Dead Man Switch
by
L.M. Lewis
FADE IN:
EXT. L.A. STREET—NIGHT
In an old business section of town, with mid-story brick buildings that have seen better days it's the witching hour, and all is quiet. The camera closes on words carved in stone over the padlocked main door to one structure: "THE HARMSTEAD BUILDING"—gothic and grimy.
CAMERA PULLS BACK
Two furtive figures in black slip into the alleyway alongside the building. One of them, PETE SCHAUM, is a big guy hefting a crowbar. He stoops and uses it to pry away the boards covering a basement half-window. Then he wields it as a lever to force apart the security bars just inside. He steps back as the other man, HARRY SCHAUM, a small, wiry guy, looks around nervously and then squeezes between the bars and disappears into the darkness within. A half-second later his hand protrudes from between the bars. PETE passes him the crowbar. It's obvious he can't follow; the space between the bars is too small. He takes up his post as lookout, half-hidden behind some garbage cans near the window.
INT. BASEMENT OF THE HARMSTEAD BUILDING—NIGHT
We can barely make out HARRY SCHAUM, even after he's flicked on a flashlight. He holds the crowbar down at his other side as he plays the light over his surroundings. We see an area cluttered with pipes and old paint cans and smudged with soot. It appears abandoned.
ANGLE—FROM BEHIND SCHAUM
The camera follows the man as he wends his way deeper into the claustrophobic space. There is no sound except his footsteps. He bumps into something—a pail. It falls over, clattering. There is a diabolical screech—
ANGLE—THE FLOOR
A frightened cat dashes from underfoot.
ANGLE—IN FRONT OF SCHAUM, LOOKING TOWARD HIM
Silence again, except for Schaum's panting breaths. He starts forward again, his footsteps slower, more reluctant. He pauses. We hear one further footfall. Schaum stays frozen, listening, obviously frightened. We hear only his breathing, almost panicky. He forges on, clumsier, finally tripping over something. He breaks his fall, losing his grip on the flashlight. It falls with a hollow, clanging sound. The flashlight has rolled and now illuminates Harry Schaum's face harshly. He's sweaty and smudged with soot. He gets to his hands and knees, looking baffled. He reaches for the flashlight and uses the crowbar to tap the floor again. Another clang is heard. From what we can see of Schaum's face in the dim shadows, he's smiling now. He scrambles forward, hands occupied with crowbar and flashlight, and we see that the surface he's on is a heavy iron sheet, the kind that's used to temporarily cover street excavations. Schaum moves off it, gradually turning his back to the camera as he forces the crowbar under the edge, using his full weight to shift the slab of iron an inch or so. It falls into its new position with a heavy, echoing thud. Another heave and some heavy breathing, and he's got a crack that's barely twice as wide as before. SCHAUM hesitates briefly, and then aims the flashlight's beam into the narrow opening. We see the expression on his face—a transient look of horror giving way to grim satisfaction. Then a hand falls on his shoulder from behind. He whirls around.
ANGLE—CLOSE IN ON HARRY SCHAUM"S FACE
It is contorted with silent fear for just a half-beat—and then he screams.
CUT TO BLACK
FADE IN
EXT. THE SAME L.A. STREET—ESTABLISHING—DAY
HARPER (V.O.)
So that's the way it looks—the guy busts in, maybe looking to do a little unauthorized salvage work—
INT. THE ATRIUM OF THE HARMSTEAD BUILDING—DAY
Despite the state of disrepair, it's one of those classic business buildings from the early 20th Century—think a downscaled Bradbury Building: e.g. black and white floor tiles and cage elevators that, if they hadn't been out of order, would have ascended past wrought-iron interior balconies overlooking the central atrium. But the floor is marred by white tape outlines—the figure of a sprawled man amid scattered pieces of iron filigree work and splintered wood. Obviously LT. FRANK HARPER'S work here is almost done. The other officers and the lab technicians are packing up and departing. HARDCASTLE is looking down with pursed lips. McCORMICK is staring up and around at the surroundings in curiosity.
HARPER
We're figuring he took a wrong turn, and walked right over the edge of the balcony at a spot where some other salvager'd already removed enough pieces to weaken the railing.
(beat)
I guess that's what you'd call irony.
HARDCASTLE
And just an open and shut case of trespassing, huh?
HARPER
(mostly convinced)
That's it—no I.D. on him yet, but death by misadventure.
HARDCASTLE
Then how come you're here?
HARPER
Maybe I was about to ask you the same question.
Hardcastle sighs. McCormick steps into the conversation.
McCORMICK
'Cause a mysterious lady called and asked him to look into it. He says they're just "friends".
HARDCASTLE
(scowling at McCormick)
Acquaintances, that's what I said. Not "friends", acquaintances. She was my landlady, for Pete's sake.
HARPER
You want to acquaint me with the lady's name?
HARDCASTLE
Rebecca Harmstead-Pierce. She owns this building. She was worried, that's all.
(beat)
Which brings us back to why you're here—a full-bore press from L.A.'s finest, not to mention the medical examiner's office. The owner says she got the call from one of your guys about 5 a.m.
HARPER
Yeah, the body wasn't cold.
(beat)
Not even cool.
McCORMICK
All this dust. Looks abandoned. Doesn't even look like there's a night watchman.
HARPER
There isn't. The department got one of those anonymous calls. A public phone booth a couple blocks from here.
(shakes his head)
I love this stuff.
McCORMICK
Sounds like someone didn't want someone to get away with murder.
(he looks around again at their surroundings and then, to Hardcastle:)
So this was where your law office was?
Harper looks suddenly interested now, too.
HARDCASTLE
(waving it all away)
Long time ago. Like I said, Mrs. Pierce was my landlady, or at least I was mailing my rent checks to her holding company.
HARPER
You ever meet her?
HARDCASTLE
Once, yeah.
(he makes a face, something indicating displeasure)
Like I said, long time ago. I didn't know the place had fallen on such hard times. I heard there'd been some kind of fire here—that was right after I'd moved out, accepted the judgeship. I would have figured they'd've fixed it up or torn it down. This's—
(a beat and a definite frown)
—like a ghost.
HARPER
(shrugs)
You'd think it'd be worth something, but who knows—the neighborhood's not so hot. Lots of break-ins.
McCORMICK
Yeah, murders, too.
HARPER
(dryly)
That hasn't been determined yet.
(beat)
But I've got everything I need for now. You two gonna hang around here a while?
Hardcastle nods absentmindedly. Mark's already started to poke around, trying the knob on a door marked "Private".
HARPER
I suppose you've got the landlady's permission.
(already heading for the main exit—this last part is tossed over his shoulder)
Will you watch out for the police tape, both of you? It still might be a crime scene.
Mark stands quietly until they hear the panic bar latch behind Harper. The two men are alone. There's a beat, and then,
McCORMICK
So what was that all about?
HARDCASTLE
(distracted)
Huh?
McCORMICK
None of that "huh" stuff, Kemosabe, not when you make a face like that over someone you're doing a favor for. What's the deal? Don't tell me she stood you up at the train station.
HARDCASTLE
Don't be ridiculous. I was a married man when I had an office here.
Mark smiles at this obviously sincere defense. He's already headed for the staircase
HARDCASTLE
Hey, where you think you're going?
McCORMICK
Up. The elevators are out of order.
HARDCASTLE
It's a crime scene, remember?
McCORMICK
I thought you figured it was a "misadventure" scene—though that still doesn't explain how the cops got word so fast.
HARDCASTLE
Maybe the guy must've had a partner in the salvage biz and he phoned it in.
McCORMICK
After he pushed him over the balcony.
(beat)
Anyway, your landlady asked you to check things out—so we should take a look around, right?
HARDCASTLE
She only wanted us to find out what the story was. We already got that from Frank.
McCORMICK
Who knows what Frank might've missed. You're always saying he's overworked.
(he's already half-way up the first flight of steps, leaning over the railing.)
Besides, I wanna see your office. That'd be the holy grail for a poor first-year law student like me. Just think—
(in a hushed and reverent voice)
—where it all began. Milton C. Hardcastle, Esq., working out contracts on the back of a wooden shovel.
HARDCASTLE
(mutters, heading for the stairs)
I'm not the only guy around here with a shovel—
Hardcastle's head is down as he climbs reluctantly and he almost runs into McCormick, who's halted in his tracks at the top of the stairs.
McCORMICK
It really was here.
ANGLE—THE HALLWAY FACING OUT ONTO THE SECOND FLOOR BALCONY
There's a series of doors, with old-fashioned, frosted-glass window in their upper halves. The second one down the hall bears the name 'MILTON C. HARDCASTLE' and under that, 'ATTORNEY AT LAW'.
HARDCASTLE
(stepping around McCormick)
'Course it was. I said it was, didn't I?
(but even he seems a little mystified, it's
like Pompeii—lots of dust, but otherwise intact) Guess they didn't have a chance to rent it out again before the fire happened.
He reaches the door and puts his hand on the knob. It turns in his grip and there's a creaking sound as he pushes it open. Mark's right behind him, trying to get a look over his shoulder.
ANGLE—IN THROUGH THE OPEN DOOR.
There's an outer room, some chairs and an end table—all vintage 1950s—obviously a modest waiting room. On the far wall is another door, already open, and through that we see a desk. There's some odds and ends scattered around—an ASHTRAY containing butts, a telephone directory still open, its yellow pages curling up, next to a black desk TELEPHONE.
McCORMICK
Wow. Kinda messy.
(he maneuvers past Hardcastle and steps inside)
You had to leave town in a hurry or something?
HARDCASTLE
Nah—well, not the 'leave town' part. An incumbent judge passed away suddenly. Everybody was hot on corruption in L.A. right then and here I was, a young guy, with only good clean farm dirt under my finger nails, so the governor gave me the nod.
(beat)
I almost said "no".
McCORMICK
(genuinely interested)
What made you change your mind?
HARDCASTLE
Nancy.
(smiles)
She said I'd be good at it.
Hardcastle meanders into the office. McCormick is on his heels, looking at it all with open curiosity.
McCORMICK
It's not exactly how I'd pictured it.
HARDCASTLE
(surprised that he'd been picturing it at all)
What? You thought I had a corner office in some stainless steel monster in Century City? Those hadn't even been built yet, back then.
McCORMICK
Nah, I wasn't thinking that. The place seems right, but you really were the Lone Ranger—no partner—no secretary even.
HARDCASTLE
Nancy helped with the filing sometimes. She was better at it than I was
McCORMICK
(grins)
I can believe that. I've seen your system.
HARDCASTLE
And I did have a partner—sort of.
McCormick looks surprised.
HARDCASTLE
Not a law partner, exactly. The guy in the next office over,
(points toward one of the walls)
He was a P.I., name of McConnell. Nice guy.
(beat)
Some people think they need a lawyer, when what they really need is an investigator. 'Course most of the time if your investigator does a good job, you're probably gonna need a lawyer afterwards, too. I sent him a fair amount of business, and he returned the favor.
McCORMICK
Quid pro quo.
HARDCASTLE
Referrals—it was all perfectly legit.
McCORMICK
(just to be annoying)
Uh-huh.
(he pauses near the ashtray and glances down)
You guys must've smoked like chimneys.
HARDCASTLE
(shrugs—looking at the ashtray)
Yeah, well, everybody did back then.
McCORMICK
I didn't.
HARDASTLE
You were only three years old.
(he's staring down at the ashtray now)
That's weird.
McCORMICK
What?
HARDCASTLE
(re: one of the butts)
Look at that one.
McCORMICK
Lipstick. Hmm. Your filing system drove Mrs. H. to the nicotine habit, huh?
HARDCASTLE
Nancy didn't smoke.
McCORMICK
Okay, so one of your lady clients got dolled up to go see her favorite lawyer.
HARDCASTLE
It's not the lipstick, dammit, it's the cigarette. It's one of those newfangled women's kind. Look—
(points to the one in question)
it's skinnier and it's white all the way to the filter end.
Mark frowns, still not appearing to get it.
McCORMICK
'Newfangled'? Those have been around since I was a kid.
HARDCASTLE
But not since you were three, just the last 20 years or so—I think they came out in the late sixties.
He's scanning the room more carefully now, like a bear looking for further evidence of Goldilocks.
McCORMICK
(still not impressed)
Okay, so your landlady comes by once in a while for old times' sake.
(beat)
You never did explain why you made that face when Frank asked if you'd met her before.
HARDCASTLE
That was a lot of nothing.
(sighs—knowing McCormick's going to worm it out of him so he might as well get it over with)
She came to me one time, all upset. She was married to this big-time real estate developer and wanted a divorce. I asked her what the grounds were.
(beat)
Back then they still wanted to know about stuff like that in divorce court.
(another sigh, and a frown)
Anyway, she got all huffy with me because I needed know why she wanted a divorce. It was none of my damned business, she said.
McCORMICK
All that's gotta be water over the dam; she called you for help this morning.
HARDCASTLE
Yeah, and as far as I can tell, she's still married to the same guy. Must be hard to give up a real-estate mogul.
(he heads for the door)
As long as we're here we might as well go see where the guy fell from.
McCORMICK
(following him out)
Or got pushed.
ANGLE—FROM THE HALLWAY LOOKING BACK
He doesn't have the key, but Hardcastle shuts the door carefully behind him. Mark waits over by the stairs. He's looking at the door closer to the stairwell. It's stenciled "WILLIAM McCONNELL, PRIVATE INVESTIGATOR"
McCORMICK
That's his, huh?
(he takes a step or two toward it and tries the door)
HARDCASTLE
(growls)
Get outta there.
It doesn't matter; the door is looked. Mark shrugs and steps back to the stairs. He doesn't look very abashed as he starts to climbs.
CUT TO:
INT. THE SAME STAIRWAY WHERE IT EMERGES ONTO THE FOURTH-FLOOR BALCONY
This is the top floor. The skylight overhead is sooty, as though this is where the smoke of that long-ago fire coalesced. Parts of the balcony railing are warped and sagging and one piece is missing entirely. That area is cordoned off with yellow police tape. McCormick arrives first, looking not too winded, eying the balcony underfoot warily, though it seems solid. Hardcastle is right behind him, trudging.
McCORMICK
I wouldn't count on that railing too much if I were you.
HARDCASTLE
(huffing, and huffy)
I don't need no stinking railing to climb a couple flights of stairs.
(beat—looking at the spot beyond the yellow tape)
So this is it.
McCORMICK
Yeah.
(lifting the tape and stepping under it, he surveys the drop)
ANGLE—DOWN INTO THE ATRIUM AT THE TAPED OUTLINE BELOW
It's a sobering distance down.
ANGLE - ON THE BALCONY
HARDCASTLE
Hey, don't mess up Frank's crime scene.
McCormick touches one of the remaining pieces of railing and looks over his shoulder at Hardcastle again, but steps back.
McCORMICK
So, you think it's a crime scene, now, too?
HARDCASTLE
(reluctant)
Yeah, well, a guy breaks in a basement window and then climbs practically to the roof without noticing the things need some maintenance. I think I'll pass on that one for a likely explanation.
(beat)
Maybe he jumped, or maybe he got pushed, but either way I don't think he was in here to steal some doorknobs.
McCORMICK
We're gonna look into it, huh?
HARDCASTLE
Yeah, I got a couple of questions that need answering.
(sniffs)
Come on, let's get out of here. This place gives me the creeps.
Hardcastle turns and starts to trudge down the stairs, being careful not to lean on the handrails. After a beat, McCormick follows.
ANGLE—FROM THE OPPOSITE SIDE OF THE FOURTH FLOOR BALCONY
The POV is from eye-level above the floor, moving toward the railing and then looking down over it. It takes in Hardcastle and McCormick,as they descend the last flight to the ground floor and then cross the lobby. The impression that they are being watched is confirmed by the sound of a slowly exhaled breath. The railing creaks as a hand reaches out to clutch it.
CUT TO BLACK
NEXT ACT
FADE IN:
EXT. THE COUNTY RECORDS BUILDING—DAY
INT. A VAST FILING ROOM OF THE HALL OF RECORDS—FLUORESCENT
It's the lair of ROSE CARLUCCI, Hardcastle's go-to mistress-of-the-files and retriever of lost information. She emerges from between rows of shelves that are burdened with over-stuffed file boxes. Hardcastle and McCormick wait by her cluttered desk.
HARDCASTLE
(practically rubbing his hands)
I knew you'd come through for us, Rosie. Whatcha got?
Carlucci sweeps aside whatever was stacked on her desk already and drops a pile of file folders in that space with a satisfy thud. She pulls out several pieces of paper and spreads them on the remaining unoccupied space.
CARLUCCI
What I've got is a hernia, Milt. I think they ought to pay me by the pound.
HARDCASTLE
I'll get you an ice bag and some aspirin, kiddo. Now what about the Harmstead Building?
Carlucci opens another file and turns it toward Hardcastle and McCormick, who lean in to read what she's pointing out.
CARLUCCI
The taxes are paid up. The name on the deed is Rebecca Harmstead. See? Looks like it's stayed in the family since it was built. The previous owner was the original one, James Harmstead, and the current deed is dated June 13, 1951.
HARDCASTLE
(looking down at one of the other pieces of paper)
Just one day before the Harmstead-Pierce nuptials. Looks like daddy didn't want it to become community property.
McCORMICK
Not that it matters; they're still happily married.
HARDCASTLE
Married, yes. Happily isn't something we're going to find in one of these files.
CARLUCCI
Don't be so sure of that, Milt. Their '85 state income taxes weren't filed jointly and their mailing addresses are different.
(beat)
At least they're still in business together. The only leaseholder for the building you're interested in is listed as "Pierce Properties, Inc." and the director of record for that entity is Lawrence Pierce.
McCORMICK
She charges her husband rent?
HARDCASTLE
(doubtfully)
Might be some kinda tax dodge.
Mark still looks slightly aghast.
HARDCASTLE
But we've still got a lot of pieces left over that don't fit. Why isn't Larry Pierce using the damn place? I mean, even in that neighborhood you'd think he'd fix it up a little and sublease it. Might help offset the property taxes.
McCORMICK
Something's wrong with it, maybe? I mean, besides the obvious—that it's a dump. I mean really wrong with it, like Love Canal. Some kind of industrial contamination? Something that would make even tearing it down too expensive.
CARLUCCI
There's no record of it ever being zoned for anything except office space. There've been a couple of attempts by community organizations in the past few years to bring the owner to court, but nothing that's gone anywhere.
HARDCASTLE
No standing to file suit. It's not a public nuisance as long as it just sits there quietly, all boarded up.
McCORMICK
Until people start breaking in and find out the railings aren't solid. Maybe that's why your old landlady got panicky.
HARDCASTLE
Maybe.
(to Carlucci)
What about the fire back in '58?
CARLUCCI
There's a report, but it looks pretty bare bones. It says most of the damage was limited to the basement and the cause was "improperly stored painting supplies". There was a fine, and that was that.
McCORMICK
Insurance claims?
CARLUCCI
None filed.
McCORMICK
Okay, now it's officially weird.
(beat) What about that other thing?
(he glances aside at Hardcastle)
CARLUCCI
William McConnell? You two never come up with the easy ones.
(to Hardcastle)
This guy reminds me of your friend, Goodburn.
HARDCASTLE
(indignantly)
I wasn't friends with Eric Goodburn; I sent him to prison.
McCORMICK
(to Carlucci)
Except it didn't take. But don't tell us Bill McConnell got a new identity from the FBI—
CARLUCCI
If he had, do you think it would be in the records?
(sighs)
I don't suppose you have a recent address or social-security number?
HARDCASTLE
It's been almost thirty years.
CARLUCCI
Then it shouldn't matter if I need a couple of days, right?
HARDCASTLE
(grumbling)
I s'pose not. But call me right away if you come up with anything.
CUT TO:
EXT. THE GATE OF A DISTINGUISHED-LOOKING MANSION—DAY
On a brick pillar that supports the right side of the gate, a bronze plaque, dark with age, reads "Harmstead House". The place has the look of wealth, but the landscaping beyond the fence is a tad out of control.
INT. AN UPSTAIRS BEDROOM—DAY
Lots of dark wood and a massive four-poster bed that may well have once belonged to James Harmstead himself. The current owner is sitting on the edge of it, clutching a telephone receiver to her ear. REBECCA HARMSTEAD-PIERCE is lucky that padded shoulders are fashionable again, because she never gave them up. She's a handsome woman—in her 60s but holding her own against the ravages of time. Right now she's frowning.
HARMSTEAD-PIERCE
I told you the last time if you tried something like that again I'd take steps.
Silence as she listens to someone on the other end speak. She looks worried but not panicked.
HARMSTEAD-PIERCE
Lying is always what you've done best. I'd be a fool to believe anything you say—
(beat—she's screwed herself to the sticking point now)
—and my daddy didn't raise any fools.
She puts the receiver down decisively but the look of concern is now back, full force.
INT. HARMSTEAD HOUSE PARLOR—DAY
This room is done in a heavy fin de siecle style, too, and looks as if it hasn't been updated since then. Miss Havisham would be right at home here. McCormick is obviously not as he and Hardcastle perch awkwardly on the horsehair settee.
McCORMICK
(leaning in to whisper to Hardcastle)
This makes your old office building look pretty cutting-edge.
HARDCASTLE
(also sotto voce, and from the corner of his mouth)
People don't have to stay in style when they've got old money.
McCORMICK
(mostly to himself)
Oughta sell some of this stuff, get some new money and—
His comment is cut off as REBECCA HARMSTEAD-PIERCE sweeps into the room and both men rise, reflexively.
HARMSTEAD-PIERCE
I didn't mean to keep you waiting.
(looking intently at Hardcastle as she offers her hand)
Milt, I would have recognized you anywhere.
She looks aside at Mark, quizzically.
HARDCASTLE
Mark McCormick, my associate.
HARMSTEAD-PIERCE
You have a practice, then. I wasn't sure if you were retired.
McCORMICK
(grins)
He wasn't sure, either.
Hardcastle scowls at him. But Rebecca only smiles slightly. She seems a bit taken with McCormick, but redirects herself to the judge.
HARMSTEAD-PIERCE
I'm grateful, you know, for your assistance this morning, though I never intended for you to make a trip down there to that old place. I just wanted to know what the police had found.
HARDCASTLE
But you didn't want to just ask them?
HARMSTEAD-PIERCE
Oh, you know how it is. Not like the old days, certainly. My father's name meant something in this town, once. Nowdays…
(slightly flustered)
I have reason to believe that there are people who'd like to see that building torn down.
McCORMICK
Or fixed up, maybe.
Hardcastle shoots him a sharp glance.
HARMSTEAD-PIERCE
(sighes)
I know it's not in the condition it once was.
(to Hardcastle)
You remember how it was, don't you? My father designed it himself. It was his first.
She's not getting a very favorable reception for this.
HARMSTEAD-PIERCE
There've been matters beyond my control. But I don't want it torn down.
(beat)
I pay my taxes.
HARDCASTLE
I'm sure you do.
HARMSTEAD-PIERCE
I just want someone to keep an eye on the situation, to make sure I know if anyone tries anything. That's reasonable, isn't it?
HARDCASTLE
Sure. Very reasonable.
HARMSTEAD-PIERCE
Then you'll do it? We can discuss a retainer.
Hardcastle smiling understandingly as we—
CUT TO:
EXT. GMC TRUCK—DRIVE-BY—DAY
INT. GMC TRUCK—MOVING—DAY
Hardcastle's at the wheel. McCormick is leaning back, arm up on the back of the seat.
McCORMICK
Lemme get this straight. You're fronting for the absentee landlady of a neighborhood eyesore?
HARDCASTLE
Hey, that's my old office you're insulting.
(beat)
Besides, I'm not "fronting" for anybody.
McCORMICK
Okay, so what do you call it?
HARDCASTLE
I call it being attorney-in-fact, at least with regards to that building. I would've liked to have gotten her signature on something—
McCORMICK
I thought you didn't get along with her.
HARDCASTLE
I didn't say that.
(beat)
Anyway, that's not the same lady who gave me the hard time thirty years ago. If I didn't know better, I'd say she's scared.
McCORMICK
Harmsteads don't scare, huh?
HARDCASTLE
(shoots him a glance)
Not easy.
CUT TO:
EXT. GULL'S WAY—ESTABLISHING—DAY
INT. THE DEN—DAY
Hardcastle's on the phone, scribbling something on a pad of paper; McCormick is draped in a chair, fiddling with a knick-knack from the desk.
HARDCASTLE
(to phone)
So, besides the name, what do we know about this guy?
INT. FRANK HARPER'S OFFICE
Harper has the phone tucked between his ear and shoulder as he sorts through the relevant papers on his desk.
HARPER
Well, prior to him landing on the lobby floor of the Harmstead building, it looks like Harry Schaum was an honest citizen—
INTERCUT:
HARDCASTLE
Hmmph. Never got caught is more like it.
HARPER
—and he was a CPA in good standing with the state licensing board. We talked to his next-of-kin, a brother named Peter. He lives here in L.A. and says he saw Harry pretty regularly.
HARDCASTLE
Last night, maybe?
HARPER
He's denying it. He also says he has no idea why his brother would have been wandering around a deserted building in the dead of night. Everything seemed okay with him lately, as far as Pete's willing to admit.
HARDCASTLE
Sure, he stopped off there to see if anybody needed their taxes done.
(beat)
Thanks, Frank.
He cradles the phone. McCormick perks up a bit.
McCORMICK
So?
Hardcastle is dialing again. He hits the seventh number and then holds up his finger to block any further questions for a moment. Obviously he is waiting for someone to pick up on the other end. A beat, and then he smiles.
HARDCASTLE
Rosie? It's Milt again.
(beat)
No, I wasn't figuring you'd throw everything else overboard to work on this McConnell thing. In fact, maybe you could put that down for a sec and look something else up for me.
(another beat—followed by a broader smile)
I owe ya one, Rosie.
(looks at the pad he was writing on earlier)
The guy's name is Harry Schaum and he was a CPA.
(beat)
Yeah—"was"—died early this morning and the M.E. hasn't decided yet if he had help or not. Got anything in your computer on him?
(a longer beat—and then a startled look on Hardcastle's face as he digests what he's hearing)
You're kidding.
(beat, and then in an apologetic tone:)
No, Rosie, I know you're not kidding. I was just surprised, that's all. You've been a big help. Thanks.
(he hangs up again, looking thoughtful.)
ANGLE—McCORMICK—LOOKING IMPATIENT
ANGLE—HARDCASTLE
HARDCASTLE
(shaking loose from his reverie)
You heard the part about this guy being an accountant.
McCORMICK
Yeah, must say something about the price of used copper wire these days.
HARDCASTLE
Maybe—Rosie says he's been collecting unemployment benefits for a couple weeks now.
(glances down at the paper and then up with a shark-like smile.)
You're never gonna believe who fired him last month.
McCORMICK
Try me.
HARDCASTLE
Harry was on the payroll of Pierce Properties, Inc. His boss was Larry Pierce.
McCORMICK
(thinks about this for a moment and then:)
How do we know that isn't proof for the suicide scenario? A guy loses his job and sends a message to his ex-boss by messing up his lobby.
HARDCASTLE
In an empty building? That's pretty considerate of him, don'tcha think?
(beat)
But it sure as hell wasn't a coincidence, him winding up there. Ol' Harry was in that building for a reason, and I don't think it was to mess up the floor.
McCORMICK
You think his ex-boss knows something about it?
HARDCASTLE
I dunno—
(beat)
But I sure intend to ask.
HOLD, THEN:
CUT TO:
EXT: A MULTISTORY OFFICE BUILDING IN CENTURY CITY—DAY
This is one of those steel monsters.
INT: PIERCE PROPERTIES, INC.—THE RECEPTIONIST'S OFFICE
We know where we are because there's a big, flashy logo on the wall. It's a modern enterprise with minimalist furniture: chrome, leather, glass. The young lady at the receptionist's desk is minimalist, too—cool, blond, she's wearing the kind of sheath dress that only looks good on models, and it looks fine on her. Hardcastle is leaning with both hands firmly on the front edge of her desk. McCormick is a little off to the side, taking in the view.
RECEPTIONIST
I don't see your name on Mr. Pierce's appointment calendar, Mr. Hardcastle.
HARDCASTLE
That's because I didn't make an appointment. It's regarding something that came up just today.
RECEPTIONIST
(she's heard it all before)
Mr. Pierce doesn't see anyone without an appointment. I can make you one for, say,
(glances down at a leather-bound book)
Tuesday, next.
HARDCASTLE
(smiling, but not giving an inch)
I think you're gonna want to check with your boss about that. Next Tuesday is gonna be way too late.
(beat)
You heard about the unfortunate incident at the Harmstead building?
The receptionist looks suddenly more concerned—she's heard and it hasn't been good.
HARDCASTLE
We're the ones Mrs. Pierce has following up on that.
There's just a beat before she's up on her feet, not trusting this one to the office intercom.
RECEPTIONIST
If you'll wait right here, I'll see if he's available.
She knocks once and goes in. Hardcastle exchanges a tight smile with McCormick. There's only time for that before the woman is out again.
RECEPTIONIST
Mr. Pierce will see you now.
She holds the door for them as they enter.
INT. PIERCE'S OFFICE—DAY
More of the same, décor-wise. His desk is a vast, uncluttered plane of glass and chrome that must drive the janitors crazy. There's a view through the window behind him of the L.A. skyline, at once a symbol of his domain, and a way to keep the light in his opponents' eyes. PIERCE is about Hardcastle's age, tall, muscled, with just enough salt in the pepper to qualify him as "distinguished." His expression is unreadable, well-schooled by forty years of business negotiations.
PIERCE
(wary, but rising to meet his visitors and gesturing toward two chairs)
Gentlemen, I don't believe we've met.
HARDCASTLE
(extends a hand, forces a shake and prolongs it, just slightly, as though to send a message)
Milt Hardcastle. This is my associate, Mark McCormick.
PIERCE
And you are—?
HARDCASTLE
(exuding an aura of confidence)
Assisting your wife with the break-in last night at her property. You've talked to her about it?
PIERCE
Yes, of course. She didn't mention any private investigators.
HARDCASTLE
Oh, we're a bit more than that.
His tight smile is open to interpretation. McCormick, sitting to his left, has assumed the quiet, grim look of a man who does the dirty work.
HARDCASTLE
The man who died, he was a former employee of yours.
(beat—waiting for a reaction from Pierce; there is none)
His name was Harry Schaum, an accountant.
PIERCE
(recognition, followed by what looks like genuine surprise)
Schaum? What the hell was he doing over there?
HARDCASTLE
We thought you'd be able to tell us.
PIERCE
Of course not. He was fired. That was, what, maybe a month ago.
HARDCASTLE
And the grounds for dismissal—?
PIERCE
Are none of your business.
(he's hot now, but recollects himself after a moment)
Let's call it "irregular accounting practices' and leave it at that. We had grounds.
HARDCASTLE
(smoothly)
I'm sure you did.
(beat)
And you have no idea why he might have been wandering around the Harmstead Building after hours?
PIERCE
None whatsoever.
HARDCASTLE
(musing)
Doesn't make much sense—the place is empty, nothing going on there.
PIERCE
(looks puzzled by the turn in the conversation)
It's in transition.
HARDCASTLE
Kind've a long "transition" I'd say. What's it been now, almost thirty years? I'm not a real estate guy, but that sounds kinda like an irregular business practice to me.
PIERCE
Rebecca sent you?
(more than puzzled—he's doubting all his earlier assumptions)
You can tell her what I told you: Harry Schaum was no longer in my employ and I had no idea what he was up to.
(beat)
And I think that's all I have to say to either you or her right now.
(gives a button on the intercom a sharp poke and speaks toward it)
Mr. Hardcastle and his associate will be leaving now.
Hardcastle rises without protest, his smile is satisfied and slightly knowing. He turns to leave, with Mark a step behind him.
ANGLE—PIERCE BEHIND HIS DESK
He glares after the departure of his guests.
CUT TO:
EXT. THE GMC—DRIVING BY—DAY
INT. THE GMC—MOVING—DAY
McCormick is behind the wheel this time. Hardcastle is in the passenger seat, cogitating; the knowing smile is gone, replaced by a look of perplexity.
HARDCASTLE
(just above a mutter)
What the hell is he hiding?
McCORMICK
Maybe you got it in one: a tax dodge, and Schaum was onto it.
HARDCASTLE
Nah. Still too many pieces left over. What made the guy break into that building?
McCORMICK
That's obvious.
Off Hardcastle's look of surprise:
McCORMICK
He was looking for something.
HARDCASTLE
(surprise sublimates into frustration)
Well of course he was looking for something. I want to know what.
McCORMICK
Only one way to figure that out, Kemosabe.
Hardcastle shoots him a glance that says he knows what McCormick is going to say next—but that doesn't stop him.
McCORMICK
We gotta go find it ourselves.
HARDCASTLE
We could tell Frank what's going on—make it official.
McCORMICK
And assuming he even thinks there's probable cause, which is doubtful—I mean, how can we come up with a nexus definition when we don't even know what crime is being covered up?
HARDCASTLE
Assuming there is a crime.
(beat—then resignedly)
You know this law school thing is supposed to make you more on the up-and-up, not better at justifying your B&Es.
McCORMICK
(undistracted and undeterred)
And even if Frank does go through all the official steps, when the interested parties all get wind that a search warrant is being served, it'll give whoever's guilty of whatever they're guilty of plenty of time to get in there ahead of us to ditch it.
(pauses—looks puzzled and then continues)
—which makes me wonder why they haven't done that already.
HARDCASTLE
(speculatively)
They can't,
(beat)
but darned if I know why. Too big, too heavy, I dunno.
McCORMICK
Anyway,
(ignoring the side issue and
pressing his argument home) you've got that attorney-at-fact thing still going, haven't you? And all of this pertains to why Harry did a four-story swan dive—so, it's not exactly a B&E.
HARDCASTLE
(stubbornly)
We don't have the key.
McCORMICK
(smiles serenely)
Neither did Harry.
CUT TO:
EXT. THE HARMSTEAD BUILDING—DAY
The GMC cruises by slowly.
ANGLE—THE GMC TURNING INTO THE ALLEY ALONGSIDE THE BUILDING.
EXT. THE ALLEY—DAY
McCORMICK climbs out of the truck, meeting a less-willing HARDCASTLE on the passenger's side, which is closest to the wall of the Harmstead Building. The Schaum brother's handiwork from the night before has been boarded up again, but the yellow police tape across the window makes it easy to see which one they used and the repairs were hasty. McCormick yanks the tape loose and hands it to Hardcastle, who looks down at it for a moment, then deposits it in the garbage can to his right. Breaking and entering: yes, littering: no. McCormick already has a crowbar in hand and the boards come off with minimal effort. He sets them aside and we see the bent bars across the open half-window. The span between them at the widest point is perhaps fourteen inches.
HARDCASTLE
I'll never fit through there.
McCORMICK
That's why you keep the faithful Indian scout around, Kemosabe.
(already checking his flashlight and then getting into position, feet first)
You go "round front and I"ll let you in.
(he shimmies through and drops in, face now level with the window)
See? Easy.
ANGLE—HARDCASTLE
He's scowling at McCormick's eagerness and levity.
McCORMICK
I promise, I'll go straight to the door. No looking for the skeletons in the Harmstead closet until you're inside.
HARDCASTLE
(grumpy)
Watch your step. There's probably a lot of junk down there—
(beat)
and rats.
McCORMICK
Rats?
(glances over his shoulder into the gloom)
HARDCASTLE
Yeah, black ones. Ya know—
(makes claw hands at shoulder level and a quick series of gnawing sounds)
rats.
McCORMICK
(worriedly)
Rats.
(then with renewed determination he flicks his flashlight on again.)
Gimme five—ten at the most; I'll meet you at the door.
(pushes off from the window and out of view)
Hardcastle leans down for a moment, looking in, then, having lost sight as well:
HARDCASTLE
(not quite a holler, into the window)
Just be careful, will ya?
He sighs and straightens up, hands in pockets—and saunters toward the front end of the alley.
INT: THE HARMSTEAD BUILDING BASEMENT—DAY
Though night and day are pretty much the same down here. We see some of the same surroundings as in the first scene, and there is the same claustrophobic feeling. McCormick picks his way between piles of debris. This time it's apparent that there was a fire some time back. He half-stumbles, breaks his fall with a hand on a pipe, then shines the flashlight onto his palm—it's black with soot. He grimaces and wipes it casually on his pants. At one point his footsteps go hollow. McCormick plays the flashlight down over the slightly out-of-kilter iron slab. Just then there's a faint sound—a creak of footsteps overhead, or just a squeak of a disturbed rodent. McCormick freezes, listening hard. The noise, whatever it was, has stopped. He lets out a slow breath and edges back the way he came, casting his light down every potential side passage, until he finally catches a flash off something angled up and shiny—A BANISTER. It's strictly basement-style utilitarian with a metal handrail. Like everything else, the vertical metal spindles are discolored by flame and soot, but the railing itself catches the light—it's clean. McCormick approaches cautiously.
ANGLE—McCORMICK'S POV LOOKING UP FROM THE BASE OF THE STAIRS
There's a doorway immediately at the top. The door is closed. Barely visible through the grime are the stenciled letters: GRND FLR.
ANGLE—CAMERA PULLS BACK TO REVEAL McCORMICK
He sensibly avoids the railing, but takes the stairs at a good clip, eyes and flashlight focused down, to make sure the steps are really all there. He's oblivious to the slight opening of the door above, the fingers of one hand curled around the edge of the door are barely visible in the shadows above. McCormick's just arrived at the top step when the door swings open suddenly, knocking the flashlight from his hand and throwing him, in near-darkness, over the railing and down.
ANGLE—FROM A POINT NEAR THE LEVEL OF THE BASEMENT FLOOR
The only light is from the flashlight, lying where it fell, amazingly still working. Its narrow beam illuminates McCormick, sprawled on his back with his eyes closed, unmoving, and someone standing beside him. We only see the legs of this man from the knees down, and then a hand moves into the field of view, reaching down slowly. McCormick moves slightly and groans. The hand jerks back. The figure scuttles into the shadows and is gone.
HOLD AND:
FADE OUT.
FADE IN:
EXT. A BUNGALOW ON A RESIDENTIAL STREET—DAY
INT. THE FRONT ROOM OF THE BUNGALOW
The camera pans over worn furniture. As we're getting hints that it's been ransacked, sounds of similar activity are heard from another room. The pan continues, past a photo of two men, one hulking above the other but both looking related, then into a hallway.
ANGLE—THROUGH A DOORWAY INTO A BEDROOM
It's a minimally decorated room, nothing frilly. The only light comes through a closed window. A man has his back to the camera as he rifles through drawers hurriedly. At the sound of car doors slamming outside, he straightens and half-turns. It's LAWRENCE PIERCE. He stiffens as we hear the front door opening.
COP (V.O.)
(muffled, but he sounds brusque)
If you think of anything else, let us know.
SCHAUM (V.O.)
Uh-huh.
ANGLE—FROM THE HALLWAY INTO THE FRONT ROOM
PETE SCHAUM is entering. Through the front door we see the back of the cop as he departs. Schaum closes the door, then turns, raises his eyes, and takes in the room for the first time. He looks startled, then, after a beat, he rushes into the hallway and toward the bedroom.
ANGLE—SCHAUM, IN THE BEDROOM DOORWAY, PANTING
ANGLE—SCHAUM'S POV
The room has been thoroughly ransacked. The only motion is from the curtains, billowing inward in the gentle breeze from the open window.
CUT TO:
EXT. GULL'S WAY—DAY
INT. CLOSE-IN ON McCORMICK'S FACE
He looks the worse for wear. His eyes open slowly, then blink shut again, as though that part hurt some.
ANGLE—PULL BACK TO REVEAL WE'RE IN THE DEN.
McCORMICK is on the sofa, ice bag on his head. HARDCASTLE occupies a chair nearby, and he's clearly not very pleased.
HARDCASTLE
So,
(he's been telling this story for a while and most likely McCormick didn't get much out of it the first couple of rounds)
when you didn't show up I got myself in and went looking for you. Found you out cold at the bottom of the basement stairs.
(beat)
That'll teach you to trust the railings.
McCORMICK
(irate and squinting now)
I don't need no stinking railings to climb a flight of stairs.
(beat)
I was knocked down. Someone opened the door at the top of those steps.
HARDCASTLE
That's what you said before, but you were kinda out of it. It might've been a draft—big building like that and the boards were off that window.
McCORMICK
It wasn't you then?
HARDCASTLE
'Course not, I was outside.
McCORMICK
(more alert now)
How'd you get in? Don't tell me—you pulled those burglar bars further apart with your bare hands. They say people can perform amazing feats of strength when they're scared.
HARDCASTLE
I wasn't scared. I figured you ran into something down there—I've seen you trip over a six-inch flowerpot, kiddo. Anyway,
(beat)
your toolkit was in the glove compartment.
McCORMICK
(eyes slightly wider)
My picks?
HARDCASTLE
Yeah, your picks. I dunno why you leave 'em in there.
McCORMICK
(practical)
For emergencies—like this one.
(beat)
And aren't you glad I taught you how to use 'em?
HARDCASTLE
No.
McCORMICK
But you picked the lock.
(smiles wryly at the thought)
HARDCASTLE
I had to. You left me standing out on the street. How the hell else was I supposed to get in when you didn't show up? It was flagrant necessity.
McCORMICK
It was very thoughtful.
Play the moment, then:
THE DOORBELL RINGS.
Hardcastle looks puzzled and then lumbers to his feet, glancing out the den window.
ANGLE—THROUGH DEN WINDOW TOWARD FRONT STEPS.
Rosie Carlucci is standing there, looking somewhat out of her element. She's reaching for the bell again.
ANGLE—PULL BACK TO HARDCASTLE'S REACTION
HARDCASTLE
(to McCormick)
Rosie?
McCormick shrugs and readjusts the icepack. Hardcastle hustles for the door.
HARDCASTLE
(hollers)
Coming!
ANGLE—THE HALLWAY LOOKING TOWARD THE DOOR
Hardcastle is fumbling with the latch and gets it open. Rosie's right there, file under her arm.
HARDCASTLE
(baffled but pleased)
Rosie, come on in.
Carlucci steps by him. From the way she's looking around, we can assume this is a first-time visit. Hardcastle ushers her toward the steps and down into the den.
ANGLE—ALL THREE, IN THE DEN
McCormick waves the ice pack in a little jaunty salute. Carlucci doesn't look all that surprised. Hardcastle pulls a chair over for her and she sits.
HARDCASTLE
You didn't have to come all the way out here.
(polite interlude over, now he leans forward, all anticipation)
Whatcha got?
CARLUCCI
(not quite ready, she's got a bone to pick)
I've been trying to reach you.
McCORMICK
Sorry, we were out getting pushed down stairs and picking locks.
CARLUCCI
(sighs like that's par for the course)
Well, we civil servants may work miracles, but only from 9 to 5. It's half-past five, guys. Lucky for you I was on my way home—
(beat)
and I always wanted to see what kind of a place you get for $4000 a year in property taxes.
Carlucci looks around with obvious curiosity.
HARDCASTLE
(hating to interrupt, but increasingly impatient)
That file?
Hardcastle is on his feet as Carlucci leans forward and spreads the contents on the coffee table.
CARLUCCI
William McConnell's record ends in 1958.
(beat)
He just dropped off the grid. No more Social Security quarters. No renewals at the D.M.V. or with the state bureau for private investigators. No death certificate. Just, poof.
(sigh)
I hate it when that happens. Not even a missing person's report.
HARDCASTLE
For that you need somebody to miss you. I don't remember Bill having any family.
(he's in silent thought for a moment, then recollects himself with a shake and says:)
Thanks, Rosie.
Carlucci is on her feet. Hardcastle sees her to up the steps to the hall, respectfully affectionate.
ANGLE—THE HALLWAY LOOKING TOWARD THE DOOR
Hardcastle opens the door for her.
HARDCASTLE
I meant that—thanks—you're a miracle worker.
CARLUCCI
For you, Milt, anytime—
(beat)
between 9 and 5.
HARDCASTLE
I owe you.
CARLUCCI
You always owe me.
Hardcastle gives her a peck on the cheek and she steps through the doorway. He closes it behind her and turns, standing for a moment with his back to the door, looking thoughtful again. Maybe it isn't entirely about the case.
HOLD THAT, AND:
ANGLE—IN THE DEN,
Hardcastle walks back in. McCormick is still on the sofa, but sitting up, looking at Rosie's hoard.
McCORMICK
So where'd he go?
(beat)
The witness protection program, maybe.
HARDCASTLE
(shakes his head)
It wasn't around back then.
McCORMICK
Alien abduction?
There's no response to that. After a long beat McCormick throws in the towel.
McCORMICK
Then he was killed—and whoever did it kept it off the record. No body, no investigation. In the fire or right before it.
HARDCASTLE
It's hard to destroy a body that way. Takes a heck of a lot of heat.
McCORMICK
There's a lot of char in that basement. What's left of Bill McConnell might not be the kind of evidence one person could clean up without attracting attention.
(beat)
But if that's what happened, then how come the original investigators didn't find any evidence of arson?
HARDCASTLE
(he sits on the edge of his chair, paging through the ephemera of a man's life absently for a moment, then sighs)
Well, that—like I said, lots of corruption back then. You could buy just about anything. An investigator like that wouldn't even be real pricey.
McCORMICK
Your landlady bought one?
HARDCASTLE
(looks doubtful)
I didn't get along with her all that well, but, hell, she's the one getting paid rent for an empty hulk. I vote for Pierce.
McCORMICK
(raises his hand with ice bag)
Seconded.
(beat)
But that means she knows about it—she's collecting money for keeping her mouth shut about what's down there.
(frowns)
You know, we're not set up to deal with dental crowns and belt buckles. We're gonna need Frank and the lab guys.
HARDCASTLE
And Frank'll need more than Rosie's say-so. Absence of proof is only proof of absence—
McCORMICK
—Not proof of murder.
(thinks something over for a moment, then tries it out loud)
Bill might not have any next of kin,
(beat)
but Harry does. What do ya wanna bet that Harry's brother was the silent partner last night?
HARDCASTLE
The one who phoned it in to the cops? I'd give that better than even money.
He's on his feet, crossing to behind his desk. He yanks open a bottom drawer, pulls out a telephone directory, and thumbs it open.
HARDCASTLE
Frank said the brother's name was Pete.
(he thumbs through two more pages and then runs his index finger down a column, landing with a quick, victorious jab on his target)
There—just one and he's right over in Highland Park.
(looks up with a grin)
Wanna come?
Hold, then:
CUT TO:
EXT: SCHAUM'S BUNGALOW—EVENING
PETE SCHAUM is hustling out of the house, heading toward a junker of a car with a shoebox-sized cardboard box under one arm and a suitcase in the other hand. A truck cruises down the street, slow, no details visible in the gathering dusk. Schaum halts, looking wary.
ANGLE—THE HEADLIGHT BEAMS CROSS SCHAUM
Schaum squints, the suitcase drops as his grip loosens and he raises his hand to shield his eyes. He looks terrified as the vehicle pulls into the driveway right next to him. Now we can see it's the GMC. The headlights and engine cut out. Schaum looks as if he's poised to bolt, but before he can make a move the passenger door is flung open and McCORMICK is in his way. Schaum stands a half a head taller than McCormick, and half again as wide, but from his body language he seems more like Lennie, from Of Mice and Men. Now that Harry's gone he's lost his pole star, and he's afraid.
McCORMICK
Pete Schaum, right?
There's no response except that Schaum is now backing up slowly.
McCORMICK
(wearily—not really threatening)
Look, I've had a rotten day and it looks like you have, too. Don't make me run after you. All we want to do is ask you a couple of questions.
HARDCASTLE is now visible on the far side of the truck, quickly assessing what McCormick might be up against and just as quickly standing down. Schaum's no threat.
SCHAUM
(looks back and forth between the two men)
You guys cops? I already talked to the cops.
HARDCASTLE
Uh-uh.
He was hoping to be reassuring. It's failed. Schaum stiffens up again.
SCHAUM
(anxiously)
He sent you.
(he's taken another step back and really looks like he's ready to bolt)
McCORMICK
We're not from Pierce, either.
(he keeps his hands out from his sides slightly, his stance loose, and his tone persuasive)
We're just a couple guys trying to find out what happened to your brother. You know something happened, right? You said you talked to the cops?
SCHAUM
Yeah,
(wipes his face with the back of his hand)
I did.
Schaum appears more disconsolate than afraid. McCormick shoots a quick look at Hardcastle and gets a nod in return.
McCORMICK
(edging in closer to Schaum, keeping his voice low)
I don't think we should stand around out here. I think we oughta go inside and talk about it.
McCormick has one hand on Schaum's shoulder (and he's reaching up a little to do it), but Schaum has stopped backing off.
McCORMICK
Come on. Just talk, that's all. You can tell us all about it.
McCormick guides him toward the house. Schaum is still clutching the cardboard box under one arm. Hardcastle waits a beat and then scoops up the suitcase and follows. He darts a quick look back behind him, both ways down the street, sees only a couple of cars parked there, then climbs the porch steps and is the last one to enter the house.
CUT TO:
INT. SCHAUM'S KITCHEN—EVENING
It's messy, even for bachelor digs, with the ransacking on top of what must have been pretty lousy baseline housekeeping skills. McCormick parks Schaum in a chair at the table, and pushes some papers off another chair, before taking a seat across from him. Hardcastle puts the suitcase down by the wall as he walks in from the front room. He stays slightly in the background, leaning against a counter.
ANGLE—McCORMICK AND SCHAUM AT THE TABLE
McCORMICK
(quietly)
Tell us what happened.
Pete Schaum fidgets like a kid and glances up guiltily, then starts telling the story to the table top in front of him.
SCHAUM
Harry, he said we'd make a killing.
(he winces slightly at the choice of words)
He said he knew stuff about Mr. Pierce, stuff that we could make money off of.
ANGLE—INCLUDES HARDCASTLE, STILL STANDING BY THE WALL
HARDCASTLE
He didn't mean real estate tips, something like that?
Schaum looks back at him, as if he'd forgotten he was there. He looks confused. McCormick reaches out and taps Schaum's hand, focusing him again.
ANGLE—McCORMICK AND SCHAUM
McCORMICK
Did your brother tell you what he knew about Pierce?
Schaum shakes his head.
McCORMICK
But you were there at that building last night.
There's a beat, a guilty look on Schaum's face, and then he nods.
McCORMICK
(gently again)
What happened?
SCHAUM
(a beat, then he starts to spill it)
I pulled the bars apart. Harry went in. He said I was supposed to wait there and he'd be right back. I waited, like he said, and—
(his voice catches)
And then I heard him scream.
McCORMICK
You couldn't get in. The bars…
SCHAUM
I tried.
(beat)
I didn't know what to do. I shoulda busted a door down or somethin'.
(he slaps his forehead on that last word with the palm of his hand. It becomes rhythmic, punctuating the following words, each one harder than the one before)
Harry, said, I, couldn't, do, nothin', right—
Mark grabs for his wrist on the last blow. It looks like a dicey proposition, but Schaum seems to emerge from his trance and just stares at him.
McCORMICK
(trying for a calm tone)
You went for help?
SCHAUM
(now resigned)
I ran away, 'cause I'm chicken. Harry said I'm a big chicken.
(beat)
The cops said he mighta killed himself.
(more certain)
Harry didn't do nothin' like that. Harry was gonna make a killing. That's what he said. We were gonna take the money and get out of here. Buy a ranch or something.
(beat)
A cop came here. He said Harry was dead. He said I had to go look at his body—make sure it was him.
McCormick looks appalled as he pictures this.
SCHAUM
They say he jumped, or maybe he fell. I don' think it happened like that. I heard Harry scream…he screamed and then it stopped.
(beat)
And then I didn't hear nothin' else.
McCormick lets go of Schaum's wrist and gives his arm a couple pats. He rises from the table. Schaum remains, hunched and silent.
ANGLE—McCORMICK, CROSSING TO WHERE HARDCASTLE STANDS
McCormick leans in, now in close conference with Hardcastle. Schaum is still at the table, oblivious to everything but his misery.
McCORMICK
I don't think he knows anything. We're back to square one.
HARDCASTLE
(quiet)
Maybe.
(to Schaum)
So you're the guy who phoned it in to the cops last night.
Schaum nods.
HARDCASTLE
You did a good thing. I don't think there was anything else you could've done.
(beat)
How come you were packin' up to leave tonight?
ANGLE—SCHAUM
He looks over his shoulder nervously at Hardcastle but says nothing.
HARDCASTLE
(cocks his head back at the front room)
Looks like maybe you had a visitor while you were over at the morgue.
SCHAUM
(reluctant)
Yeah, maybe.
HARDCASTLE
(casually)
Did they take anything?
Schaum doesn't answer but he's got one arm still wrapped around the cardboard box in his lap.
HARDCASTLE
(still casual)
Whatcha got there?
Schaum frowns, says nothing, clutches the box tighter.
HARDCASTLE
It's your brother's stuff, huh? He hid it somewhere. Maybe he didn't even know you knew about it.
(beat)
You know, if we can figure out what Harry knew, then maybe we can figure out why he died.
Schaum frowns, but at least he's thinking about it.
McCORMICK
(to Hardcastle—quietly puzzled)
Who killed him, Pierce?
Hardcastle lifts his shoulders to indicate he doesn't know. He never takes his eyes off Schaum and the box. Schaum suddenly lets out a short sigh and puts the box on the table, pushing it away with one hand.
SCHAUM
We were gonna buy some land. A ranch, maybe.
ANGLE—HARDCASTLE MOVES IN ON THE BOX WITH McCORMICK A HALF STEP BEHIND.
Hardcastle lifts the lid off, reaches in, and pulls out a handful of small papers, studying the one on top.
INSERT—A VINTAGE CANCELLED CHECK
Circa 1958, it's drawn on Pierce's private account and issued to someone named James Trobelt for five-hundred dollars. We hear a low whistle from Hardcastle.
ANGLE—McCORMICK LOOKING OVER HARDCASTLE'S SHOULDER AT THE PAPER
McCORMICK
And this is important because—?
HARDCASTLE
Because back in the '50s James Trobelt was also known as "One-Match Jimmy"—suspected arsonist, but never convicted.
McCORMICK
So he's the guy Pierce hired to torch his wife's building.
HARDCASTLE
Looks that way, though most of the jobs they thought Jimmy had a hand in were four-alarm fires, nothing left standing. There usually wasn't even enough evidence to charge him.
McCORMICK
Anybody can have an off day.
(beat)
So he screwed up, and Pierce had to pay off the arson investigators and take a pass on the insurance payout.
HARDCASTLE
He was never in line for a payout—not directly, anyway. His wife was the owner—so she was only one with standing to insure.
(a side thought—half to himself)
And then Jimmy got out of the arson biz.
McCORMICK
Huh?
HARDCASTLE
(beat)
Oh—I was just tryin' to remember if I ever heard any more about ol' Jimmy after about the late '50s. I wonder what happened to him.
McCORMICK
Rosie could probably find out.
HARDCASTLE
Nah, it's after 5.
(he paws through the box a little more and pulls out a set of larger papers—four pieces in a trifold—he unfolds them)
Huh. Well look at this.
McCORMICK
(peering)
Floor plans? Don't tell me—the Harmstead Building.
HARDCASTLE
Yup,
(shuffling through them, quickly)
All four floors, and look here.
(he holds out the second sheet)
A circle around one of the offices.
McCORMICK
Is that like "X marks the spot"?
HARDCASTLE
(staring at the diagram)
It's Bill McConnell's office.
(beat)
I dunno what's going on, but the answer's back in that building.
ANGLE—INCLUDES SCHAUM
He's still sitting dejectedly at the table, ignoring the other two men. McCormick looks at him consideringly and then hooks a thumb in his direction.
McCORMICK
(to Hardcastle)
We can't leave him here. Pierce might send some guys back to shake him down.
(to Schaum)
Hey, Pete?
Schaum looks up dazedly.
McCORMICK
Wanna go for a ride?
CUT TO:
EXT. THE DRIVEWAY OF THE BUNGALOW—NIGHT
The three men emerge from the house, McCormick ushering Schaum, Hardcastle bringing up the rear. They climb into the truck with McCormick behind the wheel.
ANGLE—FROM INSIDE A CAR FURTHER DOWN THE STREET
It's a dark-colored late-model luxury sedan, a Lincoln, maybe. From the driver's seat someone is watching the truck. A leather-gloved hand lifts a car phone receiver and punches in a number.
ANGLE—THE DRIVER
It's Lawrence Pierce, tight-lipped and seething as he waits for an answer. There's a beat and then someone must have picked up on the other end.
PIERCE
I told you to call those two off and you said they weren't working for you.
(beat, but not long enough for the party on the other end to get anything in edgewise)
You're still a lying, two-faced—
(cuts himself off)
Dammit.
EXT. THE DRIVEWAY IN FRONT OF THE BUNGALOW
The truck is backing out.
RESUME—IN CAR
PIERCE
(to phone—angrier still)
I don't care what this Schaum character said to them—I didn't send his brother in there and I never went back on our deal.
(half-beat)
But I'll be damned if I'll stand by when you've decided to take me down. I'll do whatever I have to do.
(slams the phone down and puts his car in gear)
EXT. THE STREET
The truck has finished backing out and now is heading down the street. The car pulls away, follows briefly, then turns off at the next corner, accelerating.
INT. THE TRUCK
McCormick leans forward slightly, looking into the rearview mirror.
HARDCASTLE
What?
McCORMICK
Hm?
(shakes his head and leans back)
Nothing.
Hardcastle glances over his shoulder.
McCORMICK
No, really, nothing. I thought I saw somebody but he wasn't following us.
CUT TO:
INT. REBECCA HARMSTEAD PIERCE'S BEDROOM - NIGHT
She's still clutching the phone receiver speaking into it urgently.
HARMSTEAD PIERCE
Larry, listen to me.
It's obvious from her expression that no one at all is listening; she hangs the receiver up slowly, then hastily picks it up again and dials another number.
INT. THE HARMSTEAD BUILDING—NIGHT
On the second floor atrium balcony, in front of the door to Hardcastle's old office. We hear the sound of a phone ringing and, at the end of the first ring—
CUT TO BLACK
NEXT ACT
FADE IN:
EXT. THE HARMSTEAD BUILDING—NIGHT
Close in on the same carved stone name as in the opening scene, but this time we hear—
McCORMICK (V.O.)
You didn't bother to lock up after yourself?
ANGLE—THE CAMERA PANS DOWN TO THE DOORWAY BELOW
McCORMICK has obviously just tried the front door latch and found it open. He's slipping his lock pick case back into his pocket. PETE SCHAUM is a few feet to his left, looking distracted. HARDCASTLE next to Schaum, shrugs.
HARDCASTLE
I don't think you showed me how to do that yet.
Mark casts him a disbelieving look as he holds the door open for Hardcastle and Schaum to pass inside. There's some sort of easy spring bolt which he engages as he lets the door fall shut behind him.
McCORMICK
There. Lockpicking 101. Leave things like you found them. Anybody could have wandered in here.
INT. THE HARMSTEAD BUILDING—NIGHT
A close shot of the three men, Hardcastle and McCormick shoulder to shoulder with Schaum hulking a little behind them.
ANGLE—CAMERA PULLS BACK
They're in the shadowy interior of the building's atrium. The only light comes from the skylight above—moonlight through dirty glass. The iron railings cast shadows. The shadows are deeper still under the balconies. Mark looks nervous as he flicks on a flashlight.
McCORMICK
Where to, Kemosabe?
HARDCASTLE
"X marks the spot."
(heading for the stairs up)
Watch the railings.
Mark trots after him. Schaum lumbers along behind.
ANGLE—THE HALLWAY FACING OUT ONTO THE SECOND FLOOR BALCONY
Hardcastle emerges from the stairway, McCormick and Schaum behind him. Mark, with the flashlight, edges by him, lock-pick case out again, he passes the flashlight to Hardcastle and stoops in front of McConnell's office door. He puts his free hand on the old-fashioned lockset. The door gives, slightly but visibly. McCormick freezes, then casts a sharp look up over his shoulder at Hardcastle.
HARDCASTLE
Not locked?
McCORMICK
Not anymore.
(beat)
Don't tell me you were making a mess of things up here, too.
HARDCASTLE
Uh-uh. I went straight to the basement and scraped you off the floor.
McCormick stands and takes the knob in hand, pushing the door open cautiously. It's dark inside.
ANGLE—FROM WITHIN McCONNELL'S OFFICE
McCormick and Hardcastle crowded together in the doorway, Schaum again lurking just behind. Hardcastle feels for a light switch next to the jamb and flips it on. There's a sudden flood of light from an old-fashioned overhead fixture.
HARDCASTLE
Somebody's still paying the utility bills.
ANGLE—CAMERA PULLS BACK TO INCLUDE THE OFFICE
There's the same layout as Hardcastle's former rooms next door but here's there's more clutter. It looks occupied. The anteroom is full of odds and ends, most of which look as though they might have been scavenged from the building. There's an old sofa against one wall and a battered pillow at one end of that.
McCORMICK
(somber)
Looks like there's a night watchman after all.
(beat, then indignantly)
I told you somebody pushed me down those stairs.
From Hardcastle there is only a noncommittal grunt.
ANGLE—HARDCASTLE, MOVING INTO THE BACK ROOM
There's a desk, much like the one we saw in Hardcastle's office but more cluttered, and not with office supplies. We see the remains of a half-eaten meal there as well. Hardcastle reaches for a piece of paper, lying amidst the detritus.
HARDCASTLE
(having given it a quick, hard stare)
Hey, look at this.
McCormick joins him, looking at the paper Hardcastle is holding out.
INSET—A FLOOR PLAN LABELED "BASEMENT"
There's an area circled by a later hand.
ANGLE—HARDCASTLE AND McCORMICK
McCORMICK
"X marks the spot"?
HARDCASTLE
(pulling a sheaf of papers from his jacket pocket and doing a quick comparison)
They match. Looks like part of the set.
SCHAUM
(now slightly more engaged, he's come close enough to see)
That's Pete's. He had it.
HARDCASTLE
(sharply)
Last night?
Schaum nods.
HARDCASTLE
When you heard him scream, did it sound like it was very far off?
Schaum doesn't have to think about this. He shakes his head quickly.
SCHAUM
No. Loud.
McCormick is leaning over, looking at the paper again. He reaches out, tapping the middle of the page with his finger.
McCORMICK
There. Maybe. It's circled. It must be where he was headed.
Hardcastle nods grimly.
HARDCASTLE
"X marks the spot".
(beat)
Wonder what he found.
He stuffs the papers into his jacket pocket. McCormick is already heading for the door with Schaum tagging after.
ANGLE—THE CAMERA FOLLOWS AS FAR AS THE ANTEROOM
Hardcastle is the last to reach the doorway to the hallway. He turns, surveying the office one more time with a flat expression, then reaches for the switch and flips it off.
CUT TO:
EXT. THE STREET OUTSIDE—NIGHT
The Harmstead building is in the distance down the street, perhaps a block away, but distinctive for its darkness. An older model luxury sedan, a cream-colored Cadillac, drives into view, moving slowly, then stopping as it pulls even with a parked sedan. It's the Lincoln we saw on Schaum's street: Pierce's car. It's empty. The Caddy lingers for a moment then moves on, only to pull in abruptly at the next empty stretch of curb, kitty-corner from the Harmstead building. The driver emerges. It's REBECCA HARMSTEAD PIERCE, her coat collar turned up. She glances around nervously and then crosses the empty intersection, her high heels clicking on the pavement.
CUT TO:
INT. THE ATRIUM—NIGHT
The POV is from the fourth floor balcony, opposite the stairs, looking down toward them. We see the beam from a flashlight in the stairwell, three floors below, stabbing the gloom here and there as the three men descend, then McCORMICK, HARDCASTLE, and SCHAUM cross the atrium floor purposefully and are lost from sight below the balcony.
ANGLE—CAMERA PULLS BACK
We see a man from behind, clutching the balcony railing. He stays frozen for a moment longer, still looking down into the atrium. Then he turns to his left. We catch just a glimpse of the right side of his face in the moonlight before he moves off camera. He's not Pierce.
CUT TO:
INT. THE BASEMENT—NIGHT
A crack of light illuminates a set of stairs. A door is opening at the top. This is the same staircase McCormick started to ascend earlier that afternoon. This time McCORMICK steps through, holding the flashlight above shoulder level, to maximize the visibility. He descends warily. SCHAUM is a few steps behind, looking anxious. HARDCASTLE brings up the rear. He has the paper out again and is shining a small penlight on it. The other two look to him. He glances up to orient himself in the gloom and then gestures sharply to the left with the penlight.
CUT TO:
INT. THE ATRIUM—FIRST FLOOR—NIGHT
In the shadows a darker shadow moves. It's the shape of a man and as he steps forward into the moonlight we see that it is PIERCE. He's holding a handgun. He starts for a door marked "BASEMENT". There's a slight noise from somewhere above. He freezes but doesn't hide. He raises his head slowly and the barrel of the gun comes up reflexively as well.
ANGLE—ON PIERCE
The moonlight shows us an expression that shows more anger than fear. His gaze searches for the source of the sound.
RESUME—THE BASEMENT
Alternately illuminating the paper and his path, HARDCASTLE leads the intrepid band deeper into the murk. He halts suddenly, checks his position again, and then frowns.
HARDCASTLE
Here's the spot—where's the "X'?
(beat)
Anyway, there's supposed to some kinda coal storage room here. It's a sub-basement with a boiler in it.
McCORMICK
And an opening? Look—
(he shines his flashlight down and a little ahead—we see the slab of iron, about six by eight feet)
Hardcastle moves toward the darker edge that McCormick's beam briefly picked out. It's the spot where the plate was shifted sideways a few inches the night before. Hardcastle gestures to Schaum to lend a hand. The big man crouches at one end, curls his fingers under the edge, strains, and then shoves it a foot further with one heave. The slab falls back, sending a puff of black dust—soot or coal—into the air. The three turn away, hacking, but after a moment McCormick wipes his eyes and shines his flashlight down.
ANGLE—McCORMICK'S FACE
Surprise, followed by horror.
ANGLE—PULL BACK
Hardcastle has joined McCormick at the edge and looks down. His expression is grim.
ANGLE—THROUGH THE OPENING, INTO THE SPACE BELOW
It's been there a long time, long enough that the body, crumpled at the foot of a ladder, is skeletal, where it isn't carbonized or concealed by partly burned clothes. It's going to be tough for the M.E.s office to do an identification. But the cause of death is apparent: the sharp end of a long metal pry bar protrudes from torso. There's a sudden, startling sob.
ANGLE—THE EDGE OF THE PIT
Schaum is looking down now, too, and it is all obviously too close to home for him. His sobs are coming faster and it somehow doesn't seem incongruous, now that we know him a little. McCormick turns, takes his upper arm and starts to steer him away. Hardcastle's still looking down into the hole, pointing his penlight here and there, looking puzzled. McCormick has gotten Schaum a few feet back from the edge, walking him slowly. McCormick freezes suddenly, then raises his head slowly, looking up and shining his flashlight in the same direction. It's just a blackened basement ceiling.
HARDCASTLE
What?
McCORMICK
Did you hear that?
(beat)
Shh.
Even Schaum's halting sobs stop. The three men freeze for a moment and we hear it—distant sounds, perhaps thumping, as though someone might be running somewhere above them. McCormick hustles back toward the stairs, Hardcastle's right behind him. Schaum, left standing alone, heaves one more shuddering sob, casts a wary look toward the pit, and lumbers off after them.
CUT TO:
INT. THE ATRIUM—FIRST FLOOR—NIGHT
Things are brighter now. The moon must be directly overhead, above the skylight. We're outside the door marked "BASEMENT" and it's opening away from the camera. McCORMICK is the first one through, with HARDCASTLE behind him. They're barely though the door before we hear a shout.
PIERCE (V.O.)
Who are you, dammit?
There's the sound of pounding footsteps, much louder now. It's someone taking the stairs upward at the double, hard enough to reverberate in the ironwork. Hardcastle pockets his penlight and paper and pulls out his handgun, though it sounds as if whoever's on the stairs is going up. Then the pounding stops.
PIERCE (V.O.)
(in ghastly astonishment)
You?
(low, angry, but not as loud)
You're supposed to be dead.
That's enough for Hardcastle. He's heading for the atrium stairs. McCormick, armed with a flashlight, makes a grab to halt him, maybe to discuss things but, no, Hardcastle's already gone. McCormick heaves a sigh, takes off right behind him and reaches the stairs at nearly the same time.
ANGLE—THE STAIRCASE
Hardcastle and McCormick start their ascent, trying to be both stealthy and fast. We still can't see what's going on above.
PIERCE (V.O.)
The bitch lied to me. She said you were dead.
(in the silence we hear the rachet of a semi-automatic being chambered)
She lied.
There's a sound from below, a door opening and a woman's heels on the floor.
HARMSTEAD PIERCE (V.O.)
Larry, no!
ANGLE—DOWN AT THE FIRST FLOOR FROM MIDWAY UP
REBECCA HARMSTEAD PIERCE is standing there, in a puddle of moonlight, staring up.
ANGLE—UP TOWARD THE FOURTH FLOOR BALCONY
LAWRENCE PIERCE has heard her. He turns, leaning against the balcony and looking down. He is shadowy, with what light there is coming from behind him. There's a sneer in his laugh.
PIERCE
I'm done listening to you. This ends now.
(even in the shadows we see a glint of moon-light off the gun he's pointing down at her)
There's another guttural shout, and then Pierce half-turns as we hear something heavy colliding with him from behind. The railing he is leaning against groans and is visibly bent by the force of the weight against it. Pierce, still grasping his gun, struggles with a shadowy figure. A shot goes off from the gun in Pierce's hand, the bright blaze from the barrel illuminating the two men for an instant. We see a glimpse of the other man's face. It's hardly human.
ANGLE—THE TOP OF THE STAIRWELL WHEN IT EMERGES ON THE FOURTH FLOOR BALCONY
McCORMICK obviously seized the lead somewhere in the race to the top. He arrives just in time to see the two figures locked in a death struggle that ends when Pierce goes smashing through the already damaged portion of the railing, plummeting down. The man who was grappling with him grabs for a bent iron spindle, dangling. McCormick reaches him, latches onto his arms, and heaves him back up onto the balcony. The man lies there, panting, the left side of his face resting on the floor. HARDCASTLE comes up, also panting. He crouches, staring at the man McCormick saved.
HARDCASTLE
(obviously handicapped by poor lighting and the passage of decades)
Bill? Bill McConnell?
McCONNELL closes his eyes. He sighs audibly and opens them again. There's a beat before he makes eye contact with Hardcastle.
McCONNELL
Yeah, it's me. Long time, Milt.
(beat)
I mean, Judge Hardcastle.
HARDCASTLE
(ignoring the formal address)
What the hell happened?
McConnell doesn't answer right away. Instead he lifts his head slowly off the floor, his full face now visible, or what's left of it. The left side looks like a smeared oil painting, his teeth bared by the destruction of tissue. Only wisps of hair remain on the left side of his scalp. The rest is scars. The whole thing is made more dreadful by the relative preservation of the other half of his face, though now it's clear that there are burn scars there, too. McCormick can't quite stifle a gasp.
HARDCASTLE
How—?
His question is interrupted by a woman's footsteps on the stairs.
ANGLE—BACK TOWARD THE STAIRWAY
REBECCA HARMSTEAD PIERCE emerges onto the balcony, looking terrified. McConnell is up on his knees, and she rushes forward as he staggers to his feet. McCormick barely has a chance to get out of the way before she sweeps into McConnell's arms, with a cry of relief.
HARMSTEAD PIERCE
(muffled, into McConnell's shoulder)
Did he—?
McConnell says nothing, still clinging to her.
McCORMICK
(very definite)
He fell. I saw it.
HARDCASTLE
(looking down over the edge)
I'd kinda like to know what's going on here.
ANGLE—DOWN OVER THE BALCONY TO THE FIRST FLOOR
Pierce is sprawled there, about ten feet to the right of the original tape marks. He's dead-still, with his neck bent at an odd angle.
CUT TO BLACK:
FADE IN:
INT. HARMSTEAD BUILDING—NIGHT
We're in Hardcastle's former office, and every spare chair has been rounded up from the waiting room. They're all occupied. HARDCASTLE is behind his old desk, leaning back in his chair, looking like he never left. FRANK HARPER is in another chair just off to his right, wearing an expression of chagrin because he really hates being left out of two-and-a-half acts. McCORMICK is on Hardcastle's left, keeping PETE SCHAUM from getting too jittery. McCormick's gonna make a great dad someday. He might even buy his kids rabbits. In the two hot seats, facing the desk, are BILL McCONNELL and REBECCA HARMSTEAD PIERCE. And nobody's summoned any lawyers yet.
HARPER
—And the body down in the basement?
McCONNELL
That's a man named Jimmy Trobelt.
HARDCASTLE
(to Harper)
One Match Jimmy, remember him?
HARPER
(a little "ah" of recognition followed by:)
Think the M.E.s going to be able to do a positive?
HARDCASTLE
We've got a check with his name on it from Larry Pierce, dated not long before the fire.
HARPER
(to McConnell, matter-of-factly)
So, you killed him?
HARMSTEAD PIERCE
(interrupting with a look of alarm)
No, he didn't! Larry sent Jimmy to torch this building.
HARPER
Why?
HARMSTEAD PIERCE
Because it was mine. Because it meant something to me. Larry hated anything he couldn't control, and when he finally figured out he couldn't control me, he tried to destroy everything that I loved.
HARPER
(to McConnell)
You didn't kill Trobelt, not even in self-defense?
Harmstead Pierce opens her mouth to speak again. McConnell puts a hand out, over hers and squeezes lightly.
McCONNELL
(to her)
I want to tell him.
She looks at him with a worried expression.
McCONNELL
(to Harper)
Rebecca—Mrs. Pierce—came to me. She was having problems with her marriage. She suspected her husband was using arson for profit, but not for the insurance.
(beat)
His system was to torch places whose owners were in his way. He'd cripple their cash flow so they'd have to sell him what he wanted—a real fire sale. I told Rebecca he he was too well-connected. We'd never pin anything on him and she ought to just divorce him. She had this building and a mansion her father left her. She'd be okay. I sent her to you, Milt.
HARDCASTLE
Why the hell didn't you tell me what was going on?
HARMSTEAD PIERCE
I didn't trust you—then when you got offered that judgeship, right after I'd talked to you, I was sure Larry had found out I'd gone to you, and pulled strings to get you out of the way.
ANGLE—HARDCASTLE
He looks stunned.
McCONNELL
And then it was too late. You had moved out. Things were closing in fast. We didn't know who we could trust.
HARMSTEAD PIERCE
Larry tried to get me to sign over this building. I refused.
McCONNELL
We thought if he couldn't take it from her, he might torch it, same as he had the others. She couldn't trust security guards; Pierce bought city councilmen, for crissake.
(beat)
So, I started staying here.
There's an awkward silent pause.
HARPER
(prodding)
And Trobelt?
McCONNELL
—Showed up about a week after that. It was a rainy night, otherwise I might have heard him sooner. And he must've had orders to kill me, too, because he came after me before he lit the place up. I dunno, maybe I was supposed to be the fall guy, an angry tenant or a jealous boyfriend.
(sighs—he's had almost thirty years to think about that night)
I went down to the basement, just making my rounds. I got blindsided, but he didn't slug me hard enough, I woke up too soon—
(he reaches up, unconsciously fingering the left side of his face)
Paint thinner, it burns like hell. He soaked rags in it, like they'd been left there by workers, and then he planted some whiskey bottles and cigarette butts. Everything the investigators found later, except me.
(beat)
And sometimes I wish I hadn't come to.
HARPER
But you did, and he was still there?
McCONNELL
I heard a scream—I was screaming, but there was something else.
(beat)
The whole place was on fire, and I went stumbling out of it. I had to stay low because the smoke was so thick. I knew about the coal room. Rebecca had changed the building over to oil and the workmen were converting it to storage. The old door was off, and they had this iron plate for a temporary cover. They must've not have put it in place. It was heavy.
(beat—not very much regret)
He'd fallen in.
HARDCASTLE
Dead?
McCONNELL
By the time I got there, yeah—skewered himself on something.
(beat)
I dunno. I remember I was thinking real fast. Pierce would try to blame the fire on me, maybe the guy's death, too, and even if that didn't stick, he'd never stop until I was dead.
HARDCASTLE
So you hid the body.
McConnell nods
HARDCASTLE
(doubtful)
You moved that iron plate by yourself?
McConnell nods again.
McCORMICK
(half to himself)
One of those feats of strength. He was scared.
HARDCASTLE
(to Harmstead Pierce)
And then you started blackmailing ol' Larry?
McCONNELL
It wasn't like that.
She reaches over and covers his hand, squeezing it.
HARMSTEAD PIERCE
(to McConnell)
I'll explain. This part was my fault.
(to the others)
When Trobelt didn't show up to finish getting paid, Larry was convinced that I'd suborned him. I convinced him. He believed me, after all, the arson job had been a failure. My building was still standing.
HARDCASTLE
And the rest of this folderol?
HARMSTEAD PIERCE
I told Larry that Trobelt had given me evidence about the rest of the arsons. I had that, as well as proof that he'd had Bill murdered. And I'd sent Trobelt away, somewhere he'd be safe from Larry and the authorities.
HARPER
And Bill's body?
HARMSTEAD PIERCE
(a grim smile)
Just enough left to prove there'd been a murder.
(beat)
I had to charge Larry "rent". He wouldn't have believed me if I hadn't tried to profit from my information, but all I really wanted was to keep him at bay and make him believe Bill was gone. Larry knew the rules. He couldn't come near this place. And if he harmed me, I told him the information would be automatically made public.
(beat)
He couldn't bribe everyone.
McCORMICK
You'd installed a dead man switch, just in case.
HARMSTEAD PIERCE
(smiles sadly)
Well, at least he thought I had one. There really wasn't any information, and even if there had been, the statute of limitations was up on those crimes years ago—all except for Bill's murder.
HARDCASTLE
And Bill wasn't dead.
(he gives the whole scheme a low whistle)
HARPER
(to McConnell again)
What about Harry Schaum?
Pete Schaum rouses himself, suddenly frowning. There's a real possibility that he hadn't been following along very well up till now, and hadn't assembled the connections between McConnell and his brother.
McCONNELL
I thought Pierce had sent someone. That's why we kept the phone line connected in this office, Milt, so I could let Rebecca know if anyone was breaking in. Mostly it was just neighborhood kids, though. I'd go down there, bang on a pipe, and they'd skedaddle.
(beat)
I didn't realize until it was too late that he was going straight for the hole. I panicked. I tried to stop him—I don't know what I was gonna do—I—
(he hangs his head, rocking slightly)
Harmstead Pierce puts her arm around him, protectively. She looks at Pete Schaum.
HARMSTEAD PIERCE
We don't know what happened. Bill touched him on the shoulder. He turned around, screamed, and collapsed. He was gone, like that.
Pete looks confused. Hardcastle looks doubtful.
HARDCASTLE
And the four-story fall?
McCONNELL
(slowly)
I didn't know what to do. There had to be an obvious reason why he died, and it had to be as far away from the hole as I could make it.
(beat)
And I thought Pierce had sent him. I wanted to send him a message back.
Hardcastle still looks doubtful.
HARPER
Well, if it makes anybody feel any better, the M.E.s preliminary report is that he was dead before he went over the banister. A heart attack—complete blockage of the main coronary. All the damage from the fall was post-mortem.
Pete doesn't look any less confused, but McConnell lifts his head and looks at Harper steadily. He looks afraid to ask the obvious question.
HARPER
I don't think anybody's going to charge you with scaring him to death.
McConnell doesn't look all that relieved.
HARMSTEAD PIERCE
And the rest?
HARPER
I dunno. Obstruction of justice? Failure to report a death? I'll have to run it by the D.A.
(he's on his feet, obviously there's evidence collection to ride herd on—to McCormick:)
I'll need a statement from you about what you saw.
McCORMICK
Pierce fell. Write it down and I'll sign it.
FADE TO BLACK
NEXT ACT
FADE IN:
EXT. GULL'S WAY—DAY
The truck pulls in the driveway. There's something in the back, draped with a tarp. McCORMICK jumps out of the driver's side and heads for the front door of the main house.
INT. THE DEN—DAY
HARDCASTLE is sitting at his desk, elbow on the arm of his chair and his cheek propped on his fist. He looks pensive. We hear the front door open.
McCORMICK (V.O.)
(hollers)
Judge?
HARDCASTLE
In here.
ANGLE—PULL BACK TO TAKE IN THE STEPS TO THE FRONT HALL
McCormick's bouncing down them, looking pretty spry. Hardcastle hasn't moved from his initial position and McCormick comes to a full stop, taking in what he sees. His hands are on his hips.
McCORMICK
You still mooning over what that woman said the other night?
Hardcastle gives him a glare, but doesn't answer. That qualifies for "mooning" in McCormick's book.
McCORMICK
Okay, so you thought you got picked for a judgeship 'cause they wanted a squeaky-clean boy scout—
HARDCASTLE
(growls)
I never said that.
McCormick's got his head cocked.
HARDCASTLE
Well, maybe I sorta said that.
(beat)
And maybe I kinda always suspected that Nancy's dad was the one who got my name on the short list—that he only wanted the best for his little girl. And maybe that was why I almost said no. But this—
(beat)
Getting the go-ahead from a chiseler like Pierce. I dunno—
(shakes his head)
It makes ya wonder if anything you believe is true.
McCORMICK
Not me.
HARDCASTLE
Yeah, well, we know how you ended up where you ended up.
McCormick makes a face.
HARDCASTLE
I'm just sayin' all those years, sittin' on the bench, handing down rulings, thinking I was doing my part—and maybe the whole thing turned on some guy wanting me out of the way.
McCORMICK
Exactly.
Hardcastle lifts his chin off his fist and frowns at him.
McCORMICK
Even back then any bad guy worth his salt didn't want you around when he was up to something.
(beat)
Anyway, how you get where you're going isn't as important as what you do once you get there, right?
He gets a reluctant shrug from Hardcastle.
McCORMICK
And I got you something.
HARDCASTLE
What?
McCORMICK
It's a surprise. It's in the truck. Come on.
(he moves in, hooking Hardcastle's arm and tugging)
You'll like it.
HARDCASTLE
'A surprise'? I hate surprises.
(rising reluctantly, to avoid having his shoulder dislocated)
Is it fertilizer?
ANGLE—INTO THE FRONT HALL
As McCormick nudges Hardcastle along.
McCORMICK
No, it's not fertilizer. What kind of a surprise would that be? I always get fertilizer.
EXT. THE FRONT PORCH—DAY
Hardcastle and McCormick exit the house.
ANGLE—TAKING IN THE TWO MEN AND THE TRUCK—PARKED A FEW FEET AWAY
Hardcastle looks at it warily. McCormick is bouncing again, down the front steps and over to the vehicle. He drops the tailgate and climbs up. Hardcastle draws nearer, despite himself. The tarp-covered object is at least eight feet long and propped against the far side of the truck bed. McCormick takes hold of the tarp as though for an unveiling. He whips it off with a flourish.
McCORMICK
Ta-da!
Hardcastle's mouth is slightly agape. It's a door—but not just any door. This one is heavy oak, darkened with age. It's got a half-window with frosted glass that bears the lettering: MILTON C. HARDCASTLE, ATTORNEY AT LAW. It's obviously the one from the Harmstead building.
HARDCASTLE
How the hell'd you get it?
McCORMICK
(grinning)
You're welcome.
(beat)
Actually, Rebecca asked me what she could do to thank you, and I suggested this.
HARDCASTLE
'Rebecca'?
McCORMICK
I ran into her when I stopped by Frank's office to sign my statement. She said 'Call me Rebecca' and she said the D.A. threw a couple of misdemeanors at her and Bill and asked for community service. Bill's got an appointment with a Beverly Hills plastic surgeon, and they're planning to rehab the Harmstead Building.
HARDCASTLE
Might be a little stigmatized.
McCORMICK
Nah, what's a couple of ghosts? And I took the one really scary thing out of there.
(gestures toward the door with a sweep of his hand)
Help me lift it down.
HARDCASTLE
(moving toward the tailgate)
What the hell am I gonna do with it?
McCORMICK
I figured I'd put it in the file-room doorway for now. Better than that hollow-core thing you've got there.
He slides the door partway out, letting Hardcastle grab the end.
HARDCASTLE
'For now'?
McCormick hops off the tailgate and hefts the door near the other end.
McCORMICK
Yeah—
(he lifts it clear of the truck and they make their way up the porch steps toward the house)
for now, but you never know when you might need an office door again, right?
(he smiles from where he stands, behind Hardcastle)
HOLD ON THAT, AND:
FADE TO BLACK
