You speak of black market goods.
Well, hells bells, I've bought more than one stolen calf in my time.
...top knot.
What makes it all very new and very now is the full length...
"Private detective." Now there's a really creepy occupation.
They don't slash their wrists or mangle themselves.
Carol was wearing a hospital smock.
You should design exclusively for the dead.
Hey, what do you say let's talk, huh?
No inglese.
ROCKFORD This is Jim Rockford.
At the tone, leave your name and message.
I'll get back to you.
Jim, Coop.
I'm at the address you wrote down for the poker game tonight.
This is a gas station, it's closed.
There's no one around and now my car is stalled.
Now, you got to call me at 466-3...
I thought you were going to buy a new deck of cards.
Well, I did buy a new deck of cards,
but Angel's been playing with these.
You know how he's always sitting there
bending the cards and flipping them in the wastebasket.
I had to borrow some from L.J. Hello.
Jim, it's Carol Calcote. I need help.
Oh, Carol?
Yes. I haven't much time. I'm in terrible trouble!
I think somebody's trying to kill me.
I ran. I don't even have my shoes.
Where are you?
Oh, Lord!
Carol!
Carol?
Rocky, hang on to this phone.
If anybody picks it up, don't let them hang up.
I'm going over to the restaurant and trace the call.
Anybody there?
Hello.
Hello, anybody there?
I've been waiting on this phone for 35 minutes.
Now, don't hang up!
Would you relax, sir?
We're not going to hang up.
Okay.
Are you the complainant? Yeah.
Did you find anything? Not a thing.
There's a guy at the other end of the phone,
keeps screaming, "Don't hang up!"
Oh, that's my dad.
Yeah, Dad, the police are here.
They're searching.
Searching for what?
Look, I don't mind sitting here,
listening to my joints get stiff,
but I would like to know...
Hey! Hang on, Dad! Hang on!
Hey, Officer! Wait, wait!
Where are you going? You're not finished here.
Finish, what? Where? You've been practical joked, friend.
There's nobody. Nothing.
We just got a 187, a priority call. Sorry.
Hey, Dad, that was the police, leaving.
I know where Carol stays when she's in town.
It's a hotel called the Trenton Key. I'll go over there and check.
What in blazes is going on, sonny?
Dad, when I find out something,
I'll explain it to you.
Carol?
Oh, my God!
I don't understand it, Jim.
I just don't understand.
Boy!
Why does a nice package like that go out a window?
I can't figure suicide.
Never could.
I had an aunt once closed her own book.
Only she used pills.
Suicide, is that how you figure this? Suicide?
Yeah.
It isn't a suicide, Frank.
Oh, it isn't, huh?
Come on, Rockford.
You said she called you, right?
She said she was terrified, emotional terror,
anxiety, religious reference.
And out the window.
You're forgetting she told me someone was trying to kill her.
Maybe she was lying to you. Did you ever think of that?
She was wearing a hospital gown.
That can be explained a hundred ways.
She's in the hospital, okay?
The tests come back.
She has some kind of incurable disease
and then she gets terrified and goes out the window.
You're checking the hospital?
Well, of course not yet. I just got here.
Hey, Rockford, this is an official investigation.
You are a civilian. That gives you no status.
I am also the complainant who called the police three hours ago
and got treated like a Duncan yoyo by two cops,
who dashed off on a murder call.
Then I come here and I find Carol dead.
Now, if your coroner puts the time of death after that call,
your department is in trouble.
Well, that call must have been the Consuello Hooper murder.
Whatever.
That is a good, clean murder, Rockford. This?
This is nothing but a suicide.
Nothing but a suicide.
I have a little experience in these things.
Oh, how much?
I think it was six weeks, at last count.
Six weeks is a long time when you're working 10 hour days.
Ask my wife Dorie.
A long time.
A very long time.
Hey, I've been hanging on this phone for almost 20 minutes.
Yeah. Okay. Okay.
Billings, what's going on?
Are you kidding? That Argentine playgirl,
the one that married that rock star,
got popped tonight.
The press room is jammed with reporters.
Well, you tell Mr. Hooper, it's Lieutenant Becker,
at the Los Angeles Police Department.
Los Angeles, California.
London, England. Stevie Hooper.
Hey, Dennis, a friend of mine got murdered tonight,
and Dusenberg, that six weeks homicide veteran...
What do you mean you can't get through to him?
I thought you said you were sitting right next to him?
And you still can't get through to him?
Would you have him call me?
Thank you!
He says it's a suicide.
What suicide? It's first-degree murder.
Well, that's what I said. But he saw the window,
that's all he can think of is suicide.
What window? Consuello Hooper got it in the bathtub with a...
We're not talking about the same thing, are we?
I don't think so. Go.
Carol Calcote, an old friend of mine.
But Dusey's handling that case.
Well, Dusey keeps smelling the case up with split second assumptions.
You know how much I'd love to help you, Jim,
but Consuello Hooper got it tonight.
Now, that's a very big homicide.
I've already been photographed by the 11:00 news.
I've been talking into AP and UPI mikes all night.
And believe me when I tell you,
it's a real popcorn machine.
Dennis, I need some help.
This girl meant a lot to me once and I know she was murdered.
Well, you give it to Dusenberg.
Give him all your ideas.
He's a real good kid.
Becker here.
Yeah. Okay.
No. Yeah.
Okay.
Yeah.
Are you kidding, Officer?
Of course not, Miss Hatch.
That's the way I see it.
Carol Calcote would never kill herself.
Never in a million years.
So start revising your theories.
Hey, you sound like somebody I should talk to.
Get out of my way!
I'm sorry. I don't usually break down crying like that.
It's not my style, but she was...
She was special.
It's okay, Miss Hatch. She was special to me, too.
Yeah, well, you haven't started crying yet,
so we don't really know for sure, do we?
Is that your style, Miss Hatch?
I beg your pardon?
Well, you bait people
and then wait and see what comes back?
I had a psychiatrist in New York,
he called me a counterpuncher.
He said that one of the reasons I failed as a fashion model
was that I was afraid to swing first.
That's something I'm attempting to correct.
I was a friend of Carol's.
And I agree with you, that she wasn't a suicide.
So that should give us enough common ground
that we could sit and try and explore a few alternatives.
How can the police possibly think that
someone like Carol could commit suicide?
No fashion model would throw herself out of a window.
That's ridiculous!
Really?
Carol was a high fashion model. She did collections.
She was the cream of the business.
Girls on Carol's level develop
a reverence about their bodies.
They don't slash their wrists or mangle themselves.
If they go, it's with pills.
Usually with full makeup and dinner pajamas.
Carol was wearing a hospital smock.
Doesn't that tell you something?
A high fashion model wearing a hospital smock?
It might tell me something tomorrow
after I've had a chance to check a few hospitals.
Is someone paying you for all this concern?
I mean, you said you were a private detective.
Do you have a client?
Maybe I'm a counterpuncher, too, Miss Hatch.
Alta.
Did you make that up yourself?
You betcha.
But it still left me an inch too short with no takers.
To be a high fashion model you have to have a certain proportion.
And you have to have what's called editorial quality.
Carol had that, I didn't.
So I quit modeling.
Look, do you think we could get out of here?
I've been on a plane for five hours, up all night,
and I've got to be at Masters' studio tomorrow.
I thought you said you quit modeling.
I did. I'm a lighting engineer.
Is that with a little hat and an engine full of steam?
Why don't you tell me about Masters?
I know he's one of the fashion world's big numbers
and he owns a string of boutiques.
But what else?
For a while he limited himself to New York and now LA.
He rents a '20s mansion from the silent film days.
Like most Eastern couturiers,
he'd like to abandon Southern California completely.
Why? Afraid of earthquakes?
Worse, afraid of the buyers.
No one knows what's going to sell.
Italian designers divide Italy at Naples.
Everything south of that is Africa.
Couturiers divide California at Hearst Castle.
South of that is Oz.
So the big problem here is trying to figure out
what the munchkins will go for.
Why does he show in LA?
His styles have worked here.
He doesn't compete with the old line houses.
He's trendy, innovative
and Southern Californians like that.
They think they're the future.
They may be right.
Oh, this is my car. Can I give you a lift?
Yes, I'm staying at the Trenton Key. Trenton Key Hotel.
Like Carol. Yeah, it's a fashion hangout.
But, somehow, I think...
I think I'd really hate it there tonight.
I have a couch you could use.
No invitation to the master suite?
I'm not looking for action, Miss Hatch.
Just trying to be a friend.
You haven't called me by my first name.
You haven't told it to me.
It's Margaret, Margaret Hatch. From Bend, Oregon.
My parents are in the dairy business
and I'd love your couch, Jim.
You got it, Margaret.
Jim, I'm not sure how Masters is going to react.
I just work for him.
Well, you just point him out and I'll take it from there.
Ah, Alta, I'm jolly glad you're here.
We're all working through the anguish.
I think it's the only way. Ready to go to work?
Yeah.
I had to fire my set decorator.
He showed up with rolls of blue crepe and a staple gun.
Now, what I want is a fluorescent grayish look at stage rear,
then soft light toward the front
and at the end of the ramp here.
See, I need that sterile effect for a backdrop.
Uh, along here,
filtered bright without the glare, like this California sun
clawing through the smog, eh?
Okay, well, then, I'll just hood the fluorescents.
And add a few overheads.
Hmm. Right to the end.
No dress rehearsal.
And you know how models are when they can't see the end of the ramp.
Who let you in?
I let myself in, Mr. Masters.
Hmm.
"Private detective."
Now, there's a really creepy occupation.
Well, we can't all be fortunate enough
to sell old French paratrooper pants
to fashion-conscious middle America.
Don't knock what sells, buddy.
I think Carol Calcote was murdered.
Oh, really?
Like some old Bogie movie, eh?
I haven't got time for this.
I have one God-awful screaming headache
brought on by the logistics of this show.
And your dead model, Carol,
is just a little inconvenience, right?
Did you hear what I just said?
I just said that I didn't have time to discuss dear Carol,
because of this damned show.
My, my, my. Haven't we become obsessed with our own little problems.
Sometimes I think we need to just drop everything
and go to the beach for the day.
I despise what we just said, Mr. Rockford.
Of course, you can have as much of our time as you require.
Well, we won't need much time.
We just want to ask a few questions.
I'm sorry about that affectation.
I picked it up in Milano last season.
Mr. Masters.
Pardon... Not now, Margo.
It's Mr. Bancroft.
Ah, money men.
Could we talk in my office? It's right upstairs.
I've got some aspirin up there.
I'll just be a few minutes.
Yes, Mr. Bancroft?
Yes, I know.
Look, the show will go on as scheduled.
I haven't had a good week, Mr. Rockford.
I've lost two close friends, Consuello Hooper and Carol.
I'm opening a collection on Friday.
And I've assumed the obligation
of designing Consuello's burial gown.
You're working for someone interested in Carol's death?
No, no. Carol was a friend.
I just don't think she would commit suicide.
How about you?
I'll never forget the first time I met her.
She showed up an hour late,
exploded into the atelier in a huge Mongolian coat,
her pipe-cleaner legs garbed in beige wooly socks, T-strap flats.
She looked divinely improbable, laughing, babbling excuses, apologies.
There was nothing suicidal about Carol.
How about her private life?
Well, she ran with a rather rough crowd.
The latest was a leather model from Barucci's.
It's not uncommon. Model's private lives are often a gesture
against the artificial climate they work in.
They like to come down from the pedestal?
See, this is difficult for me.
You see, I have a theory of my own.
It's a nasty little theory,
and, well, since Carol is dead and Barucci is so damned anxious
to sue at the drop of a hat,
I don't know what to do about it.
Maybe another aspirin would help.
You've got quite a tongue on you.
Isn't there some sort of privilege thing that works with a private detective?
Yeah, but it only exists with a client.
Despite the preconceptions you doubtless had
about me thus far, I do have a soul, Mr...
Rockford. I know it's a toughie, but I was born with it.
Well, I feel I'd like to pursue my own theories about her death.
If I hired you and you worked for me,
then anything we discussed would be confidential?
Yeah, well, unless it ends up in court.
Then I could be questioned and I'd have to talk.
If it ends up in court, we'll all have to talk.
Will you work for me, Mr. Rockford?
Will you please explore a theory I have
that might have caused Carol's death?
I'll pay your price.
Well, it's $250 a day plus expenses.
Jolly good.
Will you follow me?
Now,
this is called a toile.
It's part of the pattern for an original dress design of mine.
You see the initial "M" stitched into the fabric,
the serial number in the corner.
They're unique. So is that shade of plum.
This piece along with four or five others
make up the pattern for a Masters original.
Who buys them?
Boutiques, fashion houses, they reproduce them, stitch for stitch
and sell the finished garment under our licensing agreement.
That's where the problem lies.
Two sets of patterns are missing from a fitting room
that she had access to.
Carol?
Who knows how much influence or intimidation
Carol was subjected to by her boyfriend?
The model at Barucci's.
And you think the missing patterns might be there?
His models are grown up street urchins from Naples.
Carol was dating one of them called Luigi.
Perhaps she came to her senses.
Decided not to sell my designs.
Who knows what Luigi or Barucci himself might have done?
It's a tough business.
I wouldn't exclude murder.
I guess I'll start with the leather crowd at Barucci's.
Yeah, how you doing? You Luigi?
Luigi?
No. Pietro.
Oh, well, where you got all the good stuff hangered here, Pete?
No, no, no inglese, no inglese. No?
Hi. Hello, I am Sophia.
May I help you? Why, sure, sure. Here.
Jimmy Joe Meeker.
Yeah, that's my shipping line.
They also got a line of horses, a line of tall tales
and a line I reserve for pretty ladies like yourself.
Thank you. You're from Dallas?
No, Houston, honey.
Houston. Houston, yeah, yeah.
Yeah, and I got myself one hellatious problem, you know.
Sue Ellen, that's my saddle mate,
she's going to be coming into town, see, and before I left she said,
"Jimmy Joe, how come you never give me any arrival presents
"like old Razor Boyd Hopkins does Lizzy
"every time they go zipping up to New York for the weekend?"
I beg your pardon?
Yeah, well, old Boyd,
yeah, well, he's an old poker playing buddy of mine.
You know, Hopkins, Eaton and Smith,
that's the Range Equipment and Heavy Harvesters?
Oh, yes, of course.
Yeah, yeah, well, old Boyd, you know,
he can spend money like it's West Virginia ditch water.
Yeah, he and Sue Ellen, they got me figured I'm some kind of cheapskate.
So what I need, honey, is I need some real prime goods.
I'm going to need something...
Oh, a dress or a coat or something
that is so fine and so new Sue Ellen ain't never seen
the pattern or the cut on no other West Texas honeycup.
Yes, sir, now they tell me up and down Rodeo Drive here that
you got yourself a little back room for the special buyer.
You know, you get a dude in here,
just don't care what's written on the price tag,
you take him in the back room,
he just gets himself wasted on fine goods, huh?
They said to ask for Luigi.
Ah, yes, something special. Yes, sir.
It so happens we do. Yes.
Well, fine. That's real fine.
Now which way are you gonna run this old bull?
This way.
Thanks, Pete.
I'm Luigi. You ask for me?
Yeah, how you doing there, Luigi?
Yeah, they tell me that you whip up a fine fashion omelet.
You know, new patterns ain't never been seen. Mucho lire.
You speak of black market goods.
Well, hells bells, I've bought more than one stolen calf in my time.
I got no problem with buying stuff off the back of the truck.
No problem at all.
We got some special merchandise,
but Barucci himself would have to sell it to you.
Look, this is very smart. We can make it up in her size.
You know, Mrs. Meeker's size.
Yeah, I don't think so, honey, no, no.
No? I'm sorry.
Hello? Yes?
I'm sorry.
Did I hear you mention Consuello Hooper?
Yes, yes. Mr. Barucci is in town with a burial gown
of his own design for Consuello.
But he just found out that her will specified a design
by St. Michelle, the French couturier.
Mercy, mercy, honey. I don't want you thinking
I'm just some kind of moonshucker with a long line.
No, sir, no.
But it's just that we have shown you absolutely everything.
Well, now, maybe what you ain't showing is
what you can't sell, honey.
Meaning?
Meaning that Luigi says Mr. Barucci is the big time quartermaster.
Now, there's some super special things that only he can sell.
Well, Luigi is mistaken.
No, he ain't, Miss Sophia.
So you tell Mr. Barucci that Jimmy Joe Meeker from Houston
is willing to come to his party.
You see, one of the only joys on this earth
that money can buy is knowing that you got the best.
So you sit tall, honey,
and don't you rope no one-eyed Angus.
Texas boys just don't give up that easy.
What are you looking for?
Well, I already told you, honey.
We've got closed-circuit TV.
Ultrasonic motion detectors.
Contacts on all the doors and you think
we are such fools that you can walk in here and steal from us?
Well, I ain't gonna steal nothing, darling.
Oh, don't darling me.
Hey, what do you say let's talk, huh?
No inglese. Oh, yeah.
Ciao.
That Barucci's got a security system like an East German art gallery.
I could have told you that.
Masters could, too, but he didn't.
Well, maybe he assumed that you knew
how important secrecy is in high fashion.
Thank you.
I guess Masters' security would be just as tight, huh?
Hmm. More so.
He depends on impact and surprise a lot.
The collection models don't even have a fitting until the day of the show.
You know, this business you're so attached to,
it's unpredictable hard work.
You deal with high-strung egos.
What's the real attraction?
It's a power trip.
You're dealing with customers who have everything
and now they want the best of everything.
For a woman, that means
how she looks and what she's wearing.
Hey, where are you going?
I could sleep on the couch in a man's apartment
when I didn't care about the man.
But I like you, Jim.
I like you a lot and I can see why Carol called you.
I'd call you, too, if I were in trouble.
I'm at the Sand and Surf. It's two miles up the beach.
Room 23, all right?
Is that the last of the Consuello Hooper inventory?
Yes, sir. Hi, Jim.
Hi, Dennis. Take a look at this.
You know, I can believe 20, 40 pairs of shoes, but 274...
You don't look so good.
Yeah, I was shopping. It always wears me out.
Where did you find the drug paraphernalia?
All over the house.
They had reds, whites, blacks, you name it.
A real pharmacy.
How do you list this, Dennis?
Novelties.
Well, I'll leave you to your own problems.
But I just thought I'd drop in and tell you I was talking to Dusenberg
and he's closing the Carol Calcote investigation.
Yeah, well, tomorrow's Consuello's wake.
If Stevie Hooper hits town, Bel-Air's going to look like Woodstock.
Did you hear what I said, Dennis?
Your boy in there
is wrapping a homicide in tin foil.
I just have no time for this.
Jim, out! I've really got no time.
Come on, let's go, let's go!
Thanks, Dennis. Yeah, you're welcome.
Hello? Is anybody in there?
Is anybody in there? Hello?
Yeah, yeah! Can I use your phone?
What for? Please! I have to call an ambulance.
Oh, yeah, of course.
Out!
Move it, Rockford.
I'm telling you, this is some kind of mistake.
Now, wait a minute. Why are you doing this?
Just protecting an investment.
Get out of the way!
You hit him.
Hey, Burt, they must have heard those shots.
I just saw lights go on over there.
Let's go!
Yeah, but what about... Forget him, he's gone.
My nurse left a message for the lieutenant
and the lady said she'd be right down.
You are very lucky.
Just lucky.
Very lucky would have been none of this ever happening.
Put a dressing on that.
As soon as she gets a dressing on, you can leave.
I'll leave these for you.
Souvenir.
Thank you.
You all right, Jim?
Oh, yeah, yeah. I...
I thought it might be worse when I had them call you.
Well, what happened? Hey!
Well,
I got faked out.
A couple of guys drove me up to the mountain.
I got lucky.
Did you get a look at them?
Well, I'd recognize them.
And this is what you got me off the Hooper case for?
I'm sorry it's just a flesh wound, Dennis,
but it is my flesh!
They fired these into my body.
Just a couple inches over, I'd be into decomposition.
Hey, I'm...
I'm sorry, Jim. This Hooper case got me all fouled up.
You know, sometimes I wish I didn't even get promoted.
Here you go.
Oh, thank you.
You wanna know something that really clogs my engine?
Here we have Consuello Hooper, the Argentine playgirl,
found dead, and then on the same night,
we have Carol Calcote over a balcony.
Those are two different cases, Jim.
Yeah, but everywhere I go on the Carol Calcote investigation,
I keep stumbling over Consuello Hooper.
They're both BPs.
Fashion models and jet-setters know the same crowd.
And when both of them die on the same night,
doesn't it make you wanna scratch your head and wonder just a little?
Well, Dusen... Oh, well, Dusey, Dusey.
I really like Dusey, yeah.
I think what I like most about him is
the professional way he goes about an investigation.
You know, calling home to see if dinner's ready
and checking to see if the plumber has fixed the upstairs bathroom,
worrying that Dorie's worried that he's worried.
Okay, okay, so he's a little inexperienced.
You know, Dennis,
Carol was a Masters model.
Now, Consuello was often wardrobed by Masters.
Now, Consuello isn't the type just to go into the boutique
and try things on. I mean, she's going to get first-class treatment.
Are you trying to say that Carol and Masters
went over and popped Consuello?
Come on, you're really stretching that.
I'm not saying that.
Maybe they witnessed it.
Yeah, Masters could have killed Consuello.
Why?
Well, I don't know.
Maybe she didn't like his designs and he went crazy.
Hey, you gotta meet this guy, Dennis.
I don't buy it. Forget the coincidence and let Dusenberg handle it.
And I gotta get through to Stevie Hooper.
I was expecting that call over here.
I just hope that the switchboard is alert to it.
Dennis, I'm the only one working the homicide angle
on Carol Calcote's death.
That's why I picked up these.
Add some dice and boardwalk to that theory and we sell it to Parker Brothers.
Lieutenant Becker? What?
You have an overseas phone call from a Mr. Stevie Hooper.
That's it. Okay. That's it. All right.
Wooded Slopes Mortuary. That's right.
Did you handle the arrangements?
We prepared Consuello.
There must be hundreds waiting to say goodbye.
Actually, most of them are hoping to see Stevie Hooper.
Is everything all right? Oh, I hope so.
We usually follow up, but in this case,
our head cosmetologist, Keaton,
he went off the deep end a little.
He did some strange things, overdid the makeup.
Not exactly Raggedy Ann cheeks and smiles, but close.
I think we caught most of them.
Well, no one's complained.
What would they say?
We have our reputation to think of, we have an image.
Well, go ahead and take care of...
Thank you.
Monty,
your gown is magnificent.
Nice to see you again, Monty.
Are you staying for my collection?
Collection?
Your displays are accumulations.
Your gown for Consuello is appropriate.
You should design exclusively for the dead.
In my father's day, we would be in the bois with pistols.
You knew who he was?
Please, please, please.
Not another scene like the spring showing
at the Plaza Athénée in Paris.
Listen, Masters darling.
I know the gown you were designing would have been exquisite.
But there can be no jealousy between you and Monty.
I mean, it was in her will.
Pardon, madame.
Among couturier, you are considered a Schneider.
A Schneider? Hmm, excuse me a moment, will you?
Thank you so much.
I beg your pardon.
Oi, mate!
Where's Consuello?
Over here.
Does the bird look all right to take inside?
I'll tell you, bloody Stevie gets me in these bloody messes.
Oh, yeah. Stevie's not coming?
No, he sent me.
I'll tell you. The things I do for that bloke, mate,
fill a book. Bloody book.
Let's go.
Rockford.
I hardly expected you to be here.
In addition to everything else, I have just allowed myself
to become involved in a shabby little street brawl.
What are you doing here?
I thought you were watching Barucci's.
Just what I wanted to talk to you about.
Is there a chance that Barucci's in trouble with loan sharks?
Loan sharks? Don't be ridiculous.
Well, I know they're very active in the garment center,
a lot of high-risk businesses.
You know, they have very direct ways of protecting investments.
We're talking about haute couture,
not some sleazy ready-to-wear manufacturer.
Yeah, well, there's an expression.
"No matter how you cut it, it's still the rag business."
How's your cash situation?
I read where you closed some boutiques.
Have you had any calls from your money man, Mr. Bancroft, recently?
Pretty strange, huh?
Oh, maybe, maybe not.
What's that?
Dinner. I'll get mine.
Oh, well, that will be a real energy boost.
I'll just wolf this right down and go out and stop a freight train.
That, my dear, sir, is a fashion model's feast.
Go easy on the wheat thins.
That's gastronomically impossible.
Well, a real fashion model would have had saltless crackers,
but what the hell, let's splurge.
Why not?
I think I really got to Masters today.
So, when did he send out this cancellation notice?
5:30 by messenger.
That was after Consuello's wake.
Yeah, I suggested to him that he might be in a little loan shark trouble, so,
an hour later, he canceled the showing of his new line.
No notice. Just shutters the place and gets out of town.
But it doesn't say anything there about getting out of town.
Well, that probably comes later.
I keep wondering about this guy Bancroft.
I'll give Dennis a call.
See if he's gotten anything on him yet.
Lieutenant Becker, please.
Becker here. Hello, Dennis, this is Jim.
Have you got anything on this Bancroft, the banker?
Yeah. I got it right here. Where did this guy come from?
What do you mean?
Well, this guy's as much a banker as you're a jet pilot.
He's got a rap sheet here that trails sparks.
24 arrests, one conviction.
All the witnesses at his trials develop acute amnesia.
A real state-of-the-art loan shark,
complete with thumbscrews and a leather blackjack.
Why don't you try this one on Dusey?
Tell him my guess is that Masters is into Bancroft
for the money to put on the show.
Why? Well, the why isn't as important as the when.
But I figure that Bancroft wants his money back.
Oh, there's one other thing.
What? Well, Masters closed his show,
which means he won't be getting any revenue
from this year's new daring collection.
It's beginning to stink bad, Dennis.
You think you could take a moment and just glance it over?
That is, if Dusey hasn't filed it along with the Black Dahlia case.
I'll take a look at it, Jim.
You're a pal.
Now, the problem I'm having is figuring out
how you're gonna pay back the money you borrowed from me
unless you open the show.
Mr. Bancroft,
if I open it, I give the police and a lot of other people
a connection I don't wanna give them.
You see, I don't care whether you get stuck with the homicide rap.
You owe me half a million dollars.
You're gonna open the show.
I can't, Mr. Bancroft. They'll arrest me.
Looks like we're gonna have to escort Mr. Masters on stage.
You're gonna be my guest until tomorrow.
Now, you get on the phone and uncoil this thing.
I want everybody who got one of these contacted.
I killed two people, Mr. Bancroft.
I'll go to prison. It'll ruin the line.
This is a crazy society.
Used to be a guy would have got froze.
Now a guy pops 19 people in New York with a.44,
he sells his life story to the movies for a mil.
Crazy.
That's the world today.
Who knows? It might push sales through the roof.
All I know is I'm getting my money back.
Now, that's my world and that's all that counts.
I'm aware that your sensibilities have been buffeted about
with toy soldiers, punk rock residues, storm troopers.
I won't be showing you anything like that.
I'm taking us back to the clean line.
Past that point, if you will,
to the very clean line.
Antiseptically pure.
For that important luncheon or cocktails for two,
Carolyn wears a misty beige cashmere,
V-neck sweater dress, suede, belted at the hip.
Over this, the simplicity of an unconstructed
intern's jacket, double breasted with notched lapel.
The brown veiled hat and tan boots
contribute to the excitement of the look.
For high disco dash, Charlene features
the sexy silhouette of a dusty rose, silk jersey
bandeau halter and pants with matching gloves.
Over this, a forest green surgeon's gown,
becomes a low calf-length, disco coat with knit cuffs.
To tie it all together for the height of all clothes chic,
a jade green surgeon's cap worn pinched at the front,
veiled and flowered with matching operating mask,
which doubles as a disco bag.
This is awful. They're in hospital uniforms!
Seductive greens let you dress the part for dinner party or disco.
Angie wears a delightfully feminine forest green
technician's cap with floral trim
to contrast with the strict shape of her jade green cotton
scrub shirt and dark green scrub trousers,
a crush of violet chiffon at the waist, with a shock of gold
and jeweled overbelt are dramatic accents,
while a print cotton overdrape
brings the colors joyfully together.
This is insulting!
Please be patient.
This is a new direction.
It's the business of haute couture to be daring.
Shape and sensuousness are the key to Pat's disco look.
For sparkle and shine, black silk blouse,
black gabardine pants and veiled '40s hat
with rhinestone and feather encrusted top knot.
What makes it all very new and very now
is the full-length poplin lab coat.
This is awful. I've got to leave.
Liza, you were the very first woman I ever saw in gypsy skirts,
the very last, too.
Lieutenant Becker, please.
Also, on the afternoon slate...
Give me the desk sergeant, please.
...dress with disarming pussycat bow.
At the neck, steel blue and prune-clad wool vest
and matching gloves.
I like it. But not that much.
...cuffs, overall, freedom of a three-quarter felted
consultation jacket for strictly feminine appeal.
Margo! Take over! I'll be right back.
Lou's candy-striper is a perfect daytime look for shopping or resort wear,
teaming practicality and pizzazz.
The innocence of a softly-shaped pinafore
over unexpected hot pink blouse.
A casual cover of terry, wide-shouldered and belted veiled hat...
Masters!
Hey, Masters!
Freeze!
Everybody freeze! Stay where you are! Don't move!
Quite a little accessory, Masters.
I'm ruined, totally ruined!
Carol and Consuello are dead.
I'd say you're still ahead on points, pal.
All because of your incredible insanity over a fashion line.
Carol was so gorgeous.
Try and forget it, huh?
What do you say we have dinner?
My mouth is just watering for some wheat thins.
So, Masters took Carol to Consuello's house that night
to get her to try and get Consuello to wear his new collection.
Having someone like Consuello wear it would make it.
But she laughed at him.
Oh, well, there's no accounting for ego.
Personally, I can't see going Asiatic over a bunch of dresses.
A bunch of dresses! It was his whole life, his career.
When she said no, he knew he'd be destroyed.
It's just too bad that Carol was there to witness it.
Jim,
could you wear another jacket?
What's wrong with this one?
That shade of brown doesn't work with anything.
Matter of fact, I've never seen it
outside of Southern California.
Go pick one.
I'm sorry about the way I feel about clothes.
I never could have a meaningful relationship with any man
who owned a polyester leisure suit.
I don't have one. Go ahead and look.
Nehru jacket?
Oh, well, that. I've had that quite a while.
It still fits.
Maybe it'll come back.
Let's go with the brown jacket.
Right.