Jennifer 8 Page #15

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Time to go and both know it. Stale shadows and growing silence.

Is it snowing now?

BERLIN:

No. Getting dark though.

And his eyes are searching her so hard she must be aware of it.

You think you'd know this man? If

he was in the room with you again?

HELENA:

You've already asked me that ..

The silence is almost uncomfortable. BERLIN continues to stare.

Amber's dead, isn't she?

BERLIN:

Yes. I'm sorry.

50:
EXT. SUBURBAN STREET. CITY OF EUREKA. DAY.

Pretty houses in a pretty little street. Hills in the back and

sunshine out front. BERLIN pulls up in his Mercedes and does a

bit of tie adjusting as he walks up a path and hits the chimes.

This could only be MRS CITRINE. A budget smile and he's inside.

51:
INT. "STUDIO"/CONSERVATORY. HOUSE. DAY.

Dozens of repulsive paintings. A truly repulsive painting "By

Numbers" of the Mona Lisa in progress. The color codes are com-

pletely f***ed up. CITRINE wears a wooly hat and hates walking

on crutches. BERLIN picked a bad day to come in here with this.

CITRINE:

You're pushing this too hard. It's

like you want me to say stop? You

must know that's the way this is

going, John? There's other work to

do, why don't ya ease off a little?

BERLIN:

Coz this is a major & we're closer to

this bastard than anyone's ever been.

CITRINE:

Then where's the body? .. Where's

the body, and why's he hidden it?

BERLIN:

He hasn't hidden it. He never made

a hit this far north before, and

he never read a weather forecast ..

She's probably fifteen feet from

the highway, three feet under snow.

CITRINE:

Have you got a match on the bullet?

BERLIN:

No.

CITRINE:

Have you got a print from the hand?

BERLIN:

No, Sir.

CITRINE:

It could be anyone's hand. Illeg-

ally disposed of hospital debris ..

BERLIN:

It's her hand. Her scars. Her dog.

Her dog's shot. And she's missing.

CITRINE:

She's not "missing." Did she shout?

Did she scream? Did he coerce her?

No. She left of her own free will ..

And if she gets on a plane and goes

to Peru with the prick, she's still

not missing. You got no case, John.

BERLIN:

If you're not gonna hear me, Chief ..

CITRINE:

I have heard you. You just don't like

hearing me. You got this whole damned

thing outta proportion. I don't know

what you gotten used to in Los Angeles,

but I don't believe there's a Police

Chief, in this country, would put a

task force together for a body part ..

BERLIN:

We have a multiple homicide, Sir ..

CITRINE:

We have a body part in suspicious

circumstances - a tailor's dummy

wearing a brassiere - and a bill

for seventeen dollars for its wig!

52:
INT. CORRIDOR/ADMINISTRATION. POLICE STATION. DAY.

BERLIN arrives at the station in the same mood he left Citrine.

Heads for his room and runs into ROSS's stare. Problems on his

plate too. He sits at his desk looking uncharacteristically an-

xious. What ever he's drinking isn't tea. He finds a bottle of

J&B in a drawer and walks toward Berlin's freshly slammed door.

52:
INT. CRIME LAB. POLICE STATION. DAY.

The lab is stuffed with junk waiting his attention. (Dozens of

common things made sinister by their labels and plastic sacks).

ROSS delivers a dose of Scotch in a plastic cup. Pours himself

another. Leans on a bench and gets into the pissed-off silence.

ROSS:

Did he shut you down?

BERLIN:

All but .. How you doing?

ROSS:

I dunno, I daren't go in there -

just about get her wired up, and

the f***ing mayor walks in - mad

as hell - what are we doing f***-

ing with his staff? We should be

out chasing major violators ..

BERLIN:

I wish he'd tell that to Citrine.

He almost does the whiskey but reaches for chewing gum instead.

He thinks the kid shot the dog ..

He looks at ROSS like what-are-you-looking-at-me-like-that-for?

He didn't.

ROSS:

Did I say he did?

BERLIN:

You looked like you did?

ROSS:

No, I think you'll find I looked like

he could have? By accident even? He's

up here spraying the scenery all day.

BERLIN:

He didn't shoot it, Ross. And

no way by accident. There's a

flash-burn. It was point-blank.

SERATO walks in with a cigarette plugged into his ashen kisser.

SERATO:

Flying colors ...

ROSS:

Say you didn't say that, Angelo?

SERATO:

I said it.

ROSS:

Oh my God Mother's sh*t. Are we in it?

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