My own son directing?
Dad, please.
I-I need some help. I'm drowning over here.
I understand. I'm just ridiculously jammed with this case.
Hello, Mabel. This is Alice Banks from Third Arm Gallery.
We're a little artist collective downtown.
There's just something very compelling about you.
- I want to show you something. - It's beautiful.
I'm glad you like it, because it's you.
Alright. What do we know?
Bunny was killed with a knife.
Evidence keeps showing up in our apartments,
and we don't know how. I mean,
first the painting over there, now the murder weapon?
I think I know how people are getting into your apartment.
In a shocking development,
we've discovered the killer's secret lair.
Is your friend from yesterday joining you?
Another waiter took my shift and said you were with someone.
Not coming. And not my friend.
I went over 20%.
That's too much this time.
No one else who needs it.
Well, unknown caller,
I need your help with something.
Hello, Charles. I've missed you.
Yeah, baby. We're just doing this
family tree for a science fair project.
Well, I took over.
Yeah. I'll make him do some of the gluing.
Okay. Yeah. Love you, too. Bye.
My dad in the 1970s.
There was no better time to be in New York City.
I know this only because he says it constantly.
Yeah, I guess if you miss wall-to-wall porno theaters
and trashcan fires, the '70s were your decade.
But for my dad, they really were.
I've got an idea. Who wants to play...
"Son of Sam"?
See, he spent a lot of those days
partying with friends and actors
and artists, completely carefree,
developing what he thinks is his greatest skill...
Knowing when someone is hiding a secret from him.
The object of the game is simple.
If you're the killer, kill.
And if you're anyone else, survive.
Most of you are innocent blondes, but one of you
is the Son of Sam killer...
And I'm gonna find out who.
Now, no cheating, Teddy.
Who, me?
You know, sometimes I wonder
if he thought the parties would never end.
Blackout!
Because for years, they didn't.
One of you... is the Son of Sam killer.
And I'm gonna find out who.
Is it you, my darling wife, Roberta?
See, he's always been an observant guy, my dad.
It's basically impossible to hide something from him.
Okay. Hold on.
William...
Did you just sneak out of bed?
Um... No.
Are you sure? You wouldn't fib to your old father...
would you?!
I admit it! I did!
How come you always know?
Well, because everyone who has a secret has a tell.
Both your sockies... Where's that sock? Ah, ha!
Both your sockies are on,
but it's well known that you hate sleeping in your sockies.
That's a tell.
Your door was ajar, but you like it closed to keep out the monsters.
I just know you, Willie.
Same way I know that Mom isn't the Son of Sam tonight
'cause she ate some cheese,
and she only does that when she's relaxed.
You're amazing, Dad.
Well, you're even more amazing
for realizing how amazing I am so early in life.
Now, off to Dream Land, little boy.
Shh...
I love you.
Teddy...
You're the killer.
But, it turns out,
you can hide a secret from my dad.
All you have to do is not know what you're hiding.
Synced & corrected by QueenMaddie www.addic7ed.com
_
It's good you're here.
Being in a place like this gives a gal a lot of time to think,
and I tend to get a little neurotic.
I'm worried about us, Charles. Are we okay?
Are you insane?
You mean, like, legally? I wish.
I wanna know who killed Bunny.
And I thought you,
as a maniac,
might have some insight.
Oh, you guys are really struggling this season, aren't you?
Mm, truthfully, I'm behind on your podcast.
I only get 10 minutes of internet a day here,
and mostly, I use it to watch pornography and TikToks.
Tell me about the case.
We know that Bunny was killed with a knife in Mabel's apartment,
and the killer composed the scene
by placing a knitting needle in the wound
to make the cops think we were involved.
Yum. Any theories?
We were looking at Nina Lin,
but we think that may be the wrong track.
Nina Lin? The Lululemon Gremlin?
She's not the stabbing type.
Who is? A bloodthirsty bassoonist?
Not in this case.
Though, I did stab my third one.
You know, you really gotta know what you're doing
because, God forbid,
you accidentally take out their appendix
and save their life.
This was a mistake coming here.
How can you pretend you don't love this?
The way we connect when we theorize and speculate.
It's just like how we used to go back and forth
about the last case.
You mean the murder you committed?
I don't get hung up on the details. It's the feelings that matter.
I know the real you, Charles.
That last night we had together,
we found our sweet spot.
You tried to kill me.
Details.
Listen to what you said, Charles.
The killer composed the murder scene.
That's who you're looking for.
A storyteller. An artist.
Go on.
An artist never finishes their piece in the middle.
They stick with it till the end.
Finding ways to stay close to their work.
Is someone staying close to you?
Does someone have a new friend?
That's your killer.
So, you're saying it's not raining inside where you are?
Skies are clear in this building.
Paint me a picture. What are you wearing right now?
- Actually, let me guess. - Is it a, uh...
Is it a very, very sexy
over-sized jumper circa 1993?
- Wait, am I right? - That's cute.
I love that you have the same weekend attire as Norm from Cheers.
How do you know what Cheers is?
I'm from London, not the moon.
It's funny, the turns life takes.
There I was, a posh girl being paid to party,
working on the door of the rare club.
But even then, I still had this overwhelming feeling
that I needed to check out the art scene of jolly old Bushwick,
where, now,
my ceiling is weeping a brown liquid
on the night I'm meant to be hosting a full collective get-together,
and I have no idea how I can get away
with calling this a water feature,
- but do you have any ideas? - Jesus...
- Jesus is right. - Um, hold on.
I'm gonna put you on mute.
Yeah, I should go anyway. I have to decide by 9:00
whether I need to mop up this sewage water or try and call it art,
so... unless...
you'd ever in a million years host it at your palatial apartment?
It's just a small drinks thing.
It's just passing the hat,
a little get-together.
No, Actually, that's such an imposition.
- Please, just forget I said anything. - You know what?
I think having it here would be a grand idea.
- Really? - Sure. I kinda hate
the idea of being alone in my place these days.
- I could use the company. - Wow! Amazing!
Okay, this will be so fun.
I'll organize everything. I'll get the wine,
and you just don't worry about a thing.
- I won't. - Okay, see you later.
Good, guys.
Flap those wings. Scary, guys, scary.
I gotta say, Dad,
what you've done with the production value here...
Oh, it's just my old costume buddies.
You're the one who cast the perfect Toto.
That's because I'm better at directing the dog than the kids.
I just think it's so great to have another Putnam in the theater.
You know our family roots in this business of show
go back five generations.
Showmanship and desperation must be
the twin helixes of our family DNA.
You know, I wonder if that's gonna show up in the ancestry test
we had to take for Henry's science fair project.
Oh, by the way, we could use your help with that, if you don't mind.
Sure. What do you need?
Saliva I can give you right now. Urine might take a minute.
Eh, it's good to have you around, Dad.
You know, any time you want to stop by,
I know the kids will love it.
Well, let's... let's make it a standing thing, okay?
And I swear, I will never allow
the commitment to my family to take a backseat to...
Oh, hold on. I gotta get this.
- _ - Oh! I gotta split. Okay.
Alright. Henry! Where are you?
There you are, baby. Grandpa's gotta go.
Okay, kids! Rush hour is approaching,
and the tunnel will be as packed as Orson Welles' colon.
Kids, Dad, kids...
No, it's clever. It's clever.
Alright, let's go. Let's take it from the top.
"... as Orson Welles' colon."
And everyone laughed, especially the kids.
Ooh. Is that the matchbook in question?
- No! - Fingerprints!
- Sorry. The Pickle Diner? - Look. Is that blood?
Or is that a spot of ketchup?
Interesting.
Tell me, matchbook.
Are you clue or condiment?
So, the killer stabs Bunny here,
and then leaves through the hole in the bottom of my closet.
Hole in the closet? This is new. I didn't hear that.
And during the escape, drops the matchbook.
I must have come in right after that. Bunny said "14" and...
Passage.
Maybe that's what Bunny said. Not "savage."
- "Passage." - Maybe, but it's all still a blur.
B-but if someone was running through the walls,
you would think you'd hear something.
So, is it that you didn't hear anything
or you don't remember hearing anything?
Where's the blur exactly?
I'm not... It was... It was a hectic moment.
What's the difference between hearing something
- and remembering hearing something? - Well, Charles,
memory can contain both objective reality
and subjective perception. For example,
you remember being a huge television star,
but I remember flipping past Brazzos
to watch the Iran-Contra hearings. So, Mabel,
- what do you remember? - Not the Iran-Contra.
Oh, that one's easy.
Ronald Reagan, who I didn't always agree with politically,
but whose acting chops and hair color I respected,
was opposed to something called the Boland Amendment...
Whoa, whoa, whoa! He's skipping over
- the Carter-Iranian arms embargo! - She doesn't need me to recap
the whole embassy standoff.
Couple of names to remember... Robert McFarlane and John Poindexter.
- And don't forget Weinberger and North. - I wasn't going to.
- Or the Tower Commission. - I wasn't going to!
I know all the players!
Negroponte, Noriega, Hasenfus.
He forgot Ed Meese, everybody!
Yeah, I wasn't going to forget Ed Meese, everybody!
But, I'll tell you who we did forget...
Fawn Hall!
Oh, my God, shut up! I don't care about any of this!
Well, you should. It's worse than Watergate.
Just not as interesting. Okay, so...
- let's focus. - Okay.
Does this matchbook belong to the killer?
Wouldn't it be nice if it was just simple this time?
If he was, like, a lifelong matchbook collector
or a regular at the Pickle Diner.
There's only one way to find out.
- And here's my list of regulars. - Thank you, Ivan.
How can you still be hungry?
Charles, need I remind you that there is a killer
traveling through the walls of the Arconia
who can hear everything we're saying,
and I can't think of a single, safer location to work in
that also has dips.
Although these are pretty watery, truth be told.
I agree. Not with the whole dip obsession.
Think it's a crime against nutrition.
This is great.
Half of Ivan's list is in Russian.
The person who did this composed the scene
to tell a story.
So, who did Bunny know who was
a-a storytelling artist-type
or an artsy storyteller-type?
Okay, Carl Jung P.I.
Maybe the killer is our shadow selves.
Maybe it's my grandson.
You know, he recently got interested in the arts,
although he's more of a... mathlete at heart.
It's hard to believe he's blood relative.
The only blood that we should be thinking about right now
is whose blood...
Uh, or ketchup.
Is on the matchbook in the...
secret passageways.
- What? - What?
Secret passageways.
Can't hear what you're saying.
The fucking secret passageways!
Hey, sorry. Did you just say that the killer
is an artist crawling throughout the Arconia's secret passageways?
- I believe it. - That's big!
Our fans! You rascals.
Issue yourselves a spoiler alert.
You know, I think I know about those passageways.
- I do mold removal in the building. - But you think they're secret?
We are not prepared to confirm any theory at this particular juncture.
Nice job alerting the world
that we have no theories, Charles.
But please, continue to wax poetic
- about our killer's inner child. - Oh.
So, their psychological motivation is not important?
They're toying with us.
They have to get close to do that.
So, is anyone new trying to get close to us?
_
What?
This isn't that.
This is just a friend who's an artist.
Alice is not a killer. She's...
an intimidatingly cool English girl
I've been on a few dates with.
Dates? Like...
Oh.
Oh. Look at the wheels turn slowly.
So slowly.
Don't you know it's very hip to be bisexual these days, Charles?
You're lucky. You know, back in the '70s, I had to hide the fact
- that I had a lesbian lover. - You know,
my daughter came out recently,
and I was so proud.
She says I'm dead to her,
but could a dead man "like" a Facebook post?
Anyway, Alice's gallery got flooded,
so she's going to throw a party at my place tonight.
And we weren't invited?
You're having a party at the crime scene?
It's not really a party. It's... very last minute.
It's just a get-together. You guys wouldn't wanna come.
Invitation accepted!
I have the perfect waistcoat to wear.
- It's brand new. - Can I go in this?
Is that a serious question,
or do you think the theme of this party is "open casket funeral"?
Oh!
I'll get this.
- Oh, thank you. - Guys,
just please be normal. Please.
Okay.
Finally, some story progress.
After that episode about the shit-talking bird...
And the baby-maker board president?
Oh, I'm just glad that they don't have a theory pointing to themselves.
I like that Mabel's dating a woman. Very progressive.
Mm. Okay.
The good news is you're not the worst-dressed guest here.
Pleasure to meet you, Professor.
Did you ride here in a hot air balloon?
- Mm-hmm. - Ah.
There she is. The artist.
I don't trust her.
And when did they start dating again? Right after Bunny's murder.
Okay, you're being paranoid. Can our friend not have one nice thing?
Can I say I couldn't be more excited
- to meet the both of you? - Oh!
And hold on. Charles,
- were you not in... - Here we go.
That Swedish movie
with that tempestuous throuple that go camping
and torture each other with orgasms?
You saw Encounter at Uppsala?
- I played the park ranger. - Fabulously,
by the way. If it were in anyone else's hands,
it would have just been an average peeping tom.
It's one of the most memorable half-scenes of the entire film.
Honestly.
And how did you see this movie?
I took a class on deviant sexuality in Scandinavian cinema.
By the way, I love your waistcoat.
I used to have one just like it.
Oh, I-I doubt that.
So tell me, how did you and Mabel meet?
Because it's so impossible to pry any information
out of this adorable little vault.
Well, okay, why don't you guys go to the bar?
It's the door being used as a table.
I hate to say it, but I think you may be right about our Alice.
There's something about that story.
She's fantastic! She didn't do it.
So, some strange woman praises your one foreign film foray
and, all of a sudden, you trust her.
It's the Jan thing all over again.
Okay. Uh, fair enough,
but what are the odds of that happening again?
And you can't go around thinking everybody's lying.
Yeah, I only think it if they're lying,
and everyone has a tell.
Oh? Really? What's my tell?
Your tell is that you don't have a tell.
You're just as uncomfortable as you look.
- I'll be right back. - You can't leave me here.
I'm not good at parties!
- Oh, hi. - Hi!
I-I'm nervous to talk to people because I can come off creepy.
Okay, zoomers!
This shindig is flat-lining...
but thankfully, Dr. Oliver Feelgood's
got something to jump-start its heart.
- A party game. - Oliver, what are you doing?
Oh, I know we're all too cool for this, Mabel.
But you know who else thought he was too cool?
Andy Warhol. I knew him.
Taught him how to play at the Factory in '79.
- This is demented. I'm in. - Wonderful. Step one, drugs!
But, fair warning, they may be a few decades old.
Red before green, you're peeing clean.
Green before red, your liver's dead.
- What is he doing? - He's either pushing
Benzedrine or penicillin.
It's an innocent game. Now, everyone get pilled out
and prepare to travel back to gritty-go-go-in-your-face,
Dancin', Bronx on fire, let's go Knicks!
Mean Streets. Taxi Driver. Muppets Take Manhattan.
New York City of 1977!
And... blackout!
It's a hot, sweaty summer night,
and there's a madman on the loose.
The game is Son of Sam.
Now, no one show each other your cards.
Most of you are innocent blondes, but one of you
is the Son of Sam Killer.
Each round, after I quietly whisper,
"Blackout!"
We all put our hands into the center,
close our eyes,
and the Son of Sam will secretly...
pinch a victim like so.
Ah! And that pinch means
that you've just had your head blown off in a parked car.
Blammo.
Blackout ends. We discuss, we debate.
If we vote for the wrong person,
blackout, and so on,
until we have correctly identified the killer
or every innocent blonde in Bay Ridge
has been slaughtered by the Son of Sam.
Oh, I used to play this game in Oxford,
although we called it Jack the Ripper.
No.
We're in New York in the '70s, Alice. Pay attention.
You haven't even been born yet.
Now, everyone ready? Get into the center.
Blackout.
Eyes closed.
Wait for the killer's pinch.
Three, two, one!
I'm so dead.
Ah. Now, would anyone like to begin
the investigation with a few questions?
Charles is totally the killer.
Wait, that's not even a question.
Who else agrees? There's a question.
I'm no killer, Mabel. I'm just a curious coed from the Midwest,
hoping to kiss my first Italian.
Well, as usual, I find your acting unconvincing. Let's vote.
- Who thinks it's Charles? - Yep.
Sorry, but you've been found guilty
by a vigilante mob of bridge-and-tunnel lunatics.
You all have blood on your hands.
You must now spend the rest of the game over by that couch,
eating pretzels in purgatory.
- Mm, sorry, Charles. - Yeah, me, too.
Alright! Everyone, back in the center.
And... blackout!
Eyes closed. Wait for the killer's pinch.
Blackout after blackout, the Son of Sam struck,
and all efforts to catch the killer came to naught.
And then there were three.
Only is it three? Or is it two
and a psycho killer?
You play many roles, Oliver.
What's stopping you from being the murderer?
I know for a fact
that you're the Son of Sam, Alice.
Moi? What's got you pointing the finger at me then?
Simple. You have a tell.
You play with your hair when you're lying, like you're doing right now.
That is something that you do.
I like playing with my hair. It's not a tell.
You did the exact same thing
when you were talking about your life
as a posh little art legacy.
- Well, that wasn't a lie. - Wasn't it?
You did the same thing when you mentioned going to Oxford.
- I didn't. - Is this still a game?
You're not who you say you are. Why did you really befriend Mabel?
Okay, this has to stop.
I know you're the Son of Sam
and potentially worse.
Hey, pretzel boy, you wanna help me out here?
I know it seems crazy,
but Alice came into your life so soon after Bunny died.
We thought she might be up to something.
And she is. She's lying to you,
and everyone else here tonight, aren't you?
- No... Stop! - Admit it.
You never saw his weird Swedish porno film,
- and you are not who you say you are. - Okay!
Fine.
I didn't go to Oxford.
And no one in my family is rich or is in the arts.
But who wants to buy a $50,000 painting
from the daughter of a plumber from Essex?
I didn't think so. I've had to lie
to create some legitimacy for myself in this world.
And, yes, I get the irony in what I just said.
And now, if you are done humiliating me...
Game over, please. Thank you.
Innocent blonde.
I thought for sure she did it.
If this is what people do at parties, I'm out.
_
Everybody's gone.
Brave.
I know. I'm a coward.
I can't stand it when people are mad at me.
Well, I am mad.
At Charles and Oliver, too, but especially you.
You lied to me,
and I'm not leaving here until you tell me why.
It's hard to explain.
I always knew I wanted to be an artist.
Oh God, it sounds so trite when you say it out loud, but...
for me, it's true.
And all the things that got in the way...
going to the wrong schools,
not knowing anyone important or famous
or even vaguely interesting,
it felt like something I could never overcome, so I lied.
But I should've been honest with you.
I owed you that.
I didn't know how to tell you, and I'm sorry.
Everyone lies a little.
I lie.
About what?
Remember when we went to that Thai restaurant,
and you asked me if I thought the larb was too spicy?
And I was like, "No."
I was fucking lying.
Also, whenever anyone asks me
if I've heard of a band or a movie,
I'm like, "Yeah!"
I'm fucking lying.
Are we okay?
I'm glad that you told me the truth.
I have trust issues.
There's a band called Trust Issues. Have you heard of them?
They're really good.
Hey.
No more half-truths, okay?
Wait, she's dating an actual artist? No kidding.
That's like a criminal profiling hole-in-one.
Yeah, but, uh, now I'm not so sure.
Why? Is she flirting with you? I'm getting a wee bit jealous.
There's nothing to be jealous abo...
Also, we're not a couple!
You're a detective. Look at the evidence.
We're a good match.
You brought out something in my bassoon playing.
- Something feral. - Stop it.
Oh, Charles.
If you wanted me to stop, you'd just hang up.
I heard you talking about Bunny this morning,
make me think I should return the money she gave me.
I don't want any trouble.
This is a hell of a lot of money, Ivan, doesn't look good.
For seven years, she was my regular.
She always tipped me extra. At first, just little.
Then, even more generously.
Maybe she saw me as grandson.
Maybe she saw me as...
something else.
This is...
This is one layer of the onion I did not need to peel back.
But, look...
Is there anything about Bunny
that you remember that could help?
Anything about her final days that were different?
It's so quiet in the building now.
Aside from some yodeling.
Yodeling?
Yeah. Howard has a group. Don't ask.
- I miss the bassoon. - You have one minute remaining.
- I should go. - Wait.
You know what I've been thinking about?
It's warm and moist.
There's a bit of sweetness in every bite.
- Is it the food in prison? - Blech.
I'm talking about those blueberry bagels we had.
- Remember? - Oh yeah.
The morning after we first, uh...
- You do remember. - Yeah.
You know, I bet those bagels are still in your freezer.
Just cold and lonely,
waiting for someone to come heat up their lives again
like she did before.
What I'd give to taste one of those blueberry bad boys.
You know, Jan...
neurotics make very good sex partners.
Jan?
Now, the day before she died, I took the day off,
but I heard that Bunny met with someone here.
Someone who pissed her off.
Okay, you really need to upgrade to 4K.
This is unwatchable.
- I... - Hold on.
There, on the tape, was the murderer.
Maybe.
Looking... murderous.
Possibly.
And...
grainy.
Too grainy to make out any physical characteristics at all.
Oh, hold on.
What was that? What did they just pick up?
Nothing. That's where we keep the matchbooks.
God, I'm good!
You know, my dad
isn't just good at figuring out people's secrets.
Hey! Dad!
He can get obsessed with it.
I could never figure out why.
Maybe it makes you feel safe.
Maybe it makes you feel needed.
Thank you for the bagels, Charles.
Or maybe it makes you feel powerful.
_
But sometimes, it doesn't do any of that.
Sometimes, it just makes you feel worse.
So, what's up, baby?
So, uh, we got back the DNA test
we took for Henry's school project.
Oh, is this about the predisposition of prostate cancer?
Dr. Kipper said it's no big deal.
You just put your finger up there twice a year,
and then you phone someone you're fond of.
No. No, it-it's about the ancestry.
Dad, are you sure you're 100% Irish?
Am I 100% Irish?
I'll have you know I'm Putnam through and through,
and devil the man who say a word agin me, you know.
Right. Um...
You know, well, my DNA came back, and,
you know, half was clearly Mom.
But the other half was all Greek.
That-that's not possible, is it?
Greek?
No, that c-can't...
Who's the Son of Sam tonight, Dad?
Oh, Teddy.
It's always obvious when he's hiding something.
You're awfully quiet tonight, Teddy.
What, do you have another secret?
Synced & corrected by QueenMaddie www.addic7ed.com