8mm Page #6

Welles has the 8MM FILM threaded into his photo enlarger,

projecting the IMAGE we just saw down onto the baseboard.

He re-frames, CLOSER ON the masked Man's hand, REFOCUSING...

the black spot is a little clearer, looks like a small STAR

tattoo on the back of Masked Man's hand.

INT. MISSING PERSONS ARCHIVE, FILE ROOM -- DAY

Welles sits hunched over the card catalog, still unshaven,

drinking coffee, flipping through smaller PICTURES of

MISSING CHILDREN in one drawer, one by one by one...

Welles rolls his neck. He looks to see the archive's

director in the doorway. The director nods, leaving.

Welles gets back to it, stooped over the catalog.

FADE TO BLACK:

TITLE CARD:
three weeks later

EXT. OFFICE BUILDING, MISSING PERSON ARCHIVE -- DAY

In the lot, Welles gets wearily from his car, smoking. He

tosses the cigarette, gets a Thermos off the front seat.

INT. MISSING PERSON ARCHIVE, FILE ROOM -- DAY

Welles pulls out a card catalog drawer labeled "North

Carolina 1992," flipping through picture cards. The FACES

of TEENAGERS:
a happy BOY with blue eyes... a red headed

GIRL with freckles... a ruddy faced BOY... a pretty GIRL

with a ribbon in her hair... a black GIRL in a pink dress...

a blonde haired BOY with curly hair...

Welles furrows his brow.

He backtracks to the pretty GIRL with the ribbon in her hair.

Welles sits straight. He reaches into his pocket, hands

shaking a little, takes out and unfolds the PHOTO he printed

of the girl from the snuff film. It's her.

Welles compares the two pictures. She's prettier in the

card catalog photo, but it's her.

Welles can't believe it, looks around. Secretaries at other

files don't even know he's there. Welles pulls out his

notepad, scribbling down INFORMATION off the card...

Writing the girl's name: "Mary Anne Matthews."

EXT. INTERSTATE HIGHWAY -- NIGHT

Welles, car races past, alone on the dark freeway.

EXT. FAYETTEVILLE CITYSCAPE -- ESTABLISHING -- DAY

Another small city. Blue skies above.

TITLE:
Fayetteville, North Carolina

EXT. PUBLIC LIBRARY -- ESTABLISHING -- DAY

Suburban library. Kids play hop-scotch in the parking lot.

INT. FAYETTEVILLE LIBRARY, MICROFICHE ROOM -- DAY

Welles works the MICROFICHE MACHINE, scrolling through old

issues of the LOCAL NEWSPAPER, finds an ARTICLE headlined

"Search Continues for Local Teen."

There's a PICTURE of the GIRL, Mary Anne Mathews; the same

picture Welles found in the Missing Person Archive.

Welles reads the article, writing on a LEGAL PAD.

TIME CUT:

NEWSPRINT SCROLLS past on the MICROFICHE MACHINE, till...

"No Leads in Girl's Disappearance." Same picture.

The date at the top: "July 12, 1992."

TIME CUT:

NEWSPRINT BLURS past... stops on a page of OBITUARIES.

Top of the page:
"September 4, 1993."

CLOSE ON:
"Mathews, Robert Steven, 1948-1993."

"Dead in an apparent suicide, Robert Mathews was discovered

yesterday morning in the basement of..."

EXT. MATHEWS HOUSE, FAYETTEVILLE SUBURB -- DAY

A tree-lined street of poor, boxy homes. Welles' car parks

in front of one HOUSE with a neglected lawn.

IN THE CAR:

Welles, clean shaven, picks a CLIPBOARD with a file folder

and his legal pad on it, thumbs pages. He drums his

fingers, opens the glove compartment, pulls out the car's

registration, other papers and "Jiffy-Lube" service reports,

uses them to pad the file.

Welles takes a BOTTLE of COLOGNE from his pocket. He

considers it, opens the bottle, applies cologne to his neck.

EXT. MATHEWS HOUSE, FRONT PORCH -- DAY

Welles knocks, clipboard in hand. A sad, middle-aged woman

answers, MRS. MATHEWS, looking through the screen door.

MRS MATHEWS:

Yes... ?

WELLES:

(smiles)

Hello, Mrs. Mathews, my name's

Thomas Jones, I'm a state licensed

investigator...

Welles holds up his identification only long enough for Mrs.

Mathews to see it looks official.

WELLES:

I've been hired as an independent

contractor by the U.S. Resource

Center for Missing Persons as part

of an internal audit. If you have

any time over the next few days, I'd

like to make an appointment to ask

some questions about the

disappearance of your daughter.

MRS MATHEWS:

I don't understand, who are... ?

WELLES:

I'm sorry, let me explain, the

R.C.M.P. is a support organization

and archive, not unlike the Center

for Missing and Exploited Children

in Washington. I'm sure you've

dealt with them before?

MRS MATHEWS:

Yes, but...

WELLES:

These volunteer organizations are

sort of interconnected, functioning

hand in hand with law enforcement.

The R.C.M.P. brought me in to review

their investigations...

(holds up clipboard)

... fact-check their records, see if

there's anything they missed,

anything they should be doing

different. I'm here for a few days,

before I head back up to Virginia.

These reports go to the Justice

Department eventually. I spoke to

your F.B.I. contact a few days ago,

uh...

Welles pretends to look for the name on a Jiffy Lube page...

WELLES:

What was the name... ? I've got it

here somewhere...

MRS MATHEWS:

Neil... Neil Cole.

WELLES:

(pretends he found it)

Right, Agent Cole told me he'd call

and let you know to expect me. He

didn't call?

MRS MATHEWS:

No.

WELLES:

(looking on legal pad)

Well, I'm following up on your

daughter, Mary, height; five four,

weight; hundred ten pounds, brown

eyes, blonde hair. Born April 24,

1976. Missing June 11th, 1992. A

runaway, that's how she's listed.

Is this information correct... ?

Mrs. Mathews stares, nods.

WELLES:

I'm sorry, I know this isn't easy.

Is there a more convenient time... ?

(looks at watch)

Can I buy you lunch, would that be

alright?

Mrs. Mathews looks him up and down.

EXT. DAIRY QUEEN RESTAURANT -- DAY

Welles and Mrs. Mathews eat at a PICNIC TABLE on the patio.

WELLES:

It's very important you don't let

this raise your expectations. It's

not going to effect any ongoing

efforts. All I'm saying is, please

know, I'm not here to create any

false hope.

MRS MATHEWS:

They hired you. You're like, a

private detective?

WELLES:

That's exactly what I am.

Mrs. Mathews chews, staring off into the distance.

MRS MATHEWS:

I didn't think there were private

detectives anymore, except on TV.

WELLES:

You probably expect me to be wearing

a trench coat and a hat. Drinking

whiskey, chasing women and getting

beaten up by guys with broken noses.

Want to know what it's really like?

It's sitting in a car and staring at

a hotel window for three days

straight, pissing in a plastic

bottle, pardon me, because some guy

thinks his wife's cheating on him.

Glamorous, huh? And the guy who

hired you, he has a hair-lip,

dandruff and crooked teeth, and you

could have told him the minute you

laid eyes on him his wife's

cheating, and you don't blame her.

Mrs. Mathews smiles.

WELLES:

It's refreshing to actually sit down

and meet someone face to face,

someone nice like you.

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