Se7en Page #14

MRS GOULD:

Why is this painting hanging upside-down?

Mills turns to look at Somerset.

INT. LAW OFFICE -- NIGHT

Where the greed murder took place. Somerset, wearing gloves,

reaches to take the modern art painting off the wall. Mills

near, watching.

SOMERSET:

You're sure your men didn't move this?

MILLS:

Even if they did, those photos were taken

before forensics.

Nothing on the wall behind the painting. Blank space.

MILLS:

Nothing.

SOMERSET:

It's got to be.

Somerset puts the painting down, resting it on its bottom edge.

The painting is backed by a thick sheet of brown papers stapled

into the wooden frame. Somerset points to where the wire's eye

screws used to be screwed into the frame, and to where it has

been rescrewed.

SOMERSET:

He changed the wire to rehang it.

Somerset takes out his switchblade. Mills is surprised.

MILLS:

What the f*** is that?

SOMERSET:

A switchblade.

Somerset cuts along the edge of the brown paper to get to the

hollow space between it and the back of the canvas. He cuts out

the entire sheet. Mills helps pull it away. Nothing. Empty.

Mills looks at both sides of the paper, then tosses it away.

MILLS:

Nothing. Damn it!

Somerset lays the painting face up on the floor. He pokes his

finger on the painted surface. He brings the flat of his blade

against the painting, tries to peel some of the paint.

MILLS:

The killer didn't paint the f***ing thing.

Give it up.

Somerset pushes the painting away, frustrated.

SOMERSET:

There must be something.

MILLS:

We're screwed. He's f***ing with us.

Somerset backs away from the wall, staring at the space where the

painting hung. There is only a nail. He turns, looking around

the office, then crosses.

Mills puts his hands to his temple, furious, picks up a lamp and

throws it to the floor, venting.

MILLS:

Motherf***er!

Across the room, Somerset falls to his knees and pulls open a

forensics kit. He takes out a fingerprint brush, examining the

bristles. Mills sees this.

MILLS:

What?

SOMERSET:

Bear with me.

Somerset goes back to the wall where the painting was. He pulls

over a chair, gets on it and starts brushing near the nail.

MILLS:

Oh, yeah, sure. You got to be kidding?!

SOMERSET:

Just wait!

Somerset brushes with a few wider strokes. He leans close,

studies the powder residue. Leans closer still. Pause.

SOMERSET:

Call the print lab.

INT. MILLS' APARTMENT, BEDROOM -- NIGHT

Tracy is asleep, dressed, with the lights still on. She stirs,

then awakens and sits up slowly. She squints from the light,

sweaty and uncomfortable. She looks around and listens. All she

hears is traffic.

EXT. MILLS' APARTMENT, LIVING ROOM -- NIGHT

FROM OUTSIDE, looking into the apartment, we see Tracy come in

from the bedroom. She sees Mills and Somerset are gone. She

comes to open a window, then goes to the kitchen area.

We're still LOOKING IN at her as she starts the dishes in the

sink. The RUMBLING of the SUBWAY TRAIN is HEARD starting. The

room begins to rattle, as before.

Tracy looks out into the living room, ill at ease.

INT. LAW OFFICE -- NIGHT

The male forensic from the gluttony murder scene is here. He has

a magnifying glass which he's using to study a very clear

fingerprint in black powder on the wall.

MALE FORENSIC:

Oh, man...

MILLS (o.s.)

Talk to me.

The male forensic bites his lip, still studying.

Mills and Somerset are watching the forensic who works O.S.

MILLS:

(to Somerset)

Just, honestly... have you ever seen

anything like this... been involved in

anything like this?

SOMERSET:

No.

MALE FORENSIC (o.s.)

Well, I can tell you, boys...

The forensic steps down from a stool. Behind him, where the

painting once was, are fingerprints, clear and distinct. The

prints have been left, one after the other, to form letters which

form words:
HELP ME.

MALE FORENSIC:

... just by looking at the shape of the

underloop on these, they are not the

victim's fingerprints.

INT. PRECINCT HOUSE, PRINT LAB -- NIGHT

Dark. A TECHNICIAN sits before an old computer. The computer's

green screen shows enlarged fingerprint patterns being aligned,

compares, and then rejected: whir - click - whir - click - whir -

click. Mills and Somerset watch, bathed in a green glow.

MILLS:

He just may be nuts enough.

SOMERSET:

It doesn't fit. He doesn't want us to help

him stop.

MILLS:

Who the hell knows? There's plenty of

freaks out there doing dirty deeds they

don't want to do. You know... little

voices tell them bad things.

Somerset doesn't buy it. The technician adjusts a knob, then

turns to the detectives.

TECHNICIAN:

I've seen this baby take as long as three

days to make a match, so you guys can go

cross your fingers somewhere else.

INT. PRECINCT HOUSE, HALLWAY -- NIGHT

Somerset and Mills come out from the Print Lab. A janitor is

mopping the hall. The computer is HEARD WHIRing AND CLICKing

onwards. Somerset sits with a groan on a couch outside the lab

door. Mills flops beside him.

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