Basic Instinct

- Here we go, Nick. - All right.

- Good morning, Detective. - I want a shot of the two detectives.

Keep back, folks.

- Howdy. - Morning.

Up there.

- How's it going, Gus? - Morning, Pete.

- Who was this fucking guy? - Rock and roll, Gus. Johnny Boz.

- Never heard of him. - Before your time, cowboy.

- Hey, Ronny, where they hiding? - Upstairs, to the right.

Mid '60s, had five or six hits. Got a club down on Fillmore now.

Not now, he don't.

- Do we have a time of death? Almost.

- Do you guys know Captain Talcott? - Sure.

- What's the Chief's office doing here? - Observing.

- You get that stuff out of the wall? - I got it.

- What's it say, Doc? - Ninety-two degrees. About six hours.

Puts time of death at around 2:00 a.m.

Can somebody close the drapes over there?

Maid came in about an hour ago and found the body.

- She's not a live-in. - Maybe the maid did it.

She's 54 years old and weighs 240 pounds.

- No bruises on the body. - It ain't the maid.

Never know.

Sorry.

He was last seen leaving the club with his girlfriend about midnight.

- What was it? - Ice pick. Left it in the living room.

There's come stains all over the sheets.

- Very impressive. - He got off before he got off.

Gentlemen, this is sensitive.

Mr. Boz was a major contributor to the mayor's campaign.

He was chairman of the board of the Palace of Fine Arts.

I thought he was a rock and roll star.

He was a retired rock and roll star.

A civic-minded, very respectable rock and roll star.

Then, what's that over there?

Looks like civic-minded, very respectable cocaine.

Listen to me, Curran. I'm gonna get a lot of heat on this.

I don't want any mistakes.

What's Boz's girlfriend's name?

Catherine Tramell, 162 Divisadero.

Tied up like that, he didn't stand a chance.

- Always a pleasure, Captain. - He's up bright and early.

He doesn't usually punch in till after his 18 holes.

Johnny and the mayor must have been very tight.

Nick, keep your 3:00.

You want me to work the case...

- I said, keep it! - All right. I'll keep it.

Good morning. I'm Detective Curran. This is Detective Moran.

San Francisco Police Department. I'd like to speak to Catherine Tramell.

Come in.

Sit, please. Just a moment.

Ain't that cute? They got his and hers Picassos.

- I didn't know you knew a Picasso. - Sure I do. It says right here.

Hers is bigger.

Sorry to bother you. We just got a couple of questions.

- Are you vice? - No, we're homicide.

What do you want?

When was the last time you saw John Boz?

Is he dead?

Why do you think he's dead?

Well, you wouldn't be here otherwise, would you?

Were you with him last night?

You're looking for Catherine, not me.

- Who are you? - I'm Roxy.

I'm her friend.

Well, Roxy, do you know where your friend is?

She's out at the beach house at Stenson. Seadrift 1402.

Thanks.

You're wasting your time.

Catherine didn't kill him.

Gus.

Miss Tramell?

Good afternoon. I'm Detective Curran. This is Detective Moran.

- We're with the San Francisco Police... - I know who you are.

- So, how did he die? - He was murdered.

Obviously.

- How was he murdered? - With an ice pick.

How long were you dating him?

I wasn't dating him. I was fucking him.

What are you, a pro?

No, I'm an amateur.

- How long were you having sex with him? - About a year and a half.

- Were you with him last night? - Yes.

Did you leave the club with him?

- Yes. - Did you go home with him?

No. We had a drink at the club. We left together.

- He went home, and I came out here. - Was there anyone with you last night?

No. I wasn't in the mood last night.

Let me ask you something, Miss Tramell.

Are you sorry he's dead?

Yeah. I liked fucking him.

Look, I don't really feel like talking any more.

Listen, lady, we can do this downtown, if you want.

So read me my rights and arrest me and then I'll go downtown.

Otherwise, get the fuck out of here.

Please.

Nice girl.

I'm sorry, Beth. I got hung up in Stenson.

- How are you, Nick? - I'm fine.

Come on, Beth. You know I'm fine. How long do we have to keep doing this?

As long as Internal Affairs wants you to, I suppose.

- Have a seat. - It's bullshit. You know it is.

I know it is. But sit down, anyway, so we can get it over with, okay?

So, how are things?

Things are fine.

I told you, all right? Things are fine.

How is your personal life?

My sex life is fine.

My sex life is actually pretty shitty since I stopped seeing you.

I started developing calluses.

Sorry.

- How's the booze? - Haven't had a drink in three months.

- What about the coke? - No.

No. I'm working my ass off. I'm off the sauce.

I even stopped smoking.

How is not smoking?

It sucks.

Now, will you tell I.A. I'm just your average healthy, totally fucked up cop

and let me out of here, please?

Yes.

Thank you.

I still miss you, Nick.

- How are you doing? - Fine.

Talcott's in there. They're waiting. How did it go?

- She misses me. - Boy, when that girl mates, it's for life.

All right, let's start. Harrigan.

Well, we got 31 stab wounds, neck and the chest.

No usable prints, no forcible entry, nothing missing.

No prints on the ice pick, either. You can pick it up at any Kmart.

The scarf was Hermes. It's expensive. They sell about 20,000 a year, worldwide.

Bottle was cocaine. High quality, high content. He inhaled it.

There were minute quantities on his lips and penis.

Mr. Boz leaves $5 million. No direct survivors. No criminal record.

He liked his drugs. He liked his girls. He liked his rock and roll.

He liked the mayor too, right?

What about his girlfriend?

- Is she relevant here? Is she a suspect? - She's a suspect.

On what basis?

"Girlfriend: Catherine Tramell. Age 30. No priors. No convictions.

"Magna cum laude at Berkeley, 1983. Double major, literature and psychology.

"Daughter, sole survivor, Marvin and Elaine Tramell

"killed in a boating accident, 1979.

"Catherine Tramell, sole heir. Estimated assets, $110 million."

You're shitting me.

"Formerly engaged to Manuel Vasquez, deceased..."

Manny Vasquez?

Former middleweight contender. Killed in the ring, Atlantic City, 1984.

I love it. She's got 100 million bucks. She fucks fighters and rock and roll stars

and she's got a degree in screwing with people's heads.

You forgot about her degree in literature. She's a writer.

She published a novel under a pen name. Want to know what it's about?

It's about a retired rock and roll star who gets murdered by his girlfriend.

Page 67, cowboy.

You know how she does the boyfriend?

With an ice pick, in bed, his hands tied with a white silk scarf.

Dr. Garner.

I've asked Dr. Lamont to consult with us. This isn't really my turf.

Dr. Lamont teaches the pathology of psychopathic behaviour at Stanford

and also on the Justice Department Psychological Profile Team.

Dr. Lamont.

I see two possibilities.

One: The person who wrote this book is your murderer

and acted out the killing described in ritualistic, literal detail.

Two: Someone who wants to harm the writer read the book

and enacted the killing described to incriminate her.

What if the writer did it? Then what are we dealing with?

You're dealing with a devious, diabolical mind.

You see, this book had to have been written at least six months,

maybe even years, before it was published

which means the writer must have planned the crime in the subconscious back then.

Now, the fact that she carried it out indicates psychopathic obsessive behaviour

in terms not only of the killing itself

but also in terms of the applied advance defense mechanism.

Sometimes I can't tell shit from Shinola, Doc.

What was all that you just said?

- She intended the book to be her alibi. - Correct.

She's going to say, "Do you think I'd be dumb enough

"to kill anyone in the exact way I described in my book?"

I wouldn't do that because I know I'd be the suspect.

So, what if it's not the writer? What if it's someone who read the book?

You're dealing, then, with someone so obsessed

that he or she is willing to kill an irrelevant and innocent victim

in order to place the blame on the person who wrote that book.

I'm talking about a deep-seated obsessional hatred

and an utter lack of respect for human life.

So, we got a once in a lifetime, top of the line looney-tuney.

That's what you're saying, right, Doc?

You're dealing with someone very dangerous and very ill.

You know there's no case here. You've got no physical evidence.

- She hasn't got an alibi. - She hasn't got a motive, either.

Believe me her defense would just beat us to death with this copycat thing.

Anybody who read the book could have done it.

- What do you want to do now? Nothing? - We call her in for questioning.

She's got enough money to burn the department down...

She was the last person seen with the guy. I'll take the responsibility.

It's yours.

It won't do any good.

She'll just waltz in with some superstar lawyer

who'll get us all canned for wasting the taxpayers' money.

- That's exactly what she'll do. - No, she won't.