The Sound of Silence: The Making of 'The Lodger' Page #6

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so f***ing open minded.

Yeah, right. What do you want? It's late.

It's not Isenschmidt. It's Tumblety.

Bunting is Tumblety, and that black bag

is in that guesthouse. I'm sure of it.

Chandler, there's still nothing

to connect any of this to Bunting.

We find that black bag, and there will be.

Let's go.

Wait, wait, wait. You mean right now?

Listen, this prick Smith has

been already through my apartment.

He's got two of LAPD's finest staked out,

waiting for me. We don't have much time.

Chandler, why do you care so much about

what Smith knows or doesn't know?

We're all after the same guy.

Well, since when have

you started defending Smith?

You told him?

- Hey, look, you can't just go over there.

- Bullshit!

This a**hole has got one more murder,

- then he f***ing disappears.

- Okay, just one second.

Let me get dressed.

We still have to call Smith.

The only prints I found

match those of a woman,

presumably the wife.

Same as those in the main house.

- That's it. I'll tell the Captain.

- Okay.

We're done here.

It's clean, no black bag, no prints.

Nobody's been back here, Chandler.

Let's go. Smith wants to talk to us.

No, there's something else.

They knew we were getting close.

Why else would they all leave

in the middle of the night?

I'm gonna take another look around.

Oh, what? You think I should go with you?

Just don't touch anything.

- Let's get everybody out of here.

- Okay. There's nothing.

- It's clean.

- Get someone in here to open this thing!

You f***ing left him out there?

- It's stuck.

- Just open the damn thing!

Bingo.

- Jesus, God.

- Right.

No, you'd better do this.

I wouldn't want to taint anything.

Yeah, it's Smith.

Get a car over to 19000 Sunset.

There's a security guard there,

his name is Joe Bunting.

He works in the security booth.

No, no, no. Just hold him until I get there.

Get over to the lab right away.

Run them for prints

and against the ink

in both of the earlier letters.

Call me as soon as you get results.

I don't care what time it is.

Well, it looks like LAPD got their man.

- Hold out your hands.

- What for?

There's clearly been nobody living here,

and my guess is that

we won't find prints anywhere.

Will we, Manning?

Now hold out your hands.

I'll be there in 15 minutes.

Okay. Bye.

You have the right to remain silent.

- Anything you say can and will be used...

- What, you think I planted all of this?

You have the right to an attorney.

- Oh, don't f***ing do this!

- Shut up, Manning. It's over!

When you get through here,

take him down to the station.

Do you understand these rights

as I have read them?

Excuse me. We're looking for Joe Bunting.

Tape it up. Get everybody out of there.

Yeah. Smith.

Bunting's gone AWOL, sir.

Nobody knows where he is.

Well, find him, God damn it!

- Hey, Amanda.

- Hey, Matt.

- Are you guys coming out later?

- No, I got a lab due tomorrow.

- That's a bummer.

- Yeah. Later.

See you.

- Everybody out.

- Take a look at this.

- I have to take you in.

- This is a map of London.

These red marks, they're the exact location

of all the Whitechapel murders in 1888.

George Yard, Buck's Row, Hanbury Street,

double murder at Mitre Square,

and the last murder at Miller's Court.

Now this is West Hollywood,

and the red marks are the locations

of all the Sunset murders over the last week.

- So?

- So, there's one too many.

- We've got a match.

- With what?

The red ink is a positive match

with the ink from the last letter,

and there are traces of blood

mixed in with it.

We've got a pair of Raptor boots

the exact same size as the footprint

and we're testing fibers

from some burned clothes

we found buried at the side of the house.

Yeah, I suppose you think

I planted all that, too.

- Thanks.

- See, this one... This one's new.

Oh, God! No!

Get me the f*** out of these things, now!

It's an apartment building, 19015 Sunset.

All right, what else do we have

on Mary Jane Kelly

other than she was the last victim?

She was butchered beyond recognition.

In her own room.

Answer, damn it!

- Which one?

- 221.

Amanda!

Hey, get out of there!

What the hell is going on?

- Who are you?

- Who are you?

I'm Amanda's father.

You know where she is?

Yeah, I just saw her

a couple of minutes ago.

- She was headed to the House of Blues.

- Sh*t!

- What about her? Is that her?

- Yeah, it is. Thank God!

Hey!

- Oh, Christ! No!

- Sh*t!

Amanda, get down! Police!

- Are you all right?

- I'm okay.

- Are you hurt?

- I'm okay.

Stay with her. I'll be back.

- I'll be back.

- No, don't...

- It's okay.

- He's headed back to the house.

- Don't!

- Stop! Police!

Requesting Code 3 back up.

Suspect heading to 129 Whitechapel Street.

Police. Come out!

Come out! It's over!

Sh*t.

Right here.

He's inside the house.

Give me that flashlight.

Go back. Go back around the front.

Oh, my God!

Drop it! Now!

What was that?

Oh, my God.

Oh, Jesus.

It's unbelievable.

It explains how she was able to

get so close to each of her victims.

She's advanced schizophrenic.

She never recovered from

a traumatic childbirth about 8 years ago.

Seems the OBGYN really messed things up,

and after two days of an intense labor,

finally does a cesarean,

but the baby is dead. Stillborn.

After the baby died, about 8 years ago,

the first wave of murders began.

Sometime after that,

to escape the horrors of her experience

and later her own brutally violent behavior,

she retreated into her imaginary world.

It's amazing, really.

She's an extraordinarily intelligent woman,

and she describes everything

in meticulous detail.

She talks mainly

about two imaginary characters.

Timmy, which is the name

of her stillborn son,

and a lodger, whom she invented recently,

a kind of romantic fantasy,

and also to complete the self-delusion

that she was not the person

imitating Jack the Ripper

and killing these young women.

It's all in her mind.

She believes that Timmy

and the lodger exist

in the same way

that she believes you and I exist.

So she's completely insane?

She simply invented a person

who was obsessed with Jack the Ripper

through whom she could literally

conduct exhaustive research

and act out these brutally savage crimes.

And you have to remember that

your evidence against Rodriguez

was always circumstantial.

She could never have done all of this

as Ellen.

- Captain, we're gonna bring her out, okay?

- Car's ready.

Thank you.

Don't worry. We'll look after Timmy for you.

Timmy?

Timmy died 7 years ago.

At 2:
30 this morning, the LAPD and the FBI,

working with the L.A. County Sheriffs

here at the West Hollywood Station,

arrested Mrs. Ellen Bunting

at her house on Whitechapel Street

in West Hollywood.

Mrs. Bunting will shortly undergo

a complete psychological...

Why didn't you go with Smith?

You don't think it's her.

Hello?

I saw the sign out front,

about the room for rent?

Oh, yes, please. Come in.

So, did you just move to Santa Monica?

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