Basic Instinct

- Here we go, Nick.|- All right

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

Keep it back, folks.

- Howdy.|- Morning.

Up there.

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

- Who was this f***ing 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 Tallcott?|- 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|'til 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 Picasso's.

- 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.

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 f***ing 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 f***ing him.

Look, I don't really|feel like talking anymore.

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 f*** 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 f***ed up cop...

and let me out of here, please?

Yes.

Thank you.

I still miss you, Nick.

- How are you doing?|- Fine.

Tallcott'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 forceable 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."

Whoa, whoa! 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 behavior 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.

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