Basic Instinct
- R
- Year:
- 1992
- 127 min
- 4,896 Views
- 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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