Confess, Fletch

The Red Sox are taking on the Yankees at Fenway Park.

Five stars.

Hmm.

Oh.

Boston police.

Hi, this is I. M. Fletcher calling from 5 Union Park.

- Yeah, and? -There's a murdered woman downstairs.

-There's a what woman? -Murdered.

Well, uh, this is just a general precinct line.

If you're scheduling a meeting or something like that.

Yeah, well, this is just a courtesy call.

A courtesy call? You got a murder, you call 911.

Well...

...the emergency part's kind of over, you know?

Well, this isn't the murder department.

Can you just tell homicide? It's 5 Union Park.

They like murders. They'll be interested.

Uh, whoops.

-You Fletcher? -Yes.

I'm Sergeant Inspector Monroe.

Inspector? Like in Scotland Yard?

-This is Griz. -Hello, Mr. Fletcher.

Please, my mother calls me Mr. Fletcher.

-You can call me Fletch. -Did you have a piece of fruit?

I had a pear. How did you know?

There's obviously a piece missing.

Griz, check the front door.

Okay.

-What's your full name? -I. M. Fletcher.

Hmm. I am Monroe.

Full name, please.

Irwin Maurice Fletcher.

They caught me in the middle of a yawn.

They wouldn't let me retake it. Can you imagine that?

What'd you hit her with?

I didn't hit her with anything.

This your place?

Well, I'm renting it for a couple of weeks.

It's owned by a guy named Owen Tasserly.

Rather opulent for just one person.

Well, before you get the idea that I'm some rich asshole, I'm not.

My girlfriend has the money. She arranged this.

Where is she? Rome.

Where I just flew back in from.

Um, I checked the front entrance.

There's a key deadlock and there's a sliding bolt

and no footprints and no forced entry.

Nice job, Griz. Take five.

What's your girlfriend's name?

Andy. Angela.

Andy Angela. Write that down, Griz.

It's Angela de Grassi. You kill her too?

May I remind you that I reported this murder

and waited for you all to arrive?

You been drinking long? Oh, geez,

I had my first beer when I was 12.

Mmm.

Here you go, Griz.

I'm not your waitress.

No, I understand that, but I thought maybe you'd like my fingerprints.

-See? Cooperating. -Mmm.

Hey, um, guy-- Sorry, I don't know your name. Evidence?

Do you need a blanket?

You know what, Griz?

Why don't you ask Mr. Fletcher some questions.

You're gonna have the trainee interrogate me?

Go ahead, Griz.

Go ahead, Griz.

Okay. Um...

Um... ...Mr. Fletcher,

did you know the victim, Laurel Goodwin?

Mm-mmm. We never offer up the victim's name.

It's Griz's turn.

Never met her. At least not while she was alive.

- What flight were you on? - Alitalia.

I landed at 8:46 p.m.

But you didn't call the police until 11:09.

Well, I stopped and had dinner at the Warren Tavern on the way in.

Can you produce proof of that? A receipt, perhaps?

I paid cash.

What do you do for a living? -I'm a freelance journalist.

I've spent the last two years traveling Europe writing about art.

Quite the art collection Mr. Tasserly has.

Yeah.

Paul Klee out there. A Degas horse.

I saw a Warhol over there by the fish tank.

See, this is my theory.

I think the victim interrupted an art theft.

The thief got spooked, bonked her over the head and then ran.

No amateur sleuthing, please.

Listen, I used to be a investigative reporter of some repute.

I could be very helpful in this whole matter.

I used to play the trumpet in high school.

I never offered advice to Miles Davis.

Shut up and talk.

That's a very confusing combination of commands.

Mr. Fletcher, why are you in Boston?

I'm researching a book. The definitive biography of Edgar Arthur Tharp Jr.

The cowboy painter.

-You've heard of him. -I prefer Remington.

You would.

Go on, Griz. Okay. Where was I?

Sorry, I'm so distracted by Mr. Fletcher's feet.

Come on, Griz. Feet want to be free.

I see you two have been brainwashed by the shoe lobby.

My Go-- Okay, look, Mr. Fletcher.

If you did kill this young woman, a confession would be appreciated.

I have a baby at the house. Do you have a baby at your house?

I really could use some sleep.

Okay, Inspector, you know there's such a thing as paternity leave, right?

So, you're a journalist, traipsing all over Europe?

-You really make a living doing that? -Yeah, I make a decent one.

No secondary forms of income from more unsavory lines of work?

Writing for in-flight magazines is about as unsavory as it gets.

You got some place you can stay? We're gonna need 24 hours to do a full sweep.

I don't know. Right here's okay.

Are you sure there's nothing you're hiding from me, Mr. Fletcher?

Come on, Inspector. I'm an open book.

Mr. Fletcher? Yes.

Thank you for meeting me, Miss de Grassi.

Would you like something, sir?

Uh, are you paying?

A negroni, please.

-Madame, another one? -No, thank you.

So, how is the Count Clementi Arbogastes de Grassi?

My father is fine.

But I don't understand why he hired you to find his stolen paintings.

Who are you? I'm a freelance journalist.

Uh, your father liked a piece I wrote about an art theft

at the Royal Museum in Brussels.

My story helped the police crack the case.

Good for you, but you're not a detective.

No, but I was an investigative reporter of some repute.

I don't do much of that anymore. Why?

It's an occupation that's been cheapened by the digital age, like president.

Well, I wasn't at my father's villa when the paintings were stolen,

so I don't have any new information.

Well, that's okay. I do.

You do? Tell me.

There's an art dealer in Boston named Ronald Horan.

He's already sold two of your father's Renaissance paintings.

-The Bellini and the Perugino. -Are you serious? H-How would he have them?

Well, I have no idea.

He might not even know that they were stolen.

Do you think he has the other paintings? All nine were taken.

He very well might.

The Picasso was appraised at 20 million dollars.

Well, that hardly seems worth stealing. Grazia.

Excuse me, I changed my mind. I'll have another.

So, what are you going to do now?

Well, I'd thought I'd visit Mr. Horan in Boston

and see if he had any ties to Rome or the black market in the art world.

How can I help, Mr. Fletcher?

You don't need to be so formal.

What should I call you?

All of my friends call me...

Fletch!

I want to swim in your eyes.

Like a...

...piss.

Like a piss?

No, like a pisciata, like a pool.

My Italian is very good.

No. No. No.

So what do you know about this Ronald Horan?

On his Facebook page, I found out he teaches an art history class at Harvard.

He's a member of the Mayflower Yacht Club

and he's really into EDM, electronic dance music.

Had his gallery broken into in 2015.

They stole some Impressionist paintings, um...

I really haven't found anything incriminating.

Sometimes I wonder i-if my father's new wife,

the Countess de Grassi, as she loves to call herself,

if somehow she's involved.

I don't trust her, Fletch, and I know she married papa for his money.

Well, Andy, that's pretty cynical.

Well, maybe she married him for love...

of money.

How did you end up in Europe?

Was it because of a woman?

Two actually. My ex-wives said they needed space,

so I figured 6,000 miles is about right.

Wow, how is it that you were married twice?

I am very easy to fall in love with.

I'm very good at falling in love. Not so good at choosing.

How so? Well, I've fallen in love with married men,

pathological liars, two drug dealers

and a pyromaniac.

Well, now, see, I'm only one or two of those things.

Your famine creates traffic jams.

Please, no more Italian.

- Ignore it. - Mm-hmm.

Okay.

We need to speak to Madam Angela de Grassi.

Has something happened to my father?

I'm afraid so.

He has been kidnapped.

All we know is that it was three men with guns.

They put your father into a car and drove off.

They put the priest in the machine?