Suspect Zero Page #5

FRAN:

Tom.

MACKELWAY:

Fran.

That was terse, from both of them. Charlton takes note.

CHARLTON:

I guess we're skipping the tearful

reunion. Have a seat, Tom.

Mackelway sits opposite Fran. She folds her hands.

MACKELWAY:

How's things back at the ranch?

FRAN:

Movin' right along.

That might've been a dig; Charlton can't tell.

CHARLTON:

Okay. Whadda we know?

FRAN:

Picked up a foot-print in the back seat

of Speck's car, size-and-a-half bigger

than Speck's.

Just like that, Fran is piping up. Mackelway's unoffended.

CHARLTON:

'Kay.

FRAN:

Wounds on Speck's throat indicate that he

was strangled from behind... I think our

guy waited for him in the backseat,

sprung this on him once the car was

moving.

She slides that FOURTH DRAWING to Charlton - giving us our

first look at it.

INSERT - THE DRAWING:

...a STEAMER-TRUNK, lined with plastic. Inside it are large

ZIPLOC BAGS. Inside the bags are BODY PARTS.

It's realized so accurately that it looks more like a

photograph. No wonder it horrified Speck so deeply.

THE BOOTH - RESUMING

Charlton eyes it without reaction.

FRAN (CONT'D)

Lab picked up talcum traces on the edges

of the paper, consistent with powdered

gloves.

(Charlton nods)

So he gets the dropped in his lap, it

spooks him, and the car winds up in the

ravine.

Plausible enough, until:

MACKELWAY:

I don't think so, no. I think it was

pushed.

FRAN:

How ya figure?

MACKELWAY:

The look of the tracks. Foot-prints near

the embankment.

Without embellishing any further, he slides over the

PHOTOGRAPHS that he took this morning with the Minox: tire-

tracks, foot-prints. She eyes them.

Then she eyes Mackelway. Charlton notes the tension.

CHARLTON:

Okay. So our guy likes to draw pictures

of body parts and then spring 'em on

people. What's that get us?

(they're silent)

That's what I thought.

There is plenty going unsaid here between Mackelway and Fran.

Charlton has no time for it.

CHARLTON:

Oh. 'Fore I forget. This came in for you:

He tosses a 9-by-12 ENVELOPE at Mackelway, who opens it. Six

sheets of paper slide out.

First one we see is the TOP SHEET of a FAX: same hand-written

inscription as the last one: "Attention, Agent Thomas

Mackelway, FBI Resident Agency, Wichita Falls."

Okay. This is twice now. He knows what will be under this top

sheet without even looking. But here's Page One:

A photo of a middle-aged African-American WOMAN. Across the

top of the photo, in hand-writing: "HAVE YOU SEEN ME?"

And typed on the bottom: "Tanya Green. Age 42. Ht. 5'9", Wt.

165, Eyes Blk, Hair Blk. Last Seen: Ames, Iowa. Date of

Disappearance:
3-22-97."

The following four sheets bring four more faces: men, women,

young, old. Four more HAVE YOU SEEN ME's.

But before he can think it through, he hears:

MANAGER (O.S.)

It's about time.

They turn. That came from the NIGHT MANAGER: a humorless guy

named LES. He's looking at the front door, through which Dolly

has just entered. Pink cowboy boots tonight.

DOLLY:

Don't start in on me, Les. I couldn't get

the pickup started and Harlan took the

Dodge.

The Manager now throws a glance at the three feds in the

booth. Dolly stops short, taken aback.

DOLLY (CONT'D)

Holy Hell. My one shot at winding up on

"Cops" and I'm in my weekday boots!

CUT TO:

20 INT. DINER - BOOTH - LATER 20

Dolly and Mel sit opposite Mackelway and Fran.

DOLLY:

He was a quiet guy. Normal. Liked to read

fishing magazines. Not much of a tipper.

Is that a lousy thing to say?

FRAN:

It's fine.

Mel rolls his eyes.

MACKELWAY:

What can you tell us about the other man?

MEL:

Like I said, I never really saw him.

Harold came up, complainin' about the guy

- but time I turned, he was gone.

FRANMACK:

(at Dolly:
) (at Dolly:)

Could you de--Did you get a--

They each stop short, waiting for the other to yield. Finally

Mackelway nods, "Go ahead."

FRAN:

Can you describe him, Ma'am?

DOLLY:

Sure. He was...

Dolly pauses, her face scrunching a bit. Troubled...

DOLLY (CONT'D)

That's weird. Guy was in here better part

of an hour. We had a real pleasant

chat... But I can't remember a thing

about him. For the life of me. Couldn't

even tell you what color his eyes were.

She shrugs apologetically.

FRAN:

Happen to see what he was driving?

DOLLY:

That one's easy. It's still in the lot.

(they perk up)

The Bonneville out there with the awful

paint job.

She gestures to the lot, where an old PONTIAC BONNEVILLE sits,

its paint stripped down to the primer. Bingo.

Fran and Mackelway eye it, then one another.

CUT TO:

21 EXT. DINER - PARKING LOT - MOMENTS LATER 21

Fran and Mackelway emerge, heading for the Bonneville.

MACKELWAY:

We ought to work out some kind of

protocol.

FRAN:

For what?

MACKELWAY:

Interviews. Witnesses. Looks pretty

silly, our talking over one another.

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