I Wake Up Screaming Page #7

is ever in a public library at 9:00.

And if anything does go wrong,

you meet me here.

- Now, be careful.

- All right.

[Man] All right, young lady.

Come along with us.

- What have you done to Frankie?

- Never mind about that.

- Come along.

- You haven't hurt him, have you?

- [Bangs]

- Can't you people read?

Sorry, pops.

Stick around.

[Engine Starts]

Extra! Extra!

Read all about it!

Extra! Extra!

Get your paper!

Read all about it!

Extra! Extra!

Extra! Extra!

Read all about it!

Extra! Extra!

Read all about it!

Hello, Frankie.

- Carrying a gun?

- Who can tell?

It may be a gun

or it may be a pipe.

Then again,

it may be just my finger.

But you're not taking

any chances, are you?

No. I don't have to.

- What's on your mind, Frankie?

- You've taken Jill.

She hasn't got

anything to do with this.

- Let her go, and I'll give myself up.

- [Chuckles]

You've turned into quite

the young Lochenvar, haven't you?

Self-sacrifice

and everything.

It's no use. I don't have to

make bargains with you.

I'll get you eventually.

If not tomorrow, next week.

If not next week,

next year.

Time's nothing in my life.

It is in yours.

Each minute's an eternity

to a man in your shoes.

You got the wrong steer

this time, Cornell.

They told me at headquarters

that you're a pretty sure thing.

But this time you're trying

to convict an innocent man.

That's what you say,

but you can't sell me on it.

I'll follow you into your grave.

I'll write my name on your tombstone.

You're not a cop

looking for a murderer.

You're crazy, Cornell.

You ought to be put away.

Sure. Why don't you

call a policeman?

All right, Cornell.

But I'll tell you one thing.

You're never going to convict me.

You'll have to kill me first.

[Scoffs]

I wouldn't kill anybody.

I'm too smart. Look. I don't even

carry a gun. You can frisk me.

- I wouldn't touch you with sterilized gloves.

- [Paperboy Shouting]

- Here. Have a Tootsie Roll.

- [Paperboy] Hey, read all about it!

Slayer at large!

Read all about it!

Extra! Extra! Slayer at large!

Read all about it!

- Hello, Chief.

- Hello.

Got a lead

on Christopher yet?

Did you ever read

The Sex Life of the Butterfly by Faber?

- Cornell, are you crazy?

- [Chuckles] That's funny.

That's the second time I've been asked

that question tonight. Have a Tootsie Roll.

What in blazes does The Sex Life of

the Butterfly got to do with the Lynn case?

Faber was a naturalist.

He got himself a very rare female butterfly

from Africa worth 1,000 bucks.

He kept it in a glass box

in his apartment in Paris.

But nobody had ever been able

to catch the male of the species.

One day, he let

the female out of the box...

and in a few hours,

he had 10,000 dollars' worth...

of rare African butterflies

flying around the room.

Very interesting.

Very interesting indeed!

But what's all this got to do

with the Lynn case, may I ask?

I want a release order

for the girl.

Just let her out of the box.

Nature will do the rest.

We'll have Frankie in the net

by tomorrow.

Yeah, you may be

right at that.

But if you slip up

this time, Cornell...

it's curtains

to a brilliant career.

You realize that,

of course?

Sure. I realize that

more than you do.

##[Film:
Piano]

##[Film:
Piano]

- Frankie!

- Jill, what are you doing here?

- How did you get out?

- They let me out.

Oh, they would,

so you could lead them right to me.

I wasn't a Campfire Girl for nothing.

They think I'm still in the apartment.

Yeah? Well, we're getting

out of town right now.

Wait a minute.

I found something.

These cards-They were on the flowers

that were sent to Vicky's funeral.

- Who were they from?

- I don't know.

Maybe we won't have to

leave town after all.

You wait here.

[Knocking]

Good evening. I'm sorry to bother you,

but I'm from the Evening Ledger.

They sent me out here

on an assignment. May I come in?

Sure. Sure.

Come in.

You know, I'm glad to see anybody

that's still moving around.

Well, what can I

do for you?

I've been assigned to write

a human interest story on Vicky Lynn.

I was wondering whether you could

help me. Any colorful or unusual...

little incident connected

with the funeral, for instance.

Lynn, Lynn.

Let me see.

That's the girl was murdered

up on 76th Street, isn't it?

- That's right.

- Well, I don't know much I can tell you.

Only thing-We got our orders and laid

her away the same as anybody else.

- Has anybody been out here since?

- No.

- Were there many flowers at the funeral?

- No. Just the-

Wait a minute.

Lynn, Lynn. 266.

Say, that grave's been getting flowers

every day since she died.

- Who'd they come from?

- I don't know.

Never was any signature

on the card.

Just come regular from some florist

around Times Square.

Name Carting or Keating

or something like that.

- Do you have a telephone directory?

- Sure.

Over there.

Help yourself.

I'm sorry, Miss Smith. I usually

like to oblige newspaper people...

but in this case

I'm between two fires.

Then the man who's been sending

the flowers is also from a newspaper?

Well, in a way, yes,

but he isn't a reporter.

- Does he write a column?

- Well, I can't say that, can I...

or else I'd give it away?

Thanks, Mr. Keating.

I think I get your drift.

Now, don't get me

in any trouble.

- Who is it?

- Your columnist friend.

[Snoring]

[Grunts]

[Clears Throat]

Well, this is

a pleasant surprise.

What's the idea of breaking into my place

like this in the middle of the night?

What do you know

about the death of Vicky Lynn?

You're a fine one to ask that.

I know nothing about it.

Then why have you been sending flowers

to her grave every day?

Oh, so you've found out

about that, have you?

- I can explain that easily.

- Then go ahead.

- I promised her.

- Promised her?

- Yes. Mind if I smoke?

- Not at all.

- You won't need that.

- I just thought I'd try it.

It'd be a great scoop for me

if I could bring you in myself.

So you think

I'm guilty too?

Yes, and so does everybody else.

What do you mean you promised

to send Vicky flowers?

Well, the day of the murder, I had driven Vicky

to the station to get her train reservations.

You mean you were with Vicky

the afternoon she was killed?

- Yes.

- Then why didn't you tell that to the police?

Because I'm not a fool.

You told the police your story.

- What'd it get you?

- Never mind that. Go on.

When we got back to the apartment,

she had forgotten her key.

She asked me if I had the one

she gave me...

and I told her

I had raffled it off.

Oh, dear,

the passkey's gone too.

I guess there's nothing to do

but sit and wait...

for the switchboard boy

to get back.

From what I've seen of that boy,

he may be gone for hours.

I'd better climb up the fire escape

and let you in myself.

Why, Larry, you'd never do

anything so gallant.

You don't know me.

- There you are, milady.

- Larry, you're so sweet.

You know, uh, now that I'm leaving,

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