Untraceable Page #7

OVER THE GORGEOUS TOUR, we hear a spliced jumble of various

local TV and radio broadcasts:

AUDIO JUMBLE:

Herbert Miller...the Bramford man

...last seen ten days ago...

streaming live...a grisly sight

...authorities report...real or

fake...a stunt...until a body is

found speculation...no one has

claimed responsibility...since the

site went black, rumors abound...

local authorities...the end or just

the beginning?

EXT. D.C. RESIDENTIAL NEIGHBORHOOD -- LATER -- MORNING.

Birds sing on a gorgeous tree-lined street of stately homes,

dappled with shadow.

33.

EXT. D.C. HOUSE -- SAME -- MORNING.

A big Colonial house. An SUV is parked in the driveway. The

front door opens and a SPOILED PREPPIE, 22, emerges, carrying

a golf bag, speaking on his cell phone--

SPOILED PREPPIE:

Dude, he is so Red State. He

drives a pick-up truck...his teeth

look like puppy chow..and the

haircut. What is that, a reverse

mullet?

FRIEND O.S.

(through the phone)

His girlfriend cut it. She’s

French.

SPOILED PREPPIE:

I knew I hated her.

He opens the back of the SUV.

SPOILED PREPPIE (cont’d)

Anyway, no way he’s stepping foot

in my dad’s country club. Call

Tucker or even that fat kid from-

His golf bag lands with a weird thud.

.

SPOILED PREPPIE (cont’d)

Hold on.

He opens the hatch wider to look. He sees a black trash bag

filled with something. He unties it. He staggers back,

sucking wind, as the purple, withered face of Herbert Miller

plops out, connected only to Miller’s upper torso.

INT. MARSH’S KITCHEN -- MORNING.

Annie munches cereal. She looks over, notices something, and

smiles-

ANNIE:

Mommy’s sleepy.

Stella, seated next to Annie, pouring herself coffee, looks

over-

STELLA:

You know, I think she is.

ANGLE ON MARSH, looking dead tired.

34.

MARSH:

Why do you say that?

She pretends to nod off, snoring, into her oatmeal. Annie

giggles. Stella pours Marsh some more coffee.

STELLA:

It’s a big deal, you know, turning

your schedule upside down. It’s

crazy-making. Or, in your case,

crazy increasing.

MARSH:

Shouldn’t you be getting senile

soon?

STELLA:

But there is an upside. A normal

schedule might lead to other normal

activities.

MARSH:

(wryly)

You mean d-a-t-i-n-g?

ANNIE:

No spelling!

Annie blows a whistle on a cord around her neck. Marsh jumps

out of her skin.

MARSH:

Oh, baby! Too early!

STELLA:

Did you see the pretty lanyard she

made at day camp?

Marsh’s cell phone rings. Annoyed, she opens it and looks at

the caller ID. She answers immediately-

.

MARSH:

What’s up?

As she listens, she rises from her chair, shocked, her face

growing more and more alarmed. Annie makes a face at her

grandmother.

ANNIE:

Uh-oh.

35.

EXT. D.C. RESIDENTIAL STREET -- MORNING.

HELICOPTER SHOT:
the Colonial house has been cordoned off

with yellow evidence tape, behind which stand DOZENS OF

ONLOOKERS, visibly excited, taking photos with their cell

phones.

A Forensic Science Unit Van is parked outside, along with

several police cars. TWO CORONER TECHNICIANS carry Miller’s

remains in a zippered bag to their white van.

As we hover overhead, we notice DETECTIVES and UNIFORMED

OFFICERS at different doorways, questioning NEIGHBORS.

And in the midst of all of this -- John Box, striding across

the lawn in a hurry. He jumps into his car.

EXT. BALTIMORE CITY HALL -- DAY.

Marsh hurries up the marble steps of the historic building.

EXT. BALTIMORE CITY HALL CORRIDOR -- LATER -- DAY.

Marsh walks down the hall, swarming with activity, and stops

at the Press Room door, where she flashes her badge.

INT. CITY HALL PRESS ROOM -- CONTINUOUS -- DAY.

Marsh enters the bright, cluttered room, which is packed with

network and cable TV crews, reporters, and photographers, in

the middle of a press briefing.

At the microphone stands MICHAEL BECKETT, Chief of the

Baltimore Police, 60’s, silver-haired, red-cheeked, reading

from prepared notes.

Behind him stands John Box, as well as representatives from

the Secret Service, the District Attorney’s office, and the

local Sheriff’s office.

BECKETT:

--at which time Trey Restom, the son

of California Congressman Joseph

Restom, discovered the partial

remains of Mr. Miller inside the

vehicle. He immediately phoned local

authorities, who responded-INT.

BALTIMORE CITY HALL -- LATER -- DAY.

Marsh and Box stride quickly down the hall--

36.

BOX:

Miller was a god-damn chopper

pilot. What’s his connection to a

U.S. Congressman?

MARSH:

The killer had to dump the body

somewhere. Why not on a national

stage?

Box stops dead.

BOX:

You’re saying there is no connection?

He did it for a bullshit

press conference?

MARSH:

Maybe.

BOX:

What, to build up his fan base?

MARSH:

They’re not fans. They’re

accomplices.

Box takes a beat, then, disgusted, pushes through the ornate

door.

EXT. CITY HALL -- CONTINUOUS -- DAY.

Box lights a cigarette, as Marsh emerges behind him.

BOX:

But why’d he pick Restom, when he

had 434 other dishonest, yellow-

tied douche bags to choose from?

MARSH:

Good question.

Box throws her a smile, unused to the compliment.

MARSH (cont’d)

I know because I asked it myself.

(beat)

The Director testified before him

once. Restom sits on the House

Judiciary Committee. He’s a huge

supporter of Net Neutrality. All

traffic treated equally. No

restriction on content.

37.

BOX.

You’d think the piece of sh*t would

be for that.

MARSH:

Yeah, you would.

They both think for a beat, then start to descend the steps.

MARSH (cont’d)

What’d you find on scene?

.

BOX:

A neighbor saw some a van drive by

around four a.m. Another heard a

car door slam a minute later. They

assumed it was the Post being

delivered. They were wrong. As

for Restom’s car, no sign of forced

entry. So, it looks like our guy’s

a god-damn locksmith, too.

(beat)

Today, my men’re gonna work the tech

angle:
computer companies...on-line

electronics stores...those freaks who

build their own computers.

MARSH:

Power Users. I’m one.

He smiles, checks his watch, and descends faster. She

struggles a bit to keep up.

MARSH (cont’d)

What’s the hurry?

BOX:

(slowing down)

A house call. Arthur James Elmer.

An engineer at a place called

DynoTech Solutions. He was fired

six months ago for installing a

wireless web cam in the men’s room.

His landlady says ever since the

kitty bit the glue, he's been

talkin’ about the site non-stop.

They reach his car.

BOX (cont’d)

Get in, we’ll go together.

MARSH:

No, thanks.

38.

BOX:

What’s wrong?

MARSH:

I don’t do field work.

BOX:

But that’s where our guy lives.

MARSH:

I’m better behind a desk. Anyway,

Brooks mobilized the task force, so

I really should....

His eyes meet hers. He flips his cigarette and gets into his

car.

BOX:

I’ll keep you posted.

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