Under Suspicion Page #6

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semen...

DNA.

Your test'll prove

that it wasn't me.

- You use condoms with your prostitutes?

- Of course.

- What kind?

- I don't know.

Trojans. Whatever they have.

The killer used condoms.

Chemical lubricants were found

in the victims. He's smart, like you.

Knows all about our lab tests.

Both victims were raped from behind.

Both victims were strangled from behind.

Thumb and fingerprints

on the victims necks confirmed this.

Are you here all by yourself?

Then you put the clothes

back on.

Dirt and leaves inside the garments

confirmed this, as well.

- Pretty blouse you have on there.

- Then you pose them.

Each on the side...

little heads

resting on cupped hands.

And you combed their hair.

The lack of debris suggests this.

And we have reason

to believe you took their photograph.

Stop it!

Photography is your hobby,

isn't it? Isn't it?

Stop it!

- What's wrong? You all right?

- I'm fine.

You want some water?

No. I'm perfectly fine.

I've never been better.

I'm just tired.

You don't look exactly

fresh as a daisy yourself.

You surf, Henry?

The Internet? This is a statement

from your web-browser provider.

Your E-mail address

is hhearst@elpuerto. Com.

You sometimes

use an on-line alias.

"Hard Body Hank"?

- Very catchy.

- God, does this ever end?

A simple yes or no, Henry.

- Yes.

- Yes.

It seems that Hard Body Hank

has visited several pornography sites...

one of which

is called Barely Legal.

It features young ladies

posed as schoolgirls.

That website features women,

not children.

Christ.

Every time I check E-mail, there's a new

message from some electronic bimbo...

luring me to her site.

So I checked it out a few times.

What's the big deal?

And the prostitutes-

What does that prove? That I'm lonely?

That I don't get it at home? That

my wife makes me sleep down the hall?

And all this makes me a pedophile,

a rapist, a killer of children?

- Why would I do such a thing?

- I don't know, Henry.

Not yet.

Let's talk about this glamorous wife who

keeps poor Henry shivering in the hall.

- You know what Chantal says?

- She's lying!

Whatever she said.

I never touched Camille.

Who's Camille?

All right, Mrs. Hearst.

Let's talk about your separate bedrooms.

Henry says it was his choice;

he moved out.

- He's wrong.

- He's wrong or he's lying?

Let's not quibble over words.

But words can be very amusing.

Words like "conjugal duty,"

for instance...

which Henry claims you have not been

performing with willing good spirits.

To be honest,

he says you're not performing at all.

He has been revealing things,

hasn't he?

I'd like to hear your side.

The most interesting things-

Those I'm sure he kept to himself.

Not Camille, I'm afraid.

That is the reason you sent him down the

hall with his toothbrush and wash cloth?

He's out there...

afraid, hoping for a miracle...

that one day

things will turn out all right...

as long as nobody

speaks of them.

He's right to.

To what? Hope?

To be afraid.

Christmas Day, two years ago.

We always used to spend Christmas

with Maria and Paco.

Of course this was before.

Yeah.

That's what I understand.

I couldn't wait to see my niece.

Camille.

Their children were special...

with an extra share of magic...

and grace and purity.

Camille was one of them.

Henry and I

were extremely fond of her.

How are you?

- They seem very close.

- Don't they?

- You look great!

- You too.

We were all having a good time,

the way families should beat Christmas.

- But then Henry got drunk.

- Red, anybody?

- No, thanks.

- You've already poured it out.

- I have.

- He started making remarks...

- Please excuse my husband.

- About me and Paco.

Excuse the husband, yeah.

Something Paco seems very adept at.

- It was embarrassing.

- Henry.

I was angry.

- This the first time?

- No.

Is it some kind of secret

that Paco finds my Chantal enchanting?

- Henry, don't.

- So what did you do?

- Don't what?

- I told him to shut up.

Just don't.

After dinner...

Maria and I opened our presents.

- Books for me...

- Thanks.

She wanted to read...

and jewelry for her

that I wanted to wear.

Why I got up when I did,

I don't know.

Unless

you call intuition a reason.

But he wasn't there.

Something led me

toward the bedrooms.

- I don't get it.

- Come here.

- They were there...

- Let me see.

In her room.

- Yes.

- Thank you.

He was talking,

and she was listening.

I couldn't tell you

what he was saying...

but the way he talked to her...

was the way

you talk to a woman.

I remember how she smiled,

the look in her eyes.

He had no right

to make her smile that way.

And you continued

to stay together...

each at your own

separate ends of the hall.

And you never had sex since?

You're putting on quite a show

for Henry, arent you?

Right now,

he can't hear you.

Once a woman decides

that's it's not important-

Even when I would try

to get things back to normal...

that image was always with me.

And since you can't

have children-

Of course I can.

Would you mind telling me

how old you were when you and Henry met?

I think I was about 11

when we came over from Europe.

Henry became

my father's attorney here.

They sailed together.

He was always around.

In our families, you could always

find some friend of your father's...

with a boat in St. Thomas

or a penthouse in Manhattan.

And that man was Henry.

Now, your father-

He died when you were what?

Fourteen.

And Henry

became your surrogate father?

He paid for my college.

And that's

when you became lovers?

I wasn't interested

in boys my age.

Spring break. I couldn't wait.

We did it on Henry's yacht,

then in hotels...

in cars, on beaches, everywhere.

He was different with me.

He was tender.

We had a time, Henry and I.

I can imagine.

So can you imagine his anger...

at not being able

to make love to you now?

- I've seen it.

- You've seen it?

As in, he raped you?

Rape is an act of anger.

It's about control,

not about sex.

Henry was a very angry man.

Do you think he's guilty?

Do you?

That night,

he visited your sister's home.

Did you notice any scratches on him,

signs of struggle?

I can't remember.

I need to get my hands on the clothes

he was wearing that night.

Please.

Give me permission

to search your house.

Because you saw your husband talking

to your niece on Christmas Eve...

you've thrown him out of your bedroom

and haven't slept with him in two years.

Now, don't you think

that's a little bit harsh?

Stop trying to bait me.

What do you call a beautiful young woman

who's jealous of her 13-year-old niece?

Honest.

"Honest." I don't know

who's more f***ed up, you or him.

I'm sorry.

But don't you want to know

you've been right about him?

Don't you?

Don't make a mess.

Castillo? Take a squad of men.

Escort Mrs. Hearst back to her house.

Yes, sir.

- Castillo, search the house.

- Yes, sir.

Say it. Go on. Say it.

She tells you about Camille,

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