Insomnia Page #21

Will heads down a narrow hallway. Tiled floor. Passes door

"A." Stops at the next one, "B." Knocks. Hears nothing but

the muted tv from apartment "A." Pulls out his gloves.

INT. WALTER BYRD'S APARTMENT - DAY

With a CLICK the door swings open. Will, gloves on, pockets

his credit card. Hears the CHING CHING of dog collars as

TWO LABRADOR RETRIEVERS stand at attention, GROWLING. Will's

prepared. Takes a bag of treats from his pocket.

WILL:

Lucy. Desi.

The dogs break. Trot over to him. Wolf down the treats.

Will scans the place. Small, cheap. Matching sofa and easy

chair, corduroy upholstery. The walls, lined with old 1950s

movie posters. All second-rate detective movies: "Another

Shot in the Dark," "Lady Luck," "He wore a Black Hat."

Will walks across the room. Repulsed. The pathetic hovel of

a killer. Looks into the

BEDROOM:

Single bed. Books and magazines. A half-eaten tuna sandwich

on the bedside table. "NYPD BLUE" calendar on the wall.

It's quiet. He walks over to a large DESK by the window.

Scattered papers. Computer. Mini cassette recorder.

On the wall, hundreds of newspaper articles. Some yellowing,

some fresh. All about cops: "Officer Louis Saved My Life!"

"Shoot-out in Soho," "South Street Cop Takes Down Drug

Ring," "Seattle Cop Killed by Suspect..."

Will curls his lip. Starts looking through the papers on the

desk. Underneath a stack, he finds an 8x10 PHOTOGRAPH. It's

of Byrd, standing in front of a big, lakeside HOUSE. A RADIO

TOWER in the background. Walter Byrd's face is blurred,

turned to the side. The photo from the book bio.

Will takes it. Starts roughly opening drawers. A box of

animal crackers, a rubber band ball. Then, shoved in the

back of the top drawer, an APPOINTMENT BOOK. Will flips

through to today's date. Blank. Shoves the book into his

pocket. Slams the door closed.

Then reaches back for his Smith 39/13. Checks the magazine.

Slaps it back in place. He's ready.

SUDDENLY the phone RINGS. A beige rotary on the desk.

Plugged into an ancient answering machine. It RINGS again.

The answering machine WHIRS. Then BEEPS.

WALTER'S VOICE

Now you're mad at me.

Will freezes.

WALTER'S VOICE (cont'd)

...I spotted your car around the corner.

You must have been in a hurry. Put some

pieces together. Don't worry, I would

have done the same thing...

Will turns back to the window. Looking furiously...

WALTER'S VOICE (cont'd)

Anyway...

(blows nose)

...I'm not coming home. So you

shouldn't wait there all day. I mean,

they'll wonder about you at the station.

You should be careful about following

procedure, Will, especially now that...

Will lunges for the phone. Snatches it up just as CLICK! the

tape cuts off.

WILL:

Goddammit!

Enraged, he PUNCHES the receiver through the wall.

INT. HALLWAY - APARTMENTS - DAY

Will exits the apartment. Cradling his hand. Looks down at

the tile floor. Scanning it for a broken tile. Finds one.

Bends down and plucks out a broken corner.

Places it carefully where the bottom of the door meets the

door jamb. Just then. His BEEPER goes off.

INT. BULLPEN - NIGHTMUTE PD - DAY

Will strides into the bullpen. Wounded hand in pocket.

Ellie hunts and pecks at a typewriter. Glances up.

Fred, over in the corner. SLAMS a drawer in the filing

cabinet. Turns.

FRED:

Forget your pager?

WILL:

What?

FRED:

I beeped you over two hours ago.

Holds out a one-page report.

FRED (cont'd)

Got a fax from the lab. Murder weapon

was a 357 Ruger.

Will takes the report. Heads over to the coffee machine.

WILL:

Good.

FRED:

And something else that might interest

you.

He reaches into his desk drawer and pulls out a book. Holds

it up. Otherwise Engaged. In hardback.

FRED (cont'd)

Remember this?

Will blinks.

WILL:

No.

FRED:

One of the paperbacks we found in Kay

Connell's knapsack.

Will pours himself a cup of coffee. Trying to keep the

stream steady. Ellie continues typing...CLACK...CLACK...

WILL:

That's right.

FRED:

Mrs. Connell found this copy in the

house.

(opens it up)

It's signed. Personally.

WILL:

So?

FRED:

This is a local writer. Kay had all his

books. I think we should check it out.

CLACK...CLACK...CLACK...Will rubs his chin. Looks back at

the report. Judicious.

WILL:

I don't think it'll lead anywhere.

The CLACKING stops. SILENCE. Will turns around. Ellie's

staring right at him - that isn't like him.

He turns back to Fred. Beat.

WILL (cont'd)

Well. If he's local. Give him a call.

The CLACKING resumes.

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