by|and shot him.
- What was the murder weapon?|- Revolver,.38. Unrecovered.
- Watch yourself.|- Were there any suspects?
No suspects, no motive.|Unsolved.
Was his wife ever a suspect?
One of your guys|was down here from Frisco a year ago.
He was asking|the same, exact thing.
You mind telling me|what's going on?
Routine.
That's exactly what he said.
Now I got two of you guys|telling me it's "routine."
You remember what|the other guy's name was?
No. I can't really say that I do.
Nilsen?
Yeah. That was it.
- So was she ever a suspect?|- No.
There was some talk.
But it never panned out.
- What kind of talk?|- Girlfriend.
He had a girlfriend?
No.
She did.
But like I said,|it never panned out.
- Thank you.|- Hope that helped you out.
Yes, you did.|You sure did.
I missed you.
I finished my research.
- I finished my book.|- So how does it end?
I told you.
She kills him.
Good-bye, Nick.
Good-bye?
Yeah. I finished my book.
Didn't you hear me?
Your character's dead.
Good-bye.
What do you want, flowers?
I'll send you|an autographed copy.
What is this,|some kind of joke?
You playing a game here?
The games are over.
You were right.
It was the fuck of the century,|shooter.
I'll be right there.
Catherine Tramell's roommate,|freshman year?
I just got a call from her.|She's in Oakland. Come on!
I've been phoning people|from her dorm all day.
She must've heard|I was trying to reach her.
Says she knows all about|Catherine and Lisa Hoberman.
You feeling okay?
Here's something else.
Johnny Boz's psychiatrist|has an office on Van Ness.
Guess who he shares space with?
Dr. Elizabeth Garner.
What in the hell's|the matter with you?
I'll be in suite 405.
- Where the hell you going?|- I'm going with you.
You're on leave, Hoss.
It ain't gonna take long.
Freeze!
What are you doing here?
Put your fucking hands up!
I got a message|to meet Gus here.
- Where is he?|- Don't you move!
I know about your husband!|You still like girls, Beth?
- What?|- Take you hands out of your pocket!
- Take them out!|- What's wrong with you?
Take them out!
I loved you.
Oh, God!
What made you think|she had a gun?
What was she doing here?|What was Gus doing here?
Lieutenant.
One of ours.
Jesus.
We'll have to check Beth's apartment.
Thirty-eight caliber revolver.
In the bookcase,|behind some books.
Have ballistics check it for Nilsen.
Lieutenant.|You better come in here.
I guess that's it.
Definitely not. We feel all the evidence|points to Dr. Elizabeth Garner.
We checked.|It's her size.
She probably heard you on the stairway|and dumped this stuff.
There's no suite 405.
Catherine Tramell's|freshman roommate is dead.
She died of leukemia two years ago.
- Here's a fax of her death certificate.|- What about Salinas?
Yeah, hold on.|Jack!
Did you check Nilsen's office|for any files on Beth Garner?
No police report from Berkeley.|Nothing at all about Salinas.
I'm back.
Great.
Ballistics says the.38 we found|in her apartment was used on Nilsen.
No registration.|They're checking with Salinas.
The ice pick was the same brand|and model as the Boz weapon.
Checked the tape machines|at Dr. Garner's apartment and office...
both here and the one on Van Ness.
There's no message from Gus|on any of them.
The tape in her apartment|was unused.
Johnny Boz's psychiatrist says|he thinks he remembers...
Dr. Garner and Boz meeting|at a Christmas party at his house.
A year ago.
You just can't tell about people,|can you?
Even the ones you think you know|inside and out.
Congratulations, Curran.
I heard about what happened.
On TV.
I can't allow myself|to care about you.
I can't allow myself...
to care.
I don't want to do this.
Please.|I don't want to do this.
I lose everybody.
I don't want to lose you.
What do we do now?
Fuck like minks...
raise rug rats|and live happily ever after.
I hate rug rats.
Fuck like minks,|forget the rug rats...
and live happily ever after.