Scoop Page #8

and he likes you, but he's

sexually attracted to her.

Thanks, Sidney.

Well, why doesn't he have

his chauffeur?

I don't know, whatever he's doing,

he must want it to be secret.

Oh, I told you

he went the other way!

Can we go home, please?

It's starting to rain.

I can't believe

he lied to me.

Maybe he's doing something that

he's ashamed to tell you about.

Maybe he belongs to

one of those clubs,

or he's a cross-dresser

or something.

Or maybe he does folk dancing.

Oh, I'm sure it's probably

something that when he tells me,

I'll just feel foolish

for thinking he lied.

I'm sure. You know, not everything

in this world is sinister.

You know,

just practically everything.

That Indian food

made me sick.

You hardly touched

your cobra salad.

How can you be sick?

Help!

A woman's been strangled!

Help!

A woman's been strangled!

Help, call the police!

Somebody call the police!

There's been a murder!

There's been

a murder upstairs.

Help!

Have you got a phone? Have you got a phone?

Call the police.

Could it be the Tarot Killer?

They found a Tarot card.

It's him.

I can't believe it!

She lives in this building.

It's him again.

They found the Tarot card.

Elizabeth Gibson,

another short-haired brunette.

We should have

gone to the police earlier.

Well, you know... You said

that they wouldn't believe us

and they may not.

Sidney, it's about time we show

my story to a real newspaperman.

By real, you mean what?

One that's living.

Vivian's father has a friend

that works at The Observer.

Well, it's very vivid

and rather shocking,

and there are some genuine

circumstantial bits of evidence.

But let me give you a lesson

in professional journalism.

No newspaper should

or would ever run this story.

What? Why?

It would be fatally

irresponsible and libelous.

All you have here are a number

of titillating speculations.

Flamboyant theories that tarnish a man,

and a well-known figure at that,

without a single shred

of substantial proof.

So his mother

was a short-haired brunette.

So he came late

for a poker game

and said he was going away on a

business trip and he got caught lying.

Yes, but who keeps a Tarot

deck under a French horn?

It's not against the law

to own a Tarot deck,

or keep it wherever you like.

You'd look pretty foolish in

court with your accusations,

and that's

where you'll wind up.

Because he'd have no choice but

to sue you and the newspaper,

and he'd win.

And to go to the police?

I'll come to that.

But first let me continue my

tedious professorial lecture.

Vivian's dad and I

go way back.

He said you were

a journalism student.

You talk about getting a tip.

Okay, you won't

disclose your source,

but what you have done is

let your imagination run wild.

No, no.

What if I told you that my source

happened to be a certain Joe Strombel?

- The late Joe Strombel?

- Yep.

You mean, before he died

he gave a student reporter

a major story and didn't

follow it up himself?

We didn't say

it was before he died.

- What?

- No, it...

He got the story

before he died,

and then he died

before he could follow it up.

Well, why did he give it to you?

He didn't know he was dying.

I don't buy it.

I knew Joe Strombel well.

If he'd had a tip

that he considered reliable,

he would certainly

have pursued it himself,

from the grave, if necessary.

What about how Peter

was in the neighborhood

the night the murder was committed?

I realize as a student

how exciting it must have been

to think that you were onto

something so spectacular.

Hey, she is onto something!

This kid is a bloodhound.

Look at her!

She could sell the story

to any tabloid in town.

Now that I've preached on the

realities of accurate reporting,

I want to tell you how catastrophic

for everybody involved

it would have been

if you had, say, taken

the results of your

investigation to a tabloid.

Today, the police have apprehended

the Tarot Card Serial Killer.

And it most assuredly

is not Peter Lyman.

What?

Every paper in town is going

to press with it as we speak.

It was a handyman named

Henry Banks who has confessed.

Banks is a delusional paranoid

who's given Scotland Yard

information that only the

killer could possibly know.

He's led the police

to two additional bodies

and his DNA and a fingerprint

they found check out.

I know this puts a

crimp in your scoop,

but Henry Banks is

the Tarot Card Serial Killer.

Not Lord Lyman's son.

Well, I can't say

I'm not walking on air.

Oh, Jesus, If I ever catch

that Joe Strombel, I'll kill him.

I only hope Peter forgives

me for what I've done.

For what?

I lied to him.

I'm not Jade Spence.

I'm a pushy, duplicitous,

ambitious college student.

I lied to him, over and over.

Darling, he lied to you, too,

so it's even.

His lies pale in comparison to

the enormity of what I've done.

So marry him as Jade Spence.

Don't tell him.

You know, you don't have to

be Sondra Pransky ever again.

Marry him as Jade Spence.

Yeah, but I don't want to have to get

you a Father's Day gift every year.

You know, I don't know how

to break this to you, honey, but...

you were adopted. Okay?

Your mother and I,

we were at the orphanage,

we wanted a handicapped child, and...

Ah, finally.

Just you and I all weekend.

Yeah.

I thought you'd like it here.

It's lovely.

- Peter?

- Yes.

- I have a confession to make.

- Oh, God, so do I.

Oh, well, let me go first.

Actually, no, let me, please,

because mine's

been bothering me all day.

I just want

to get it off my chest.

When I told you I was going away

for a few days on business,

I was lying.

- I know.

- You know? How?

- Oh, I saw you.

- You saw me? No.

- I was at dinner, and...

- With your father?

- Actually...

- Well, anyway, it doesn't matter. Really.

The truth is,

that a company my father owns

is about to merge with a

company in the Middle East.

It's a very

sensitive situation,

and the less anyone knows

about it, the better.

And we just didn't want

the press to sniff it out.

I mean,

that's no excuse, really.

I'm just very sorry

for the extreme secrecy.

No, no, no, it's fine.

I'm glad.

It's your own secret information.

That's fine.

So your father took you out

for a birthday dinner

and you saw me.

I mean, how unnerving.

God, I mean, the thing I hate

most in the world is lying.

What?

- Peter...

- Yes, Jade?

Peter...

Oh, yes.

What did you want to tell me?

Jade, there's nothing

you can tell me that...

My name is not Jade Spence.

It's not?

No. It's Sondra Pransky.

And my father is not my father.

His name is Sidney Waterman.

He's a magician called Splendini.

I'm a journalism student.

Don't ask me what kind of crazy

misinformation we received

to believe you might be

the Tarot Card Killer.

I mean, I didn't know you at this time.

Remember?

And, of course,

as soon as I got to know you,

I knew that

it couldn't possibly be true.

And the police have him now,

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