Sweetheart, it's just me.
You shouldn't sneak up on me like that
when I'm writing.
Let me have a peek.
I thought you said you were going to your lecture.
I wanted to see my wife before I go.
Give my new bride a kiss good-bye.
Honey, Dan, stop.
Rachel hasn't gone to bed yet.
Lookit. Now I have hair like Mommy's!
Rachel, sweetie, you have beautiful hair.
red hair runs in your family
doesn't it, Nancy?
Really, Mommy?
My mother had red hair, but yours
is even prettier.
Where is she?
In heaven, sweetheart.
She died when I was a baby.
But guess what?
I think it's somebody's bedtime.
Go with Annette.
I'll be up in a minute to say good night.
Did you hear that?
Nancy, we've talked about this.
I'm telling you I keep hearing these noises, Dan.
It's an old house, Nance.
I think they're coming from the attic.
There are no monsters in the attic, I promise.
You know, you should save
all that imagination for your writing.
I don't know how you hear anything with the racket
that typewriter makes anyway.
None of it's any good.
Give yourself a chance.
And promise me
you won't let a few bumps scare you?
What's up with Cyndi Lauper?
Can we help you with something?
You're, like, the cops that investigate
really old murder cases, right?
Detectives, actually. Rush,
- Valens. - My name's Liza.
I have something I want to show you.
My grandma Nancy Patterson was found hung in her attic
in 1962.
A suicide.
That's what everyone said,
but the people that live in the house now
are renovating the upstairs, and... they found this note.
"I must end it, my dearest, my butterfly.
"Only in death will I find peace.
"I hope in time
you'll forgive me. "
It's a suicide note.
But that's not
my grandma's handwriting.
Grandma Nancy wrote on the back of all of our old photosLook.
You guys can test it, can't you?
You have special instruments or something?
What about your parents?
They think your grandmother wrote this?
My mom doesn't like me to talk about Grandma Nancy.
She was only five
when she died.
Tough to lose a parent at that age.
It's like she never got over it.
Well, we'll take a look.
No promises.
Thank you.
I ain't an expert, but
the handwriting don't look the same to me.
The note definitely sounds like a good-bye.
If Nancy didn't write it, who did?
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Questioned Documents confirmed handwriting on the suicide note
wasn't Nancy's.
Strangulation could have happened before the hanging.
Note tell us anything else?
There's no latent prints,
but the date of the paper checked out.
The note's at least 30, 40 years old.
Nancy's daughter Rachel Patterson
found the body.
Had a bad dream thatight. Went looking for her mom.
Hell of a thing
- living with that your whole life. - Nancy's husband
Daniel Patterson was working late when it happened.
Professor Daniel Patterson?
Are you familiar?
Patterson was a state Poet Laureate.
I take it that means he was good?
"Hollow. No escape from the dark. I sit alone.
In empty rooms. "
I hadn't really pegged you
as a poetry type, boss.
Not me.
The ex-wife.
I thought poetry was supposed to rhyme.
Apparently, he's still giving lectures as a professor emeritus
of literature at Powell University.
Where he met Nancy.
One of his students?
Try secretary.
Her first husband died
in a car crash.
Left Nancy with a kid to support on her own.
Nancy married Patterson
in '61. Went back to being a homemaker.
He had a much bigger house.
Daniel Patterson told police
his wife started acting paranoid shortly after
they moved in.
Anybody benefit from Nancy's death?
There was no life insurance, no inheritance.
No leads.
Have a talk with the husband. The daughter, too.
Maybe they can shed someight.
Liza shouldn't have
bothered you about this.
It's what we do.
Well, my mother killed herself
long time ago.
- There's a chance she didn't. - A chance?
So you don't know for certain then?
Mom, at least look at the note.
I've seen the note, Liza.
It changes nothing.
I- I'm sorry, but I don't see the point.
Losing your mom
like that, hard to accept.
But I did, and I've moved on.
Honey, you shouldn't be here.
Mom, come on.
Your daughter just wants to help.
Detective, my mother was very disturbed,
and I've had to accept that whatever made her that way
might be in us.
You and Liza, you mean.
I made it past my 27th birthday.
What about my daughter?
It's the age your mother was when she died.
Everybody assumes that I want to... bury this,
but I have to live with it every day.
And your stepdad?
Daniel?
He, uh, sent me off to a boarding school
as soon as I was old enough...
probably because I reminded him of her.
So it was just the three of you in the house mostly?
No, daniel was away a lot
trying to meet a deadline
for his book or lecture...
Then it was just you alone with your mom that night?
Yeah, we were alone a lot.
But she was always hearing strange sounds.
One... two... three...
four...
five... six...
seven... eight... nine...
ten. Ready or not, here I come!
I can hear you!
Rachel, are you in the attic?
I told you I don't want you going in the attic.
Rachel?
Oh, sweetie, what are you doing in here?
You could suffocate.
I wanted a good place to hide!
I don't want you coming up here anymore.
Promise me.
Why, Mommy?
Come on. Let's go.
What's wrong, Mommy?
Shh-shh-shh!
Shh! There's someone out there.
Mommy,'m scared.
Hush, shh-shh-shh!
Who's out there, Mommy?
No one.
Who locked it?
Oh, um...
the door must have jammed. That's all.
Uh, it's okay, sweetie. Come here.
Mommy's just out of sorts.
But we're okay. We're okay. No one's here.
Someone was in the house?
No, I think that she probably knocked the vase over
before she went in.
I'm late for a meeting.
Someone was in your house.
I've got a deadline.
Maybe someone who had a problem with your mother,
a grudge, an argument maybe.
I told you, detective, the problem was in my mother's head.
Look, I know it's hard, Rachel. Think back...
Thanks for you time, Rael..
We'll be in touch.
I can't change what my mother did.
That's the past.
Let it stay there.
For years I searched for an explanation.
Something that'd make sense.
Nothing ever did till now.
You said Nancy had been acting a little paranoid.
No one had a word
for what was happening to Nancy then... or a cure.
Electroshock therapy,
lobotomies?
It was seen as shameful- insanity.
Gotta ask,
Professor, but maybe that someone
she was afraid of was you.
I loved my wife. I didn't kill her.
Plus I was never
around, really.
I was on a deadline, spent all my nights here.
Deadline for this book?
My collection of poetry: Empty Rooms.
It was going to be my gift to her,
my attempt to capture her spirit,
see the world through her eyes.
She died before it was published.
Such a fool...
spending my time writing about the woman I loved
instead of being with her.
Sounds like Nancy spent a lot
of time home alone.
That's why I hired Annette.
Annette?
Our housekeeper.
Annette have keys to the house?
Yes.
She's the only one outside the family who did.
The attic, too?
Yes, but you don't think...
We'll need her last name.
Also, a sample
of your handwriting.
Of course.
It sounds strange,
but somehow knowing she didn't do it herself...
is a relief.
Nancy had been so blessed.
Hard to believe someone wanting to hurt her.
You had been working
for the Pattersons for several months.
Yes, I started shortly
after they were married.
And you had keys
to the house- the attic?
Really now, you don't think
I had something to do with what happened?
Professor Patterson trusted me.
And you respected him.
He was a gentleman. Kind.
Sure you weren't holding a torch, Annette?
Professor Patterson only had eyes for his wife.
She was a beautiful woman.
Full of life.
Until she started slipping.
That's what we all believed.
Not you, Annette?
There was one incident
that I had trouble explaining away.
Ma'am?
The page I typed last night-
It was right here, in my typewriter.
You're sure Rachel hasn't been playing with my things?
I'm sure, Mrs. Patterson.
I put Rachel to bed. I should be going now.
Good night.
Wait, Annette!
Did you lock all the windows and doors?
Of course.
- The back door, too? - Yes.
Did you feel that?
That breeze?
Oh, my God.
I don't understand.
I locked everything...
Mrs. Patterson?
"Death lurks in the corners of your past,
leaving her marks about your neck?"
Drummond.
That name mean anything to you?
First time I ever heard it.
Long time ago.
Maybe your memory's a little fuzzy.
My memory's sharp as a tack. Thank you.
Sounds like whoever
this Drummond was,
he was obsessed with Nancy.
There was a man once,
parked out in front of the house in a brown woodie.
A station wagon.
Buick, I think.
He was just sitting there, staring up at the study.
You never mentioned this.
Everybody said she killed herself.
So why would I?
Any leads on a brown station wagon?
Well, according to the DMV
there were at least a hundred of them in the city in '62.
Any of them belong to a Drummond?
Nope. And the only Drummonde found
was a 98-year-old man in a rest home.
But we did find this.
Brown Buick station wagon was issued a speeding ticket
not more than two blocks from Nancy's house.
Turns out Speedy was one of Patterson's students.
A Bruce Davies.
We thought this Bruce
might be connected to Drummond.
A nickname... another student maybe.
Took a look at some yearbooks and school newspapers.
Found this.
Picture from the spring social.
Bruce Davies with his sweetheart Nancy.
Nancy married Daniel Patterson
less than a year after this was taken.
Ol' Bruce got the heave-ho.
????
Philly Homicide.
Like to talk with Bruce Davies.
Are you Mrs. Davies? Me?
No. Name's Belle.
I might've been somebody's wife if the job
paid better. I work here.
Help out with the cooking and cleaning.
Something tells me you haven't always
been cooking and cleaning.
I spent a lot of good
years dancing, too.
I'll bet.
Still know how to bring a smile to a man's face.
Talkin' about my cooking, of course.
Of course.
This way.
Police want to have
a word with you, Mr. Davies.
The police?
Make a mean apple pie.
And you look like a man that appreciates good pie.
� la mode.
What is this about?
Nancy Patterson. You knew her.
- Haven't heard that name in years. - What about
the name Drummond? That ring any bells?
No. Should it?
We'll need you
to come down, provide a writing sample.
Why?
Because
we think Nancy was murdered.
You two dated, right?
She was a secretary in the English Department
when I was a grad student. So what?
So she kicked you to the curb and married Daniel.
But that wasn't the end of it.
You sat outside in your car
for hours, pining away.
I was pining away, all right, but not for Nancy,
or for that dowdy housekeeper of hers.
Two down, gentlemen, one to go.
You were pining for the husband?
They didn't have a name for that in '62.
They do now.
I was his lovelorn grad student.
Tragic, really.
Sayin' it was a two-way street?
- You and the professor? - In my dreams.
Professor Patterson barely knew I existed.
Doesn't mean you didn't kill off the competition.
I was interviewing for a teaching post
in Cincinnati the night she died.
You can check.
We will.
I was truly sorry when I heard about Nancy.
Never believed it.
Suicide, I mean.
Why's that?
Something was going on in that house...
something strange.
Well, Bruce,
my advice is simple to a young poet.
Let nothing come between you and the page.
Is that why you prefer writing everything longhand, Professor?
The truest connection, really.
Because when the muse speaks to you,
she does in a whisper.
Or a scream.
Pardon me.
I don't know what made me say that.
Could it be your muse
is a banshee?
Of course
I don't write. Not really.
- Not like my husband does. - Actually,
Nancy is a voracious reader.
Seems she's read nearly every book
- in my library. - Oh, and somehow manages
to make delightful pigs in a blanket.
I better check on Rachel.
Excuse me. Please.
Nancy grew up an orphan,
so she got a late start on the great works.
But it's just made her curious about all that she's missed.
Speaking of great works,
I heard that your collection is coming out next spring.
My editor paid you to say that, didn't he?
Well, it's a good problem to have, Professor-
people waiting with bated breath for your next project.
Well, don't hold your breath for too long.
The muse can be as unpredictable as my wife.
You'll give us a preview,
won't you? Of your collection?
You're not going to make us wait.
Well, if I shared it now,
that would just spoil the anticipation.
Daniel!
Nancy?
Nancy...?
What the hell?
Daniel.
Professor Patterson asked for me to be discreet.
His wife's problems, you see.
He said it must've been a misunderstanding.
Some misunderstanding.
I respected him,
so I never spoke of it again.
Been holding out on us,
- Professor. - Kinda thing makes us
suspicious.
What are you talking about?
Forgot to, uh, clue us in
on the dinner party.
The noose in the attic.
Doesn't make a lot of sense.
You keepin' that quiet.
- It didn't mean anything. - Really?
Someone breaking into your house,
stringing up a noose,
doesn't mean anything?
I couldn't believe it at the time.
And after she died? What about then?
It only made matters worse.
Why?
Because you didn't do anything to stop it?
No. Because I believed her.
We need to go to the police.
And tell them what? There has to be
some rational
explanation for this.
Someone was in our house.
You saw it with your own eyes!
- What more do you want? - It just doesn't make any sense.
I mean who would do a thing like that?
I don't know!
I'm so scared, Daniel.
You're always gone and I'm left here alone.
What do you expect from me?
I expect you to believe me.
I do.
I'm sorry.
We'll go to the police.
Together.
You...
Give me the keys. I'll drive.
Um...
What...
What's the matter, Nancy?
You bought rope?
I don't understand, Daniel.
"Nancy Patterson. " That's your signature.
I didn't. I...
I- I didn't buy that.
Did...
did I?
Nancy bought the rope?
I wanted there to be another explanation.
And when you came to me...
I thought maybe there was.
Cops had it right
the first time.
Nancy did herself in.
????
So we've been chasing our tails on this one, huh?
Great,
'cause I got nothin' better to do with my time.
Well, Nancy locked herself and Rachel in the attic,
put the note in the typewriter,
hung up the noose at the party.
That's some kinda crazy.
Well, maybe she went into a fugue state.
Forgot she did any of it.
So that's that, huh?
Job's open and shut.
Well, pretty much, yeah.
And what about Drummond?
That "death lurks" message he left?
Looney Tunes made him up.
Hey, hey, hey, hey.
Hey.
Can't you read?
Since when is milk private property?
Saving it, all right?
For what?
Apple pie, maybe?
Just keep your hands off of it.
Most of the women in this book
just don't seem like the type to leave
- without saying good-bye. - Aren't you forgetting the suicide note?
It wasn't hers.
Or her husband's,
or the housekeeper's,
or Bruce's.
So who wrote it?
It ain't an exact science.
Oh, that's your explanation?
Drop it, Scotty.
It's bad enough we rocked the boat with the family, you know?
She didn't write that note, Nick.
This isn't about you, Scotty.
Or Esasa.
Or is it?
You're talking about the woman that hung herself.
Yeah, Nancy Patterson- you heard about her?
Impossible not to.
Grandpa Hal told that story a million times.
Crazy lady that came into the store,
bought the rope that she hung herself with.
And your grandpa was the one that sold it to her?
- You sure about that? - Yeah.
She didn't believe him, either.
- What do you mean? - She came back in
after buying the rope, asking all these weird questions.
Questions like what?
Same ones you're asking now.
Excuse me.
May I help you?
My name is Nancy Patterson,
and I think there's been a mistake
on my husband's account.
What kind of mistake?
I don't recognize one of the charges.
Let's take a look.
Patterson...
Huh...
That's your signature, right?
Oh, but that... that's impossible.
How's that?
I've never set foot in this store until this very day.
Maybe it just slipped your mind.
No, it didn't slip my mind!
- That can't be! - I saw you myself,
miss, with these very eyes
wearing the same hat you're wearing now.
Maybe you just forgot.
Yes.
Maybe.
Miss Patterson...
forgot your pen, too,
last time you were here.
It is yours, right?
The pen had the name
- "Drummond" on it? - Yeah.
The cuckoo's nest.
Wait, Drummond's a mental hospital?
Over in Olney. Closed down in the '80s.
My grandpa heard Mrs. Patterson was kind of spacey, but...
apparently she was, you know,
A week later she was dead.
You were a nurse
at Drummond Mental Hospital back in '62?
Head nurse, over 30 years.
But Drummond's
been closed a long time.
We tracked down the employment records.
Hoped to find someone who might know something about this woman.
I remember her like it was yesterday.
You knew Nancy Patterson?
No, not really.
I was working the front desk
when she came in, claiming she was being followed.
Even had a pen as proof of it.
So Nancy did visit Drummond?
- Yes, she did. - We think someone
associated with the hospital might have killed her.
She said she was being
followed, Edna?
Yes, that's what she said.
And she thought it was a patient
or someone who worked at Drummond?
The only thing following Nancy was her past.
I need to speak to someone immediately.
Someone has been
following me, pretending to be me.
Do I know you?
You're the spitting image of her.
- Of-of who? - Your mother.
- What? I, I don't understand. - I was her nurse
- for years. - Oh, no, you must be mistaken.
Um, my mother, she died
in childbirth.
You never got the note,
- did you, Nancy? - What note?
How did you know my name?
She left a note
addressed to "my dearest, my butterfly. "
I'd always assumed that was you.
It was you,
wasn't it?
What was my mother doing here?
No one told you?
Told me what?
T- told me what?!
Your mother was a patient here.
No, no, I told you she died in childbirth.
You were so young, Nancy, just a little girl...
You're lying!
If she's here, where?
Where is she?
I found her in the storeroom one morning.
No...
She hung herself from the rafters.
I never should've told her like that.
I just couldn't believe
she didn't know about her own mother.
Who died just like Nancy.
With a noose around her neck.
The suicide note Nancy's granddaughter brought in
belonged to Nancy's mother.
Nancy must've took it from the mental hospital.
She didn't.
Somebody else signed out her mother's medical file.
Check out the signature.
Nancy Patterson, so?
That's not Nancy's handwriting.
You're saying someone forged her signature?
Probably the same
somebody who forged the receipt
- at the hardware store. - And guess who that was?
Annette, the housekeeper.
Handwriting's a perfect match to this.
Locked door, message on the typewriter,
noose in the attic... she set it all up.
With one goal in mind.
Drive Nancy insane.
??? who had everything you didn't.
Nice big house, cute kid...
good-looking husband.
I was satisfied with my life.
Alone in your two-room apartment?
Early '60s, a woman was expected to marry,
have a family.
Wasn't in the cards for some of us.
Maybe you had your heart set
on someone in particular.
I told you.
Professor Patterson was in love with his wife.
But if she wasn't
- in the picture... - Who better
to fill her shoes...
than you?
He'd never think of me that way.
You were around the same age, you and Nancy.
From similar neighborhoods.
Very little difference between you.
Except Nancy was beautiful.
I don't know if I could do it,
mopping floors for a woman
lucky enough to catch a man like that.
You wouldn't have to, would you?
Women like you, you take everything for granted.
- Women like me? - You bat your eyelashes,
smile sweet,
get whatever you want.
Oh, everything comes easy, right?
Like it did with Nancy?
You thought you could have her committed.
- Get her out of the way. - Nonsense.
You knew about Drummond.
I don't know that place.
Who said it was a place?
Oh, you went there.
Forged her signature,
signed out her mother's file.
Went to the hardware store, too.
It was for their own good.
Who? Rachel? Daniel?
That why you killed her?
- To protect them? - That woman was dangerous.
Sorry, I didn't realize you were here, ma'am.
Mrs. Patterson?
They put her away because she
nearly killed me.
Locked me in a closet.
I was seven.
She left me a note.
And I just can't help but think
is it happing to me?
Am I slipping?
Where's Rachel?
She woke up almost an hour ago.
Said the two of you
were going to play hide-and-seek.
Rachel, sweetie?
Rachel?!
Rachel, sweetie?!
Rachel!
Ra... Rachel!
Help me! Help me, please!
I'm so sorry.
I might've done a lot of things,
but I did not put that key in her pocket.
You had nothing
to do with Rachel being in that trunk?
I would never hurt that little girl.
I wanted to drive Nancy
from the house, that was all, I swear.
A fragile woman pushed to her death.
Someone I got to see.
I, uh...
I owe you an apology.
I know when you don't get a "good-bye,"
or at least one that makes sense,
it stays with you.
It stays either way.
Doesn't it, Detective?
Yeah.
It does.
I hoped it'd turn out different for you.
Yeah, me, too.
My mother did say good-bye,
you know?
She did?
Yeah, I just didn't know it at the time.
Are you crying, Mommy?
No.
If you're scared, you can sleep here with me.
Oh...
You are my very best little girl.
You know that, right?
I'll do anything to protect you.
Anything, and I want you
to remember that no matter what,
Mommy loves you very, very much.
I love you too, Mommy.
Wait!
Lookit, for you.
For me?
Oh, and Rachel has red hair.
Like your mommy.
Rachel, where did you get this paper?
This is the page I was missing- my poetry.
Where did you get it?
It was in Daddy's things.
In Daddy's things?
Where?
In the attic.
You still have that drawing?
Of course.
I never threw it out.
I'd forgotten what she said
to me that night until now-
that I was her very best little girl.
You sure it was Nancy's poem on the back of that paper?
That's what my mother said.
It was hers.
"Hollow.
"No escape from the dark.
I sit. "
"Alone in empty rooms. "
Poetry ain't really my thing, but I got to admit...
this one got to me.
It was translated
into seven languages.
Critics said it was infused
with your wife's spirit.
It was. I dedicated it to her.
Didn't really see you as the type to write like this.
- What do you mean? - Well, this poem
is about...
frailty,
people on the fringes, lost hope.
Nancy knew a lot about that.
Didn't she?
Uneducated, orphaned by her mother,
widowed,
raising a kid on her own.
She didn't have an easy time of it.
The worst part is
she never got the credit she deserved.
I'm afraid I'm not following.
This...
was infused with your wife's spirit
'cause she wrote the damn thing.
That's preposterous.
Then what was Nancy's original
doing in the attic in your desk?
It's not Nancy's original.
It's mine.
You didn't use a typewriter.
Remember, the muse and all?
She, she typed it for me.
You son of a bitch,
she's the one who should be tting behind that desk
- and you know it. - Nonsense.
You had a deadline;
your career was at stake;
and you couldn't write a thing, could you?
Who better to steal from than the real talent living
- in your house? - She stole from me!
That's what you told yourself,
- how you slept at night. - You made her out to be nuts
so you could steal her work and make it your own.
You got poor, dumb, lovelorn Annette in on the plan, too.
It's a perfect solution.
Nancy's daughter
spent her entire life afraid she might go crazy, too;
beating herself up, thinking she was the one
who pushed her mother over the edge.
But it was you.
I was so desperate.
People expected so much from me.
I had no choice!
Why your wife?
Why steal from her?
Had to be other writers around, other students.
You still don't get it, do you?
Get what?
How good Nancy was.
Nance?
Nancy?
Daniel.
Nancy.
- What are you doing up here? - I'm confused.
I know. You need rest.
- Come to bed. - I'm confused about who you are.
- What? - Only a monster
would use this against me.
You're the one who's lost his mind.
You shouldn't have come up here.
You took my words.
- You took me. - You know what my first professor said about me?
He said my pen must have been touched by the gods.
He said my potential was unlimited.
- What's wrong with you, Daniel? - He was wrong.
All I had was potential, nothing more.
I have craft
and diligence and a PhD,
and it's amounted to a thousand pages of mediocrity.
I'm going downstairs to Rachel.
As I toiled in the dark, where were the gods then?
Where were they?
With a secretary.
This is genius.
Written by a daughter of the state?
- That's what you hate, isn't it? - You couldn't have done this.
You couldn't have written this, not you!
But I did.
I did write it, Daniel.
No, you didn't. I did.
It's mine. You stole it from me.
My pen has been touched by the hand of God.
Oh!
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