End Game Page #2

Son of a b*tch. He's gone.

He came for her stuff.

What stuff?

Um, phone book, scrap book,

diaries, stuff like that.

Did I screw up or something?

Her body wasn't discovered

till about two hours ago.

I don't understand.

The fat guy, impersonating

a police officer,

could be the killer.

Is there someplace you

could stay for a few days?

Oh, no, please, I'd rather stay here.

We'll be doing a

pretty thorough search--

it might be inconvenient for you.

Oh, I would rather stay.

Certainly, if that's what you'd like.

We'll leave a policeman here on guard.

Outside, of course.

Here's our card. If you

need anything at all,

please contact us.

We'll see ourselves out.

Thank you for your time.

Can you believe the balls on this guy?

He sure is methodical.

I'll get a guy downstairs on the door.

Yeah.

[sigh]

[deep sigh]

[deep sigh]

Oh--

you're a handsome devil.

[light thud]

What time is?

It's only a little after one.

Have you eaten?

Yeah, I ate.

Why so late?

Found a young ballet dancer, dead

at the Lafayette Hotel this morning.

Seems she's gonna fit the profile.

Hmm. Congratulations.

You must have gone out celebrating.

You reek like a brewery.

Stopped to have a few beers with Mackle.

You know he's trying to get me in

down at the medical examiner's office.

You know what that's like.

It's like pulling teeth getting

anything done around there.

Medical examiner's office.

Oh, that's no nine to five.

I don't see why you don't just

work the system like everyone else.

Get your degree and move on.

[sigh]

I'm happy where I am right now.

Yeah, you're happy.

I didn't marry you for better or worse,

just for better.

Is something wrong, Mr. Bergman?

Bea Fraser was murdered last night.

Sweet Jesus!

I hope I can count on your

complete loyalty in this.

Yes, sir. Of course.

Terrible thing to happen.

I must not be implicated

in this in any way.

It would destroy my marriage,

ruin my reputation.

You had nothing to do with

this, I'll vouch for you.

We dropped her off at The

Balcony around 11 o'clock,

and then l drove you home to Westport.

The point is, I can't be

connected to this woman in any way.

It must be as if I never knew her!

Never had anything to do with her.

I see what

you mean, but--

how is that possible?

By searching her apartment

and finding anything

that might connect us.

Mr. Bergman, you're a

successful businessman.

Me, I'm just a driver,

but I think you should go to the Police.

I mean, look what happened to Nixon

when he tried to cover up Watergate.

I have no choice, J.J.

Yeah, I know somebody

that might help us.

He worked for the ClA.

How about making

contact with your friend?

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