Frequency Page #26

FRANK:

He killed her John. He killed her and I

didn't do a thing to stop it.

INTERCUT FRANK AND JOHN.

JOHN:

It's not your fault, Dad.

FRANK:

Yes it is...we did this. We changed

everything.

(pausing)

I've been having bad dreams, Johnny.

Dreams where I die...in the fire.

(soft)

I was supposed to die in that warehouse.

JOHN:

No.

ANGLE ON:

Frank. Trembling, overcome by an awful combination of fear,

guilt and shame.

FRANK:

This is wrong...it's like we cheated...

JOHN:

I know...

(beat)

But Dad, you can't go back. You didn't

die in that fire. And no matter what you

do, nothing is gonna change that. So all

we can do is deal with this...and try to

make it right.

FRANK:

I don't think I can. I'm not a cop. I

can't. I can't stop this guy.

JOHN:

But we can, we can do it together.

Spirit and guts, remember?

FRANK:

Johnny, I know, but...

Frank starts to light up a Lucky. But he stops, stubbing the

cigarette out.

JOHN:

I need you to believe in me. To believe

that we can do this.

FRANK:

John, he's got my driver's license.

JOHN:

What?

FRANK:

He took my driver's license, John, he

knows where we live.

JOHN:

He took your wallet?

FRANK:

No, he tossed the wallet, but he kept the

license.

JOHN:

He touched your wallet! Where's your

wallet?

FRANK:

In my pocket.

JOHN:

We got him! Dad you got him!

FRANK:

What?

JOHN:

His prints. You've got his prints. I'll

run them through criminal index. You

gotta get me that wallet.

FRANK:

How the hell am I gonna do that?

JOHN:

(thinks)

Listen to me, very carefully, take your

wallet out, just touch it on the corners.

FRANK:

What...

JOHN:

Please, Dad, just do it.

FRANK:

Okay, okay...

Frank does as John asks. Taking out his wallet.

FRANK (CONT'D)

I got it.

JOHN:

Right, now I need you to tape it up on

the outside, where he touched it, so the

prints keep.

FRANK:

Huh?

JULIA:

Then you gotta hide it somewhere.

Somewhere where nobody's gonna find

it...for 29 years!

(looking around the room)

Put it under the loose floorboard by the

window!

FRANK:

(getting it now)

I gotcha, I gotcha Chief!

JOHN:

It's gonna work, Dad. We're gonna stop

him.

FRANK:

Hang on.

Frank fishes around the desk drawer for some electrical

tape...quickly ripping off strips of tape...covering the

wallet. Then he goes to the window. Crouches on the floor,

digging his nails around edges of the loose floorboard.

BACK TO JOHN:

getting up.

FRANK (O.S.) (CONT'D)

(over the HAM)

Okay.

John scrambles to window. Crouches down on floor, reaching

to find:
FRANK'S WALLET COVERED IN ELECTRICAL TAPE!

John goes back to the radio.

JOHN:

We're in business. Just sit tight...and

don't worry.

And John is up, grabs gun & shield. Sprints for the door.

INT. POLICE FORENSICS LAB - DAY - 1998

CLOSE ON SPLIT COMPUTER SCREEN:

LEFT SCREEN:
A FROZEN IMAGE - A BLOWN UP THUMB PRINT.

RIGHT SCREEN:
HUNDREDS OF FINGERPRINTS FLASH ON AND OFF - THE

COMPUTER IS SEARCHING FOR A MATCH.

BINGO. The right screen freezes. A THUMB PRINT... A MATCH!

Pull back to reveal John, standing over a forensic computer

technician, HECTOR. Hector hits a few more keys, a

photograph pops on the screen - it is NOT DARYL ADAMS!

JOHN:

What the hell?

Hector hits another key, the man's name and photo pops up...

CARL SHEPARD:

HE'S 30 YEARS OLDER than when he tangled with Frank in the

men's room last night, but this is the killer- Carl Shepard.

Below Shepard's photo, various biographical information:

social security, address, current employment, and a New York

City Police Department Discharge - September 1973.

ON JOHN:

A strange look of recognition.

JOHN (CONT'D)

The old neighbor's son...the cop. But

he's dead.

HECTOR:

What are you talkin' about? I know this

prick. He worked outta Brooklyn North.

JOHN:

(realizing)

He never died...

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