half-a-thumb print.
could have touched it before it was a murder weapon.
yeah, i get very touchy around household plastics. 'hello, everybody -- ooooh, tupperware.' chill. i'm just saying the bag could have been out on the counter or something.
yeah.
but the murder's way too fucking clumsy. and this guy's a major intellectual. top of his yale class, a rhodes gig, tenured at 27, two books. he's an academic stud.
look at his wife, she's a regular grace kelly. old money svelte. father was ambassador to spain --
ignore it. it's a rental.
no. besides the guy's a flaming liberal.
wrong, seventy-three percent of all serial killers vote republican.
i'm not gonna fucking pollute.
how far to huntsville?
'news magazine reporters bitsy bloom and zack stemmons entered the rest area with car trouble.
little did they know their troubles were just beginning.
oww! jesus, yes. isn't it always?
so what do i do?
now what?
i hope whoever it is never saw deliverance.
the non-smoking section's over there.
oh.
9:15. the waitress says the ellis unit is about fifteen minutes out of town, so we've got like five and half hours. i --
i was thinking we should drive to austin, check out the crime scene. could be some story stuff for us.
okay, what do i watch you do for the next five hours?
you know, your reputation as siberian- female-dog-person doesn't do you justice.
so where do we report?
stemmons.
no, sir.
hi.
fucking better than watching you work.
you think he's telling the truth?
can't say that. if you say 'there is no truth,' you're claiming it's true that there is no truth -- it's a logical contradiction.
i, on the other hand, think gale's telling the truth.
it's just my perspective.
thirty-three o what?
bitsey.
you don't mind living here?
he's not exactly a serial killer.
right.
what? where was it?
fuck, in her stomach? that's colder than wisconsin.
what?
yeah.
same truck.
coincidences are always weird, that's why they're coincidences.
fuck.
hey.
you're not a happy camper.
talked to the austin prosecutor. belyeu's a yokel. prosecutor says he fucked up the penalty phase, says gale probably would have gotten life on mitigating factors. gale stuck with him, though, all through appeals, despite major pro bono offers.
notta on berlin, we pick up the money in houston tonight, overheat light came on twice, and you're about to get a surprise.
too late.
this is mostly an oklahoma caravan. i got stuck behind them on the way in.
execution's not for another 36 hours. it's gonna be a zoo. there's the p.r. guy.
fuck, look.
'cause i couldn't see the license plate.
6:05. why don't you have a watch?
what!?
so? maybe the maid forgot.
i'll check the bathroom.
clear in here! don't touch it!
fuck, bitsey, there could have been prints.
she says no one asked for you. and all the room keys are different.
just she and her husband have masters.
that you have a jealous boyfriend.
she didn't ask. i think she assumed it had something to do with why he was jealous. i still say we should do this in my room -- this one's a fucking crime scene.
maybe they could look for d.n.a. try three.
you sure you want to see what's on here?
fuck. is it her?
belyeu says to bring the tape first thing tomorrow. also said you were right about not calling the police.
are you gonna be okay?
let's say gale's right. some sick- fuck-agatha christie-wannabe set him up, arranged like the perfect murder. why send a magazine journalist proof a few hours before he's won? doesn't make sense.
why does he give a shit?
that's a lot of hate. you're talking beyond sadism.
then why release it?
or?
the 'cat' is a fucking psychopath.
why do they call it check-book journalism if we always pay cash?
woa, woa. sadist at six o'clock!
yep, and doing a lousy job of hiding.
he must think we're idiots. you think he's our fucked-up feline?
no. just sitting back there.
too much mist. what the fuck does this guy want?
he went in belyeu's building?
fuck!
how are you gonna get to ellis?
nine hours, 52 minutes.
any word on the writ?
what?
yeah, i guess. it's a hotel room. what --
no. fuck, bitsey. i'm sorry, it's not like it's --
what the fuck's wrong with you?
what?
where?
it's just a patriarchal figure of speech.
move those index cards, too.
we can imagine that part. i'll position her.
towel or something.
fucking good question.
jesus, maybe she was faking, hoping he would go away.
woa. not a good idea.
bitsey, i'm not so sure about this.
twenty-two seconds.
thirty seconds.
thirty-five.  forty.  forty-five.  fifty.
fifty-five.  one minute.  five.  ten.  one-fifteen.
fuck. twenty.  twenty-five.  thirty.
thirty-five.  fuck.  one-forty.  one-forty fi.
jesus fucking christ, bitsey. you okay? what if i'd've waited?
no more fucking experiments, all right? just tell me what's going on. you okay?
maybe, all right, maybe. but why wear these?
woa, chill, chill. why not hang yourself, or take pills. why take your fucking clothes off? why make it look like a murder?
why, bitsey? why fake your own murder?
motive's like a major issue here.
it doesn't make sense. the woman's a bleeding-heart abolitionist. why frame an innocent man? why send gale to the chair for what looks --
she had to know some innocent fuck would take the fall.
get the fuck out of here.
a dead woman put the tape in your room?
thick as thieves.
hairy.
she was in love with him.
why he was fired from deathwatch, and the a.c.l.u.
which would only prove the system works.
so he'll wait, release the whole tape after the execution.
let's talk about your tape.  no, meet me at the station down the hill, in fifteen minutes.
i know. go.
go!
come on. fucking come on.
he didn't show! fuckin' move!
took me 30 this afternoon. you've got 26, maybe more.