SEVEN
by
Andrew Kevin Walker
January 27,1992
The world is a fine place,
and worth fighting for.
- Ernest Hemingway
For Whom the Bell Tolls
1940
EXT. COUNTRY CHURCH -- DAY
The white cross on the church steeple stands against blue sky.
The church bell rings, resonating.
Mass has let out. Small church, small congregation. The dirt
road in front is lined with pick-up trucks and parishioners on
foot heading to outlying farms and homes. An old two-story
house sits across the road. Lone.
INT. OLD HOUSE -- DAY
Sunlight comes through the soot on the windows, more brown than
bright. SOMERSET, 45, in a suit and tie, stands in this empty
second-story room. He looks around, at the ceiling, at the worn
wooden floor, at the peeling wallpaper on the walls.
Somerset walks to one wall where the current wallpaper is peeled
away to reveal flowery wallpaper underneath. He runs his finger
across one of the pale red roses that decorates the older paper.
He pushes the grime away, brings the rose out more clearly.
He pulls at the edge of the paper, carefully ripping off a
roughly squared section with the rose at its center.
He studies it in his hand.
EXT. OLD HOUSE -- DAY
Birds sing. Somerset stands, pondering the forested landscape.
MAN'S VOICE (O.S.)
Is something wrong?
Somerset does not respond. The MAN, in an ill-fitting real
estate jacket, is seated on the hood of a dirty Ford
Thunderbird. He holds a check and a booklet of receipts.
MAN (CONT)
Is something the matter?
SOMERSET
No... no. There's nothing wrong.
Somerset still seems distant.
MAN
(writes receipt)
Not that it's any of my business... but,
are you figuring on moving out here
eventually?
SOMERSET
Soon.
MAN
I just never seen a man mortgaging an
empty house before.
SOMERSET
Everything here still seems... seems so
strange to me. All this.
MAN
I don't know. I'd say this place is
about as normal as places get.
The man walks over to hand over a receipt. Somerset accepts the
receipt, folds it. Somerset smiles.
SOMERSET
That is exactly what I mean. Strange.
Somerset looks back at the house. The man does not understand.
INT. AMTRACK TRAIN -- DAY -- (CREDIT SEQUENCE BEGINS)
Somerset is in a window seat, smoking a cigarette, looking out
the speeding train. He is near the back of the car, away from
the few other passengers.
Outside, farms, small homes and lawns pass. The entire panorama
is dappled by the rays of the soon setting sun.
The light flickers across Somerset's placid face.
INT. AMTRACK TRAIN -- LATER DAY
The train is nearly full. Somerset has his suitcase on the
aisle seat beside him. He has a hardcover book unopened on his
lap. He still stares out the window, but his disposition has
soured. The train is passing an ugly, swampy field.
A car's burnt-out skeleton sits rusting in the bracken. A little
further on, two dogs are fighting, circling, attacking, their
coats matted with blood.
Somerset turns his head to watch the dogs.
Away in the field, another dog sprints to join the fight.
INT. AMTRACK TRAIN -- EARLY EVENING
Passing urban streets below. Slums. Smashed cars. People
stand on the corners, under the bleak glow of street lamps.
Somerset's suitcase is by the window. Somerset is now in the
aisle seat, reading his book.
INT. SOMERSET'S APARTMENT -- LATER NIGHT -- (END CREDITS)
Curtains closed. The SOUNDS of the CITY are here as they will
be everywhere in this story. A CAR ALARM SHRIEKS. Somerset's
life is packed in many moving boxes, except for clothing in a
closet and hundreds of books on shelves.
Somerset, dressed only in his underwear, lays back on the bed.
He reaches to the nightstand, to a wooden, pyramidical
metronome.
He frees the metronome's weighted swingarm so it moves back and
forth. Swings to the left... TICK, swings to the right... TICK.
Tick, tick, tick, measured and steady.
Somerset situates on the bed, closes his eyes. The metronome's
ticking competes with the sound of the car alarm. Somerset's
face tightens as he concentrates on the metronome.
His eyes close tighter.
Tick, tick, tick... the swingarm moves evenly. Somerset's
breathing deepens. The car ALARM seems QUIETER.
Tick, tick, tick. Somerset continues his concentration.
The METRONOME is the ONLY SOUND. Somerset's face relaxes
slightly as he begins to fall asleep. Tick, tick, tick...
EXT. CHINESE BODEGA/CITY STREETS -- NIGHT
DAVID MILLS, 31, exits with a bagged 40oz bottle of beer. He is
a lean, attractive man, constantly coiled, eyes always
smoldering. FOLLOW as he walks quickly past iron-gated
storefronts. He crosses the street under elevated subway
tracks. A train roars overhead.
Mills watches it as he walks on.
Blue sparks spit off the third rail and illuminate Mills,
throwing his shadow long down the deserted street.
EXT. URBAN STREET OF ROW HOMES -- NIGHT
This rotting neighborhood lives in the shadow of a single fat
skyscraper. Mills walks, looks at the broken refrigerators and
pieces of junk in the gutter.
Ahead in the street, TWO YOUNG THUGS struggle with a crowbar to
break into the trunk of a parked car.
Mills draws near. One thug looks up, doesn't think Mills will
be a problem, continues prying. Mills stops, calm.
MILLS
Is that your car, man?
FIRST THUG
What the fuck do you care?
Mills pauses, switches his beer bottle to his other hand.
MILLS
Does that car belong to you?
The thugs look at each other, gauging. They face Mills.
FIRST THUG
Yeah, it's my car, alright? Fuck off.
MILLS
You're telling me that's your car?
The second thug starts the long way round the car.
SECOND THUG
Well, for some strange reason, I don't
believe you.
Mills gives a "isn't that silly" laugh, shifts his gaze --
Sees the first thug slide the crowbar so it's held as a weapon.
FIRST THUG
(steps forward)
You can fucking suck my...
Mills swiftly finishes that sentence by smashing his bottle
against the first thug's head. The thug falls, swings blindly.
The second thug moves from the side, brings out a knife.
Mills averts, swings, pounds the side of his fist into the
second thug's face -- CRACK. Broken nose.
The second thug stumbles back, drops the knife, his nose
squirting blood.
Mills turns, enraged, breathing hard.
The first thug is screaming, trying to stand. Mills takes one
step, punts the first thug's head. The crowbar clatters away.
Mills is in the process of kicking a man when he's down, when
the second thug grabs him from behind, pulls him backwards.
Mills clutches at the thug's arm, trying to avoid a choke-hold.
They both struggle spastically. The thug's winning.
Gurgling, gasping for air, Mills shifts his weight, drops to one
knee and spins the thug, slamming him against the car.
Mills breaks loose, grabs a handful of the second thug's hair
and holds the man's head against the car's side window. Mills'
free hand pounds the thug's face: once, twice -- third time's
the charm as the window shatters. The thug goes out cold.
Mills backs off, still incensed. He rubs his throat, looking at
the two prone men. Slowly, he regains some composure.
He takes a keychain from his pocket. He unlocks the door of the
car, loads one of the thugs into the back seat. He walks to
collect the other thug off the street.
INT. SOMERSET'S APARTMENT, BEDROOM -- MORNING
Somerset picks items off a moving box: keys, wallet, homicide
badge. Finally, he opens the hardcover book from the train.
From the pages, he takes the pale, wallpaper rose.
INT. TENEMENT APARTMENT -- DAY
A wall is stained by a starburst of blood. Somerset stands,
melancholy, looking at a body on the floor under a sheet near a
sawed-off shotgun. The apartment is gloomy. DETECTIVE TAYLOR,
52, looks through a notepad.
TAYLOR
Neighbors heard them screaming at each
other. It was nothing new or unusual.
But, then they heard the gun go off.
Boom, boom... both barrels.
SOMERSET
Did his wife confess? Did she actually
speak the words?
TAYLOR
When the patrolman got here she was
trying to put his head back together.
She was crying too hard to say anything.
(shuts notebook)
Crime of passion.
SOMERSET
Yes. Look at all the passion splattered
up on the wall here.
Taylor shifts his weight, impatient, annoyed.
TAYLOR
This is a done deal. All but the
paperwork.
Somerset looks at a coloring-book open on the coffee table.
There are crayons beside it. Somerset picks the book up.
He flips through: crudely colored pictures.
SOMERSET
Did their son see it happen?
TAYLOR
What kind of question is that? Huh?
(pointing)
He's dead. His wife killed him. There
it is. That's all. Anything else has
nothing to do with nothing.
Somerset replaces the book, digs up a cigarette from his pocket.
TAYLOR (CONT)
You and your fucking questions,
Somerset. I'm glad I'm getting rid of
you today. You know that, you fuck?
David Mills enters, dressed in a suit. He looks a bit lost.
MILLS
Uh... Lieutenant Somerset?
Somerset lights his cigarette, looks to Mills.
MILLS (CONT)
I'm David Mills... your new partner.
EXT. TENEMENT/CITY STREET -- DAY
A body-bag is carried through the crowd around the tenement
doors. Somerset follows. Mills follows Somerset. They walk
towards the end of the filthy block.
MILLS
I'm a little thrown. I just finished
orientation at central, and they dumped
me off down here.
SOMERSET
I heard you brought in two small-timers
last night.
MILLS
Yeah. Two real idiots.
SOMERSET
Since we are just starting out, I
thought we could go to a bar. Sit and
talk for awhile. That way we can...
MILLS
Excuse me, but I'd rather start sniffing
for a case, if it's all the same to you.
Seeing how we only have a week for this
whole transition thing.
(waits)
I want to get into the shit a.s.a.p.,
know what I mean?
Somerset walks, no reply. Mills searches to get a read on him.
SOMERSET
I meant to ask you something... when we
spoke on the phone. I can't help
wondering...
(pause)
Why are you here?
MILLS
(wary)
I... I don't follow.
SOMERSET
All this effort you've gone through, to
be transferred from Philadelphia to
here. It's the first question that pops
into my head.
Mills formulates his response.
MILLS
I'm here for the same reasons as you, I
guess. Or... at least the same reasons
you used to have for being here...
(cutting)
...before you decided to give up.
Somerset stops and faces Mills.
SOMERSET
You think you know me? You just met me
two minutes ago.
MILLS
Maybe I don't understand the question.
SOMERSET
It's very simple. You've come from the
"City of Brotherly Love" to the "City of
Brotherly Hate," detective. I've never
seen it done that way.
MILLS
I don't know. Maybe I thought I could
do more good here than there.
(pause)
You know, it'd be great by me if we
didn't start right out kicking each
other in the balls. But, you're calling
the shots, lieutenant, so however you
want it to go.
SOMERSET
Let me tell you how I want this to go.
I want you to look, and I want you to
listen.
MILLS
I wasn't standing around Philly guarding
the fucking Liberty Bell.
SOMERSET
But, you've never worked homicide in
this city.
MILLS
I realize that.
SOMERSET
Well, please do me the favor of
remembering it.
Mills just stares back at Somerset. Somerset walks. Mills
rolls his eyes, looks to heaven like, "what'd I do to deserve
this?" He follows Somerset.
INSERT -- TITLE CARD
MONDAY
INT. SOMERSET'S APARTMENT, BEDROOM -- EARLY MORNING
Somerset lies asleep on the bed. It is still dark outside.
Relatively quiet. The PHONE beside the inactive metronome RINGS
HARSHLY. Somerset awakens suddenly, rankled.
INT. MILLS' APARTMENT, BEDROOM -- EARLY MORNING
It is barely becoming light outside. Mills can't sleep.
Alone in a double bed. He sits up, frustrated. Sits on the
edge of the bed and looks around. The room is a shambles,
filled with moving boxes.
The light coming through the window glows upon a football trophy
on one box. Large and noble, a golden player stands in frozen
motion at the trophy's pinnacle.
Mills looks at the trophy and a fond smile forms on his face.
The CLINKING of DISHES and SILVERWARE is HEARD from another
room. Mills looks at the closed bedroom door, troubled.
INT. MILLS' APARTMENT, LIVING ROOM/KITCHENETTE -- EARLY MORNING
Across a living room full of boxes, TRACY MILLS, 30, a beautiful
woman, stands in her bathrobe. She's upset about something,
takes dishes out of boxes, puts them on the kitchenette counter.
She pulls a mug from a clump of newspaper and pours some tea
from a pot on the stove. Blowing on the steaming tea, she leans
back on the counter, looks over at the closed bedroom door.
The tea is too hot to sip, and as Tracy is placing the mug on
the counter behind her the PHONE RINGS. Startled, she releases
the mug too close to the edge. It falls --
Crashes to the floor, shatters.
INT. APARTMENT/CRIME SCENE, HALLWAY -- MORNING
A dark hall. Somerset and Mills stand with OFFICER DAVIS, 28, a
beefy, uniformed cop. Light from a camera's flash spills in
from the nearby kitchen. Davis hands Somerset two flashlights.
SOMERSET
At what time did you confirm the death?
DAVIS
Like I said, we didn't touch anything,
but we were on scene at like o-five-
hundred, so he's had his face in a plate
of spaghetti for about half an hour.
MILLS
Wait, wait, wait. You didn't check him?
You didn't check vital signs?
DAVIS
Believe me, he's gone. Unless he's
breathing spaghetti sauce now.
MILLS
No. The point is, when you're first man
in, you check vital signs.
DAVIS
This guy's sitting in a pile of his own
shit and piss. If he ain't dead he
would have stood up by now.
MILLS
(getting angry)
Listen, Godzilla...
Somerset steps in, heads Mills off.
SOMERSET
Thank you, Officer Davis. We'll see you
again after we've had a look.
DAVIS
Yes, sir.
Davis leaves, eyeing Mills. Mills watches him. Somerset hands
Mills a flashlight, takes out surgical gloves.
SOMERSET
I wonder what exactly was the point of
the conversation you were about to get
into?
MILLS
And, I wonder how many times Officer
Davis there has found a supposedly dead
man who didn't really die until Davis
was back in the patrol car calling the
morgue and eating a powdered donut.
Somerset snaps one glove over his hand and checks the fit.
SOMERSET
Drop it. We have more important
concerns just now, don't we?
MILLS
Fine... for now.
INT. APARTMENT/CRIME SCENE, KITCHEN -- NIGHT
The POLICE PHOTOGRAPHER packs up, hoists his camera and
equipment bag. Somerset and Mills enter. Mills puts on his own
pair of rubber gloves. The grubby kitchen is small; barely room
for four people to move around in. The photographer exits:
PHOTOGRAPHER
Bon appetit.
The only light is a murky green illumination from the ceiling.
The light bathes an OBESE MAN who is slumped forward in a
kitchen chair, face-down-dead in a plate of spaghetti.
The sizable kitchen table's green tablecloth is covered with
soiled paper plates. The plates hold bits of half-eaten
sandwiches, potatoes, donuts and other junk-food remnants.
Mills and Somerset turn on their flashlights. Mills points his
at the green bulb above. Aluminum foil has been wrapped around
the bulb to focus the light on the corpse.
Somerset sweeps the room with his flashlight. He goes to the
body and kneels beside it. There's a rope tied around the
man's wide gut. Mills comes to stand beside Somerset.
MILLS
I guess that makes it homicide.
Somerset crouches lower, uses a pen to lift one of the dead
man's pants cuffs. Rope is tied around the purplish ankle.
Mills examines the knots behind the chair's back. Shines his
flashlight on the man's belly.
MILLS (CONT)
Still, he could have tied himself in.
To make it look like murder.
Somerset isn't listening, focused on the corpse. He studies the
man's head and neck without touching.
MILLS (CONT)
I don't see any blood or bruises yet.
No wounds. You see anything?
SOMERSET
(irritated)
Not yet.
Somerset stands, points his flashlight: the obese man's stiff
hands are clutching utensils. A knife in the left hand, a fork
sticking straight up in the right with a hunk of meat hanging
skewered. Cockroaches swarm.
Mills turns to the sink and stove. Each burner of the stove has
a used pot or pan on it. There's food slopped everywhere.
MILLS
I saw a guy once... committed suicide,
but he wanted to make sure his family
could collect insurance money, right?
Somerset walks to the room's only window. The window has been
painted over with black paint. he touches the window with his
pinkie finger. The paint is still wet.
Mills goes to a trash can by the refrigerator. The trash can is
full to the brim with empty food containers.
MILLS (CONT)
So, this guy took this big knife... and
he held it behind him, put the tip of it
in his back, and he ran backwards into
the wall. Cause, he thought it was
going to look like someone stabbed him
in the back.
Mills opens the refrigerator. It's nearly empty.
MILLS (CONT)
Except, he poked a big fucking hole in
the dry wall when he did it.
SOMERSET
If you could... spare me the anecdotes
for now. Leave the refrigerator open
for the light.
MILLS
(sarcastic)
Oh, forgive me. I thought we had this
male-bonding thing going. My mistake.
Somerset looks at the floor, deep in thought. His flashlight
beam follows a trail of dripped sauces, soups and bits of food
running from the stove to the table.
SOMERSET
What do you smell? Other than him, and
all the food.
MILLS
(sniffs)
I don't know... there's something.
Somerset goes close to the table, then leans to peer under.
SOMERSET
A bucket.
Somerset points the flashlight and Mills crouches, pulls up the
tablecloth on his side of the table. Two large dead rats lay on
the floor beside a metal bucket.
Mills grimaces, slides under the table, careful to avoid the
rats. He looks in the bucket. He leans back, baffled.
MILLS
It's vomit.
He looks at Somerset under the table.
MILLS (CONT)
It's a bucket of vomit.
SOMERSET
Is there any blood in it?
MILLS
Can't tell by looking.
Somerset stands, perplexed, stares at the dead man. There is a
knock at the door. The detectives look to DOCTOR THOMAS
O'NEILL, 52, the medical examiner. O'Neill is a frumpy man,
seems a bit gone, looking at the green bulb.
O'NEILL
Mood lighting. Very sixties.
He drops his bag on the floor, sorts through the contents.
MILLS
(to Somerset)
You think he was poisoned?
Mills goes to the trash can, pokes the garbage with a pencil.
MILLS (CONT)
And, those rats there somehow ate the
poison off the floor?
SOMERSET
Guessing this early is useless.
O'NEILL
You girls have got the forensics guys
out there chompin' at the bit. Don't
know if we'll all fit in here though.
Mills continues searching the garbage.
MILLS
There's room. Light's the problem.
SOMERSET
Well, three is certainly a crowd in
here. And, with four, someone's bound
to be stepping on evidence.
(pause)
Detective Mills, go help the officers
question the neighbors.
MILLS
(not pleased)
Thanks, but no thanks. I'll stay on
this.
Somerset watches O'Neill at the corpse. O'Neill points a thin
flashlight with his mouth, his hands free for the examination.
SOMERSET
(not looking up)
Send one forensic in on your way out.
Mills is pissed. He lifts his flashlight to shine it on the
side of Somerset's face.
A moment passes. Somerset looks at Mills, light shining
directly in Somerset's eyes. A longer moment. Mills switches
the light off. He leaves.
O'Neill unceremoniously places both hands on the dead man's
head, lifts the swollen visage from the spaghetti.
O'NEILL
He is dead.
INT. PRECINCT HOUSE, BASEMENT GYM -- DAY
THWACK, THWACK... THWACK. Mills punches the heavy bag with
hard, quick punches. Sweat drips off his face. He's in work-
out clothing, a bundle of nerves wearing boxing gloves.
The walls are covered in mirrors. Other cops watch Mills as
they pass, checking out the new kid. Mills keeps punching,
skillfully.
He stops when he sees Somerset reflected in one of the mirrors.
Somerset walks over, carrying a pizza box with paper piled on
top. He sits on a near bench, takes out a cigarette.
SOMERSET
Pizza and paperwork, Detective Mills.
MILLS
We need to chat.
INT. BASEMENT GYM, BOXING RING -- DAY
Mills opens a door and enters with Somerset behind. They are
alone. Chairs face an old, limp-roped boxing ring. Practice
pads hang from pegs on a wall. Mills clasps a pair in his
gloves, offers them to Somerset.
SOMERSET
No.
MILLS
You just hold them up. I do all the
work.
Somerset takes the pads reluctantly, puts them on. He still has
the un-lit cigarette hanging from his mouth. Mills climbs into
the ring. He holds the ropes open for Somerset, waits.
Somerset doesn't want to do this, but he climbs up.
MILLS (CONT)
You've seen my files... seen the things
I've done?
SOMERSET
Yes. Impressive work.
Mills motions to Somerset and Somerset holds up the practice
pads. Mills starts working them, lightly, warming up.
THWACK... THWACK...
MILLS
So, what's your problem? I've done my
time on door-to-doors, and walking a
beat.
SOMERSET
I know it. That doesn't mean...
MILLS
I did all that shit a long time ago.
THWACK... THWACK... Somerset's very stiff, uncomfortable.
SOMERSET
I made a decision, because I have to
worry about the integrity of the scene.
MILLS
That's bullshit.
SOMERSET
When I'm on scene, I'm not going to
worry whether you think you're getting
enough time on the playing field. I'm
there to do the work.
Mills punches a little more aggressively. Somerset's backing,
flinching, keeping the pads high. THWACK... THWACK... THWACK...
MILLS
The badge in my pocket says "detective,"
just like yours. I've been Homicide for
four and a half years.
SOMERSET
You've worked Homicide for four years,
or for five years...
Don't count the half-years, unless you
want to sound like a rookie.
Mills unloads a mighty wallop and one practice pad recoils into
Somerset's face, knocks Somerset on his ass.
MILLS
Oops. My hand slipped.
Mills walks, climbs out of the ring.
MILLS (CONT)
You fucked me over today, and you know
it. You know it.
Somerset looks at the broken cigarette in his mouth. He
contains his anger. He seems to realize Mills has a point.
MILLS (CONT)
Just don't jerk me off. That's all I
ask. It's not much. Don't jerk me off.
(pause)
Please, do me the favor of remembering
that.
Mills exits. Somerset spits out the broken cigarette.
INT. URBAN SCHOOL, OFFICE -- DAY
Tracy looks out a window from behind steel bars.
Below her, young children play in a playground. They're playing
hop-scotch, throwing balls, chasing each other. The swing sets
are broken. The handball wall is graffitied.
WOMAN'S VOICE (O.S.)
I'm sorry, Mrs. Mills. We don't have
anything right now.
Tracy looks away from the window to the haggard WOMAN. The
school's office is ill-equipped, busy, disorganized.
WOMAN (CONT)
We'll try to give you a call if we need
substitutes next month.
TRACY
Thank you.
Tracy looks back at the playground: on the other side of a
chain-link fence, a butcher in a bloody apron walks down the
ramp of a freezer truck. he carries a big, whole, slaughtered
pig on his shoulder.
The pig's head flops as the butcher walks. Some children stop
their games and run to watch the man and the pig corpse pass.
INT. UNDERGROUND SUBWAY TRAIN -- DAY
The train clatters through a tunnel, packed full, WHEELS
SCREECHING. The lights go on and off. Passengers read
tabloids, stare at their feet, study advertisements on the
walls; anything to avoid making eye-contact with others.
All races, creeds and colors; all ugly, forlorn human beings.
Tracy stands fatigued, holding a handrail.
A bag-lady, crusted with dirt, reeking, pushes her way through
the crowd. A man presses against Tracy in an attempt to let the
bag-lady pass. Tracy switches hands on the rail, turns sideways
to make room. She looks down.
On one seat, a man, quite normal looking, sits holding a porno
magazine, THREE-WAY FUCK, in one hand. His other hand is in his
pocket. He's obviously masturbating himself in his pants. No
one else notices or seems to care.
Tracy looks away, disgusted. She closes her eyes. The train's
wheels SCREECH LOUDER as the train takes a curve.
INT. INDOOR FRUIT STAND -- NIGHT
The front and one side of the shop are entirely open to the busy
sidewalk and street. A transparent plastic canopy frames the
entrance. A STRANGE MAN, 20, stands at the edge of the canopy.
He wears a stained sweatsuit outfit and hums a song, oblivious.
Tracy and Mills look together over the piles of fruits and
vegetables piled on wooden stands which form tight aisles.
MILLS
It was okay. I mean... it was certainly
better than yesterday. I think Somerset
and I came to a small understanding...
Mills holds his thumb and forefinger about a quarter of an inch
apart to illustrate.
MILLS (CONT)
...about this big.
TRACY
He sounds interesting.
MILLS
He is that, if nothing else.
Mills throws some oranges in the basket hanging from Tracy's
arm. He goes to check out the carrots. Tracy looks up from
heads of lettuce to the strange man at the entrance.
The strange man hums on, rocking back and forth slowly, his eyes
glassy. Customers come and go, paying him no mind.
Mills notices Tracy's interest. He keeps comparing carrots.
MILLS (CONT)
We started a big homicide case today.
I'll spare you the grisly details.
The strange man suddenly stops humming and looks into the store
with a crooked grin.
STRANGE MAN
Name that tune? Anybody name that tune?
Name that tune...
The man keeps repeating this, over and over, still ignored.
TRACY
It's... it's like they emptied all the
insane asylums into the streets.
She looks back to the heads of lettuce.
TRACY (CONT)
That's what it's like. Like they just
gave up, and let everyone out.
Mills nods, his back to Tracy.
TRACY (CONT)
There are a lot of frightening people in
this city.
MILLS
There are a lot of frightening people in
the world.
Tracy looks again to the strange man.
STRANGE MAN
Name that tune? Anybody name that tune?
TRACY
It seems worse than Philadelphia,
because everything is pushed right up
against you. In your face.
Mills edges past Tracy towards the front of the store, tries to
be pleasant.
MILLS
Listen, honey. I don't want to fight
tonight. Okay? Can we just go one
night without fighting about something?
He looks over apples, thinks that's the end of that.
TRACY
I'm not trying to start a fight.
(pause)
How am I trying to start a fight?
MILLS
We're here now. Okay. Are we supposed
to pack it all in and go back? How are
we going to do that?
TRACY
Do I have to act like I love this place?
Is that what a "good wife" would do?
MILLS
(doleful)
There's a lot of pressure on me... I...
TRACY
And, there's a lot of pressure on me.
I'm here with you.
MILLS
I know. I know...
Mills steps towards the open air entrance. He's watching
something. The strange man is still heard offscreen.
Tracy reaches to a high wooden shelf, trying to reach a bag of
rice, her back to Mills.
TRACY
I'm not going to close my eyes and block
everything out, David. I'm not going to
act like you delivered us to some sort
of paradise. I can't...
She gets the rice and turns. Mills is not there. She sighs,
angry, looks around. She walks towards the entrance and sees
him --
TRACY'S P.O.V. -- THE STREET
In front of the stand, Mills has run to the corner of the
sidewalk to help a very old woman with a cane. The elderly
woman smiles up at Mills, takes his arm as he helps her off the
curb and across the street. He talks to her as they go.
INT. INDOOR FRUIT STAND -- NIGHT
Tracy's anger fades. She shakes her head, touched, amazed by
the plain boy scoutishness of her husband.
TRACY'S P.O.V. -- THE STREET
Mills deposits the old woman on the other side. She thanks him,
patting him on the cheek. Mills starts back towards the fruit
stand, proud of himself. A car screeches to a halt, just
missing him. The driver leans out the window, yelling at Mills.
Mills kicks the side of the car.
MILLS
Fuck you.
(as car leaves)
Fuck you, you son of a bitch! I'm
walking here.
INT. INDOOR FRUIT STAND -- NIGHT
Tracy rolls her eyes in amused disappointment. She sighs again.
Mills passes the babbling strange man, comes up to Tracy.
MILLS
I'm sorry... I couldn't pass it up. I
never had a chance to actually do that.
But, we can start the argument right
back up where we left off, right?
Tracy looks at him, charmed, no longer willing to fight.
MILLS
(playing dumb)
What?
Tracy wraps an arm around Mills and kisses him. He holds her.
STRANGE MAN
That was the theme from tv's Mod Squad.
I'm surprised nobody got that one.
The strange man starts humming a new tune. An old man tries to
get through the aisle where Mills and Tracy are kissing.
OLD MAN
(infuriated)
Excuse me. Excuse me!
INT. MILLS' APARTMENT, BEDROOM -- NIGHT
A small transistor RADIO PLAYS on the bedside table.
Mills and Tracy are in bed, making love under the sheets. They
move rhythmically, kissing, sweating hard.
Mills holds Tracy's hair in his hands, pulls her head back as
she gasps and he thrusts his entire body against hers.
Mills' hair is soaked. He is anything but mellow as a lover,
quickening while Tracy twists underneath him. Tracy holds tight
to the back of his neck with one hand.
Finally, Mills pushes himself up on his arms, holding his head
down against Tracy's chest. Holds for a long moment, till he is
spent and lowers himself against her, into her arms. He rests a
long time. She kisses his forehead, keeping her eyes closed.
Finally, Mills rolls off her, gets behind her and wraps the both
of them in the sheets. He folds himself against her, and they
stay that way.
TRACY
Goodnight.
MILLS
Goodnight.
After a long moment, Mills shifts back, sits up. Tracy looks
over her shoulder at him as he takes a towel off a chair and
stands. Mills wraps the towel around his waist.
He leans over to give Tracy a last kiss. She watches him leave
the room. She is about to say something, but does not. A light
comes on in the other room, leaking through the door.
INT. MILLS' APARTMENT, LIVING ROOM -- NIGHT
Mills sits down at his desk. He starts looking through police
paperwork. The RADIO in the other room goes OFF in mid song.
INSERT -- TITLE CARD
TUESDAY
INT. AUTOPSY ROOM -- EARLY MORNING
The room is cold, clean. Stainless steel. White tile. Many
pathologists work at slabs. Mills and Somerset are with DOCTOR
SANTIAGO, 35, who stands over the mostly dissected obese corpse.
SANTIAGO
If you take a look here, buddies...
I can tell you, it was not a poison.
If you can see...
I have emptied all of everything out of
the stomach. But, look at it, now that
I took away the liver.
Santiago reaches into the belly of the cavernous corpse. Mills
moves closer beside Somerset, but not too close, trying to hide
his disgust. We hear squashy sounds as Santiago works, but we
don't see in.
SANTIAGO (CONT)
I move the lungs over. First, see how
big this fat son-of-a-bitch stomach is.
Now... here is the strange thing, on the
stomach. Stretches.
(pointing)
And, here is it distended. Look at the
size of that, because of the foods.
MILLS
I can see what you're pointing at...
SANTIAGO
On the stomach. The lines of
distention.
Somerset's looking in, not believing what he sees.
SOMERSET
Doctor, are you saying this man... ate
till he burst?
SANTIAGO
Yes, well, he didn't actually burst. He
was bleeding, inside of himself.
And, there's a hemotoma on the
outside... on the belly.
Somerset walks around the slab, looking the body over.
MILLS
He died by eating?
SANTIAGO
Someone punched him, or kicked him.
Somerset notices something on the partially shaved head.
He leans close to look at five or six small bruises on the back
of the dead man's head; circular bruises, some darker than
others, all about the same diameter as a dime.
SANTIAGO (CONT)
Oh, and there is this here... something
else you have to look at and see.
Somerset stands straight, realizes something about the bruises.
SANTIAGO (CONT)
Most of his stomach contents are in the
lab now... but, this. I found these in
the fat man's stomach.
Santiago looks amongst tools, buckets and jars of liquid. He
picks up a glass jar and shows it to Mills. In the jar: many
little bits of blue plastic. Like scrapings.
MILLS
Plastic?
Mills gets Somerset's attention, hands him the jar. Somerset
looks at it a long time.
SANTIAGO
Why these were in a fat man's stomach, I
don't know.
INT. APARTMENT/CRIME SCENE, HALLWAY -- MORNING
Outside the door to the murder scene, Mills and Somerset cut
through the RESTRICTED AREA/CRIME SCENE seal.
SOMERSET
Those bruises on the back of the
victim's head were caused by the muzzle
of a gun.
MILLS
So, the killer had him at gunpoint, and
gave him a choice: eat, or get your head
blown off.
INT. APARTMENT/CRIME SCENE, KITCHEN -- MORNING
Somerset and Mills enter. Somerset takes out the jar of plastic
scrapings, turns on the now normal light. They begin to search.
SOMERSET
He was force-fed... till his body
started rejecting the food. He
literally couldn't eat another bite.
MILLS
So, the killer held a bucket under him.
SOMERSET
His throat was swollen from the effort.
He was bleeding internally.
He must have blacked out... and, if
you're the killer, you're not going to
want to wait around for him to die.
Somerset examines the counter tops and wall. Mills gets down on
his knees, examines the linoleum floor.
MILLS
You kick him, pop him like a fucking
balloon.
(touches floor)
Somerset, look here.
Somerset gets down, holds the jar against the linoleum.
SOMERSET
Same color and texture.
They both crawl on hands and knees, study every inch of floor.
MILLS
If this is what that is... it doesn't
make sense. It doesn't figure.
SOMERSET
Always look for one thing to focus on.
There's always one singular thing, and
it might be as small as a speck of dust,
but find it and focus... till it's an
exhausted possibility.
MILLS
How are pieces of the floor going to get
in the guy's stomach?
SOMERSET
Exactly. Why would so many pieces be
inside his stomach unless they were
placed there intentionally?
Somerset notices deep scratches in the linoleum, fingers the
grooves. He takes a piece of plastic from the jar, holds it to
the scratches, fiddles with it, fits it in. He looks up to see,
these scratches are in front of the refrigerator. It looks like
they were caused by the refrigerator having been pulled away
from the wall and pushed back at some time.
INT. APARTMENT/CRIME SCENE, KITCHEN -- LATER MORNING
We are BEHIND THE REFRIGERATOR as it is rocked back and forth.
It's pulled away from the wall. Somerset and Mills strain, pull
a few more feet, then release. They lean to look --
The refrigerator had hidden a space on the wall where the dust
has been cleared. In that space: a circle, smeared in grease,
and a note taped in the center of the circle.
Somerset's BEEPER starts BEEPING. Mills leans to read:
MILLS
"Dear Detectives. Long is the way, and
hard, that out of hell leads up to the
light."
(looks at Somerset)
This is not good.
SOMERSET
Milton.
MILLS
What?
SOMERSET
It's a quote from a book. Milton's
Paradise Lost.
Somerset takes out his beeper, looks at the LED window. He
looks up at Mills, like they've received very bad news.
INT. LUXURY APARTMENTS, HALLWAY -- MORNING
A marble hallway. A DETECTIVE, 50, nervously chewing his nails,
quickly leads Mills and Somerset past cops and forensics.
DETECTIVE
I said to myself, I'm not going to screw
around with this. Nope. Fuck that.
It's still pretty fresh meat. I called
the medical examiner... he's coming.
(stops at door)
When I got to it, I knew. As soon as I
laid eyes on it, I knew...
The detective opens the door. FOLLOW Somerset and Mills --
INT. LUXURY APARTMENT/CRIME SCENE, LIVING ROOM -- MORNING
Gross, deep yellow light comes through the only window with its
blinds up. The light anoints a NUDE MAN displayed, dead.
DETECTIVE (O.S.)
...this is your guy who did this.
The nude dead man's legs are folded under him as if he were
kneeling, and he's bent forward, chin on the floor. His eyes
are open, his arms outstretched before him. Mills and Somerset
walk to either side of the man.
The detective closes the door, bites his thumbnail. The
apartment is on a high floor, so it's quiet.
Somerset sees the window has been covered with a sheet of yellow
gel, stapled in place to produce the colored light.
Mills examines the corpse. There's a chair one foot behind the
nude man. It's an elegant leather chair, drenched in blood.
There's a carving knife on the carpet in the middle of a huge
stain of blood under the chair. Mills looks at pieces of cut
rope on the floor behind the chair. The rope is knotted.
Somerset crouches beside the body. There's a big piece of flesh
missing from the man's left side, as if the love-handle had been
lopped off. Hundreds of pennies lie scattered under and around
the man. The man's hands are palms up, fingers wrapped around
more pennies.
Mills walks over to examine a scale on the floor between the
corpse and the doorway. It's an old-fashioned counter-balance
scale with two suspended dishes on a see-saw arm. In the high
dish: the hunk of flesh missing from the man's side. In the low
dish: a one pound counterweight.
MILLS
(to Somerset)
A pound of flesh.
Somerset stands and walks backwards to view the entire scene
from near the door.
He looks worried, vaguely frightened. He turns his head, looks
to a far wall. Beside a big, abstract, constructivist painting,
there's a note pinned up inside a triangular smear of blood.
INT. PRECINCT HOUSE, CAPTAIN'S OFFICE -- EARLY EVENING
An office full of pictures, books and mugsheets, yet it is
meticulously well kept. The CAPTAIN, 50, sits at his tidy desk.
He's dressed conservatively. Mills and Somerset sit before him.
Somerset reads from a photocopy of the note they just found.
SOMERSET
(reading)
"One pound of flesh, no more no less. No
cartilage, no bone, but only flesh.
This task done, and he would go free."
The captain is a calm man, but whenever not speaking, without
fail, he clenches his jaw repeatedly, causing the muscles in his
neck and jaw to pulse.
Somerset stands, paces.
SOMERSET (CONT)
This victim, Mr. Gold, was tied down
nude, holding a carving knife. And he
was given a long time... to decide.
Where to make the first cut? There's a
gun to your head... but, what part or
parts of your body are expendable?
Mills sits back in his chair, arms crossed, seems anxious,
doesn't know why they're here.
SOMERSET (CONT)
Mr. Gold tried for the whole pound at
once, his love handle. But, he went
into shock. Bled to death.
CAPTAIN
What is the point, Somerset?
SOMERSET
Look at both killings together. This
murderer is an artist.
CAPTAIN
An artist?
SOMERSET
He uses colors and symbols. He
positions the bodies after death, so
he's working with composition. It's
been premeditated so meticulously... and
this is just the beginning.
CAPTAIN
Wrong. For all we know, we might never
hear from him again, and I don't want
that kind of talk floating around.
Somerset shakes his head "no."
SOMERSET
The rats and the pennies. The circle
and the triangle on the wall. There's
something about them... these murders
mean something.
CAPTAIN
So? What?
Somerset has no answer. The captain is irked, jaw clenching.
CAPTAIN (CONT)
(to Mills)
You with him, or you just here to watch?
MILLS
This is his stuff, captain. I've been
out in the cold most of the day.
CAPTAIN
(to Somerset)
Always working overtime up in that big
brain of yours, huh? Always cooking.
SOMERSET
I need you to know... I want us
reassigned. We're declining this case.
MILLS
(sits up, angry)
What?!
CAPTAIN
What the hell are you talking about?
SOMERSET
This cannot be my last duty here. It's
going to go on and on.
CAPTAIN
You've left unfinished business before.
SOMERSET
Everything else was taken as close to a
conclusion as humanly possible.
MILLS
Can I just say something?
SOMERSET
Also... I don't think this should be
Mills' first case.
MILLS
This is not my first case, fuckhead!
CAPTAIN
I don't have anyone else to give this
to, Somerset. And nobody's going to
swap with you.
MILLS
Give it to me, then. There's nothing
that says I have to fly with him.
The captain considers this.
MILLS (CONT)
If Somerset wants out, fuck him.
SOMERSET
It would be too much for him, too soon.
MILLS
(to captain)
Could we talk about this in private?
The captain looks at Somerset, then at Mills.
CAPTAIN
That's not necessary. You're in.
MILLS
Thank you, sir.
CAPTAIN
Start picking up the pieces. I'll
shuffle some paper and try to get you a
new partner.
Mills stands. Somerset will not look him in the eye. Mills
leaves, slams the door. Somerset seems deflated.
CAPTAIN (CONT)
You win, Somerset. You're out.
INSERT -- TITLE CARD
WEDNESDAY
EXT. CITY STREET -- MORNING
A vendor lays out a pile of tabloid newspapers at his busy
newsstand. The headline: SECOND BIZARRE MURDER!, in huge print.
The vendor lays out another tabloid pile. Headline: "GIVE ME MY
POUND OF FLESH," SAYS BLOODTHRISTY KILLER, in big, red letters.
The vendor places a third pile beside the others: SICKENING
MURDERS - EXCLUSIVE DETAILS INSIDE!!!
INT. PRECINCT HOUSE, SOMERSET'S OFFICE -- MORNING
Old office. Moving boxes on the floor. The single window faces
a billboard. Somerset works on a manual typewriter. He types
hunt-and-peck, slowly. His paperwork is on the desk in two
sloppy piles. A jarring SOUND is HEARD OFFSCREEN, like fingers
on a blackboard. Somerset looks up, irritated.
A WORKMAN is working at the open door, holding the source of the
sound, a razor blade he's using to scrape the words DETECTIVE
SOMERSET off the door's window.
WORKMAN
Sorry.
Somerset turns back to typing. The captain steps in, looks at
the workman, then drops more papers on Somerset's desk.
As always, the neatly groomed captain clenches his jaw. He
looks around. Two of boxes on the floor have DETECTIVE MILLS
written across them. The captain picks one up, puts it on top
of the other. He sits, watching Somerset, starts straightening
the forms on the desk.
CAPTAIN
What are you going to do with yourself
out there, Somerset?
SOMERSET
I'll get a job. Maybe on a farm. I'll
fix up my house.
CAPTAIN
Can't you feel it yet?
(pause)
Can't you feel that feeling... that you
won't be special anymore?
SOMERSET
(lying)
I don't know what you mean.
CAPTAIN
You know.
Somerset reclines, looks at the captain.
SOMERSET
Did you read in the paper today, about
the man who took his dog for a walk?
And how he was mugged? And, his wallet
was taken, and his watch. Then, while
he was still lying unconscious, his
attacker stabbed him with a knife in
both eyes. It happened last night. Not
far from here.
CAPTAIN
I heard.
SOMERSET
I have no understanding of this place.
CAPTAIN
It's always been like this.
Somerset saddles up to the typewriter. Hunt-and-peck.
SOMERSET
Yes. You're absolutely right.
The captain lays the paperwork down in two neat stacks.
CAPTAIN
You were made for this work, Somerset.
I can't believe you're going to trade it
all in for a tool belt and a fishing
rod. But, I guess I'm wrong.
The captain leaves. Somerset looks up now that the captain's
gone. He grabs the paper piles and ruffles them back to their
disheveled state. He looks at the workman.
The workman is looking at Somerset, has a rag in his hand to
remove the last remnants of Somerset's name.
SOMERSET
(angrily)
Put a little elbow grease into it!
The workman is startled, continues his work.
INT. LUXURY APARTMENT/CRIME SCENE, LIVING ROOM -- DAY
The grandly furnished apartment where the second murder took
place has been dusted for prints and searched.
Two female forensics are at work.
INT. LUXURY APARTMENT/CRIME SCENE, MASTER BEDROOM -- DAY
Mills is seated in front of a long writing desk with many
drawers. All the drawers are open. Mills looks through letters
and stationary. Nothing of use. He tosses the pile back.
He sits back, frustrated, yanks off one rubber glove, looks
around the room. Books have been taken off their shelves, the
bed has been stripped. The room has been given the once over.
The victim's family photographs hang in expensive frames on one
wall. There are at least thirty photos of various sizes:
ancestors, sons and daughters, grandchildren and friends. An
over-weight forensic, CHRIS, 35, leans in through the doorway.
Mills looks up and Chris shakes his head glumly.
MILLS
He must have left us another puzzle to
solve... somewhere.
CHRIS
We'll keep looking, but we're running
out of possibilities.
Chris leaves and Mills stands to stretch. Something catches
Mills' eye. He walks over to the door, curious. At the base of
the open door, there's a ball of paper wedged under to act as a
doorjamb. Mills puts his glove back on, pulls the ball out.
He uncrumples the paper as the door slowly swings shut. The
page has a drawing on it, of the sun with waves of heat at its
edges. There is a single eye in the center of the sun.
An arrow is drawn in dried blood on the back of the closing
door. Mills notices this and pushes the door closed.
The blood arrow points to the side and up, seems to be pointing
to the photo gallery wall. Mills goes to examine the photos.
His eyes search each photo... one by one... till he sees it:
MILLS
Christ...
A framed photo of a falsely pretty, middle-aged woman smiling
and wearing pearls. Under the glass, on the photo itself,
circles have been drawn in blood around the woman's eyes.
EXT. CITY STREETS, DOWNTOWN -- NIGHT
An assault on the senses. Crowded streets and sidewalks. On
every corner, in every doorway, on every stairwell -- freaks,
junkies, punks, leather boys and motorcycle girls. A few
tourists wander in the mix, heedful of the dangers around them.
Buildings border narrowly.
Somerset walks against the stream. He carries a file.
CAR HORNS HOWL. MUSIC BLASTS from the entrances of clubs.
REGGAE from one club is soon OVERTAKEN by RAP from a second
story window. TECHNO-POP blasts from the tattoo parlor.
Somerset does not like this place, views it with disdain. He
walks to avoid two men fighting on the ground. The men are
pulling hair and pounding each other idiotically.
Somerset takes a cigarette from a full pack, lights it as he
crosses through the traffic jam in the street. A VAGRANT steps
up with his hand out.
VAGRANT
Spare me a cigarette, money-grip? Spare
me a cigarette?
SOMERSET
Sorry. Last one.
He walks on. We BEGIN to HEAR JAZZ MUSIC.
INT. JAZZ CLUB -- NIGHT
A club at capacity. The JAZZ MUSIC CONTINUES like a slow, cool
breeze from a JAZZ TRIO on a platform.
The air is thick with smoke. Yuppies sit elbow to elbow with
the last members of the beat generation. Everyone's drinking
beer, smoking pot.
Somerset crosses the club, looking for someone. He takes a
tissue from his pocket, rips pieces off and jams the pieces in
his ears. At the back of the club, a major-league bouncer
stands in front of a closed door. Somerset shows his badge and
the bouncer steps aside with reservation.
INT. NARROW STAIRWELL -- NIGHT
The walls are black. Somerset opens the door, enters, walks
down the long flight of stairs. As Somerset descends, the JAZZ
MUSIC FADES and is ENGULFED by the sound of SPEED METAL.
DEAFENING.
At the bottom, Somerset opens another door. He enters --
INT. UNDERGROUND ART GALLERY -- NIGHT
A narrow room. SPEED METAL is even LOUDER. This is a private
art party. The people are lizard-like, pale. Men and women
priding themselves on their gauntness.
Somerset passes canvases on the walls. Pointlessly abstract
paintings. Splatters, smears and blobs of color.
Party-people stand in front of these "works," engrossed.
Somerset slides past, not interested in the art, jamming the
tissue further in his ears. He spots his objective.
WILLIAM McCRACKEN, 42, stands inside a circle of admirers. He is
dressed like a pauper, his baggy clothing stained with many
colors of paint. He wears dark sunglasses, bored by the
bleached-blonde girl whispering in his ear.
Somerset worms his way to stand in front of William. The party-
goers turn their attention to this intrusion.
William looks up, pushes the girl away. He takes off his
sunglasses. His eyes are badly bloodshot and listless.
He looks Somerset over... and then grins, glad to see him.
INT. MILL'S APARTMENT, LIVING ROOM -- NIGHT
Mills stands brooding over a photocopy of the picture of the
woman with her eyes circled in blood. He looks overworked,
drinks coffee. His desk is swamped with files.
MAN'S VOICE (O.S.)
I have voiced the same concerns to our
law enforcement officials, and they
assure me he is of the highest caliber.
Mills looks to a t.v. on a table, picks up a remote, increases
the volume. On the screen, MARTIN TALBOT, 47, source of the
voice, stands before reporters. He's a powerful presence, with
a gold tooth in the front of his mouth.
A REPORTER (V.O.)
(from t.v.)
As District Attorney, don't you feel
some responsibility? Detective David
Mills lacks the experience...
TALBOT (V.O.)
(from t.v.)
I've always said... I've always said,
don't send a boy to do a man's job.
Mills is hanging on every word.
TALBOT (V.O.,CONT)
But, David Mills has a sterling record
with the Philadelphia force. I stand
behind him one hundred percent.
MILLS
(relieved)
You tell 'em boss. Detective David
Mills is a wonderful human being...
TALBOT (V.O.)
However... however... let me say this...
Mills looks back at the television.
TALBOT (V.O.,CONT)
If Detective Mills, at any point in this
investigation... if he is not pulling
his weight, I will be the first in line
to pull his plug.
Mills points the remote, turns the t.v. off as reporters crowd
Talbot. Mills stares at the blank screen, dispirited.
Across the room, Tracy stands in the doorway. Mills does not
see her. He looks at the photocopy and sits at his desk.
Tracy watches him, great concern in her sad eyes.
INT. WILLIAM'S STUDIO/APARTMENT -- NIGHT
Somerset walks through this vast artist's studio, a converted
warehouse space filled with canvases. It's clear the works at
the underground art gallery were William's. William climbs a
ladder to a loft storage space. He moves cautiously, like he's
not quite up to the task.
WILLIAM
I always figured that's the only reason
you and I used to be friends. Because I
was a friend of hers.
William yanks a painting wrapped in dusty paper, climbs down.
WILLIAM (CONT)
Speaking of which...
William hands the painting to Somerset, walks to a director's
chair facing a paint-splashed canvas on an easel. He is a used-
up man, bound in an apathy-induced haze. He sits, picks up a
squeeze bottle of orange paint from a table of supplies.
WILLIAM (CONT)
I painted that about five years ago. I
always told myself I'd give it to you
next time I saw you.
Somerset starts unwrapping the painting.
William "paints," using the squeeze bottles and by flicking
saturated brushes so that the paint flies against the canvas.
Most times, he's not even looking at the canvas or colors he's
using. He looks over his shoulder at Somerset.
WILLIAM (CONT)
Things are different these days, pal.
You wouldn't believe it...
Somerset looks at the unwrapped painting and is hit by a swell
of memories. Horribly sad memories. It's a portrait in oils of
a pretty, red-headed woman.
William shoots red paint with one hand, concentrates on
lighting a filterless cigarette with the other.
WILLIAM (CONT)
People buy my paintings now... they
drive down in their BMWs and Rolls
Royces. It's the new money generation.
I guess they think they're touching the
avant-garde...
William looks at his creation, then calmly kicks the easel over.
WILLIAM (CONT)
There's another thousand dollar William
McCracken expression of anarchy.
William gets up, walks across the wet canvas, leaving
footprints. He looks down at what he's done.
WILLIAM (CONT)
Make that two thousand.
He laughs. Somerset holds up the delicately rendered portrait.
SOMERSET
How is she? Have you seen her recently?
WILLIAM
Huh... oh. No. She moved out of the
city. Last winter. She married some
businessman, or something like that.
Somerset fights the anguish this causes, puts the painting down.
SOMERSET
Good for her.
(pause)
I'm leaving soon myself. I'm finally
getting out.
WILLIAM
Yeah? What happened to the idealistic
super-cop I used to know?
SOMERSET
He became a realist.
William grunts, flicks his cigarette away, takes out a bag of
pills. He palms a few, notices the judgment in Somerset's eyes.
WILLIAM
Oh... sorry.
William turns his back to Somerset, pops the pills. Out of
sight, out of mind. Somerset is disappointed, disgusted.
SOMERSET
(sarcastic)
Not that I don't appreciate your recent
artistic endeavors... but, what happened
to the painter I used to know?
William smiles like a dolt, laughs a little.
WILLIAM
I can't remember.
INT. WILLIAM'S STUDIO/APARTMENT -- LATER NIGHT
Color photos of the first and second murder sit on a drawing
table. The top photos are like establishing shots, each taking
in the entire display the murderer created.
William examines with Somerset looking over his shoulder.
WILLIAM
Man... can I buy these from you?
SOMERSET
They're not for sale.
Somerset lays out photos of the notes, triangle and circle:
SOMERSET (CONT)
What is it? What's the murderer trying
to say?
William narrows his eyes. Does not know.
SOMERSET (CONT)
What picture is he painting?
WILLIAM
(figuring)
Wait a minute...
William has an idea. He ambles over to a row of cabinets where
oversized art books are stacked. He hunts through a pile,
shoves some books aside.
WILLIAM (CONT)
I... I've seen things like that...
SOMERSET
Where?
William keeps digging, finds one book, finds another. He opens
one as he walks back to the drawing table.
WILLIAM
It's church stuff. Christianity.
William lays a book down, finds a page. He opens it to
Somerset. There is a circle to the side of the text. It says
GLUTTONY under the circle.
Somerset creases his brow, turns the page. William opens
another book.
WILLIAM (CONT)
When it first started... Christian
artwork was all from Bible stories. It
was like... nobody had any imagination.
It was all... standardized.
William pages through and we catch glimpses of the bizarre,
worlds of Hieronymus Bosch. Horrifying religious visions.
WILLIAM (O.S.,CONT)
But, later, everyone started painting to
tell their own stories... to teach
lessons. Guys like Bosch, Bregel the
elder... Van Eycks.
William shoves the open book to Somerset. Somerset looks:
Seven paintings in a circular pattern showing characters giving
in to sins. Wicked, grotesque people.
Somerset turns the book to examine each painting right side up.
SOMERSET (O.S.)
The seven deadly sins.
WILLIAM (O.S.)
That's what these murders remind me of.
Paintings like these.
(points)
Gluttony... greed...
SOMERSET (O.S.)
Envy, wrath, pride, lust and sloth.
Seven deadly sins.
WILLIAM
Amen, brother.
William goes to continue pulling other books.
WILLIAM (CONT)
I can find more examples. There's lots
of paintings like those... painted over
hundreds of years.
(moves books)
And you're right... that murderer is an
artist.
Somerset is chilled by all this, immersed in the Bosch book.
SOMERSET
And, it's two down... five to go.
EXT. CITY STREET, PORNO DISTRICT -- NIGHT
A bright, tawdry intersection. Neon swirls and circuit-bulbs on
porno theatres provide the flash. Cars, taxies, and barkers
urging sexual indulgence from doorways provide the noise.
The streets and sidewalks are crowded with lonely humans, mostly
men, looking around, sizing up promises made on porno placards:
FUN WITH NUDES, BIG BOOBS, NAKED DESIRE, etc. The usual
contingent of abnormal cretins wanders in the crowd, looking for
someone to hurt.
MOVE through the crowds. Meet JOHN, a balding, middle-aged man,
wearing thick glasses. There is not a single thing strange or
unusual about his appearance. FOLLOW him as he walks. He's
nervous, looking at the porno palaces.
His sweaty hand clutches a Bible tight against his chest. He
doesn't feel comfortable being here.
John walks to a corner, waits for the light so he may cross. A
grotesque STREET PREACHER approaches waving his own Bible.
People walk away from him, so he confronts John.
PREACHER
...are you, Sir? Is Jesus Christ your
Lord and Master? Do you believe in Him?
John tries to ignore, traffic blocking his escape.
PREACHER (CONT)
(pleading)
Don't ignore me. Listen to what I have
to say. Christ can be your savior!
JOHN
(quiet anger)
Leave me alone.
PREACHER
Think about God, sir. I can help you
let Him into your life.
Finally the light changes. John turns and spits in the
preacher's face. The preacher recoils as John crosses quickly.
John hurries between cars in the crosswalk. The preacher curses
from the corner, his voice drowned out in traffic.
EXT. ANOTHER CITY STREET, PORNO DISTRICT -- NIGHT
People pass on the sidewalk. John is amongst them, but he
stops, looking up at something offscreen.
He's looking at a bright red storefront adorned with red neon:
THE HOT HOUSE. Massage parlor. The Hot House's BARKER notices
John's interest.
BARKER
Interesting isn't it, friend? You like
that, you like girls, then come on in.
John doesn't hear the barker. Steps up to study fading pictures
of naked women massaging happy men. Nudity.
BARKER (CONT)
You'll see a lot more inside. You'll
see a lot more than that.
John's just looking, his face bathed in bright red light, the
neon reflected in his thick glasses.
INT. MILLS' APARTMENT BUILDING, HALLWAY -- NIGHT
Somerset, holding more than an armful of art books and novels,
pounds on the apartment door. Tracy opens it with the chain on.
TRACY
Can I help you?
She takes a second to drink Somerset in. Somerset is surprised,
having expected Mills. Tracy is so exquisite that he falters.
SOMERSET
Uh... I was looking for Mills. David, I
mean.
TRACY
He's not here right now.
Somerset tries not to drop any books while he digs up his badge.
SOMERSET
Mrs. Mills, my name is Somerset. If I
could leave these books for him.
TRACY
(undoes chain)
Please, come in.
INT. MILLS' APARTMENT, LIVING ROOM/KITCHENETTE -- NIGHT
Tracy leads Somerset into the disarray of the apartment.
TRACY
David went for a walk. To clear his
head. Oh, you can put those here.
SOMERSET
Thank you.
Tracy motions and Somerset puts the books on Mills' desk.
He starts looking through one book, checking paperclipped pages.
SOMERSET (CONT)
Could you tell him... tell him this is
his reading assignment. It's urgent.
I've marked the most important pages.
TRACY
Would you like some coffee, or a drink.
David should be back any minute.
SOMERSET
I do have to get going.
Somerset sees a medal encased in glass on the desk amongst pens
and pencils. He picks it up: it's a medal for valor from the
Philadelphia Police Department.
TRACY
At least I got to meet you. David has
told me a lot about you.
SOMERSET
Really? Good things, I hope.
TRACY
Oh, yes. He said you were very smart.
SOMERSET
Really?
TRACY
I think he's a bit intimidated by you.
Somerset thinks about this, finds it hard to believe. He goes
through his pocket, pulls out a notepad and some paper scraps.
SOMERSET
I'm going to leave him a list of
specifics. It all relates to the case
he's on.
He lays the various scraps and receipts aside on the desk, sits
to start writing on the notepad. Tracy goes to the kitchenette
to get a chair.
TRACY
You two aren't working together anymore.
Isn't that so?
SOMERSET
To be perfectly honest, Mrs. Mills...
TRACY
Tracy.
SOMERSET
Tracy. David and I weren't exactly what
you could call fast friends.
TRACY
That's too bad.
Tracy brings the chair over by the desk and sits. Somerset
looks up from his writing.
SOMERSET
I doubt your husband shares that
opinion.
Tracy nods, leaning forward, semi-conspiratorially.
TRACY
You know, Somerset, David is very...
determined. I'm sure you've seen, it's
not likely he'll ever be compared to
Gandhi.
SOMERSET
He's a good cop. He just...
TRACY
He sees policework as a crusade. That's
what he wants it to be, and, that might
sound naive, but he's made a conscious
choice to be naive.
(pause)
Believe me, his heart's in the right
place.
Somerset pauses, enchanted by her.
SOMERSET
I hear you and he were high school
sweethearts.
TRACY
Yeah. Pretty hokey, huh? But, what
girl wouldn't want the captain of the
football team as their lifelong mate?
SOMERSET
It's rare these days... that kind of
commitment.
TRACY
I guess so.
Tracy's smile falters a bit. Somerset notices this. He breaks
from her spell, turns to continue writing.
SOMERSET
Well... this will only take a minute.
TRACY
Take your time.
Somerset writes. Tracy looks over the stack of books:
Titles on the spines: BOSCH, A HISTORY OF CHRISTIAN ART, BREGEL
THE ELDER, etc. Hardcover novels: DANTE'S PURGATORY and THE
CANTERBURY TALES.
Tracy stands to look at the novels on top, then sees the pile of
paper scraps from Somerset's pocket. She picks up the piece of
wallpaper with the pale red rose at its center.
TRACY (CONT)
What is this?
Somerset looks up. Sees her holding the paper rose. He takes
it, slightly self-conscious, looks at it.
SOMERSET
My future.
Tracy tilts her head, looking at Somerset.
TRACY
You have a strange way about you,
Somerset... I mean in a good way...
unusual.
Somerset doesn't know what to say. He pockets the paper rose.
TRACY (CONT)
I apologize. I'll get out of your hair.
Tracy stands, takes the chair back to the kitchenette.
TRACY (CONT)
It's just... it's nice to hear a man who
talks like that. If David saw that
paper, he'd say you're acting like a
homosexual. That's how he is.
SOMERSET
(mock indignation)
Well! I guess I won't be showing this to
him then.
TRACY
I suppose not.
Somerset continues writing. Tracy sits at the kitchenette
table, watches him.
INSERT -- TITLE CARD
THURSDAY
EXT. CITY MORGUE -- MORNING
It's raining hard. Mills exits the morgue building with a few
art books and a paper cup of coffee. He holds one art book over
his head as he dashes through deep puddles in the street.
INT. MILLS' CAR -- MORNING
Mills gets in, puts his coffee on the dash and tosses the art
books in a box. He closes the door. Alone with the sound of
the rain. He wipes water off his face, looks at his tired eyes
in the rearview mirror.
He reaches in the box of books, takes out copies of The
Canterbury Tales and Dante's Purgatory. He makes a face, opens
Dante's Purgatory:
-------------------------------------------------------------
| THE EARTHLY PARADISE |
|-------------------------------------------------------- /\ |
| / \ |
| VII The Lustful /____\|
| / |
| VI The Gluttonous /_______|
| 7 TERRACES OF / |
| V The Avaricious / |
| and Prodigal /__________|
| PURGATION / |
| / |
| / |
| IV The Slothful /______________|
| / |
| / |
| / |
| III The Wrathful /__________________|
| / |
| II The Envious /____________________|
| / |
| I The Proud /______________________|
| / |
| / |
| / THE ISLAND |
| / |
| / OF PURGATORY |
| / |
|_______________________________/_____________________________|
Mills turns to a bookmark, rests the book on the steering wheel.
He reads. He bites his lip, leaning close to the words. He
concentrates, mouths some of the words to himself. He finally
closes the book, shaking his head, not understanding anything
he's reading. He starts pounding the book against the steering
wheel with all his might.
MILLS
Fucking Dante. Goddamn, poetry writing
freak, mother-fuck...
A figure outside the window knocks on the glass. Mills rolls it
down. A COP in raincoat hands a wet paper bag through.
MILLS (CONT)
Good work, Officer. Good work.
The cop leaves as Mills quickly rolls the window up and rips the
bag open. Inside: Cliff Notes for Dante's Purgatory and The
Canterbury Tales.
MILLS (CONT)
Thank God.
INT. PRECINCT HOUSE, SOMERSET'S OFFICE -- DAY
It still rains outside. Somerset enters, stops to notice
DETECTIVE MILLS painted on the door where his name used to be.
He walks, sees all his belongings have been moved from his desk
and piled on a small temporary desk in the corner.
Somerset sits at the temporary desk, starts organizing the files
and papers. Mills enters carrying the box of books.
SOMERSET
How's it coming?
MILLS
Great.
Mills puts the box on the large desk. They both settle in,
attending to their work. Two men, about five feet apart, each
trying not to acknowledge the other's presence.
Mills takes out his Cliff Notes, looks to see Somerset is
occupied, hides them in a desk drawer.
Somerset finishes one form, flips it and looks up. There's a
chalk board nailed to the wall.
On the chalkboard: 1 gluttony(x) 5 wrath
2 greed(x) 6 pride
3 sloth 7 lust
4 envy
The PHONE RINGS. Both men look at it. Phone RINGS again.
SOMERSET
It's your name on the door.
Mills picks up. Somerset returns to his work.
MILLS
(into phone)
Detective Mills here.
(lowers voice)
Honey, I asked you not to call unless...
(listens)
What... why? Okay... okay. Hold on.
Mills is confused. He holds the phone out to Somerset.
MILLS (CONT)
It's my wife.
Somerset looks quizzical. Mills shrugs. Somerset takes it.
SOMERSET
(into phone)
Hello?
(listens)
Yes, well... I appreciate the thought,
but... I...
(listens)
Well, I guess I'd be delighted to.
Thank you... goodbye.
Somerset gets up, hangs up, puzzled. Mills is waiting.
MILLS
Well?
SOMERSET
I'm invited to have a late supper with
you and your wife. And I accept.
MILLS
How's that?
SOMERSET
(sits back down)
Tonight.
Mills looks at the phone, lost.
INT. MILL'S APARTMENT, LIVING ROOM/KITCHENETTE -- NIGHT
A record player on a moving box PLAYS QUIET MUSIC.
There's a basketball game with NO VOLUME on the t.v. screen.
Tracy, Mills and Somerset eat at the kitchen table. Mills has a
beeper by his beer and occasionally fingers it absently.
TRACY
Why aren't you married, Somerset?
MILLS
Tracy. What the hell?
Somerset adjusts his napkin on his lap, thinking.
SOMERSET
I was close. It just didn't happen.
TRACY
It surprises me you're not married. It
really does.
SOMERSET
Any person who spends a significant
amount of time with me finds me...
disagreeable. Just ask your husband.
MILLS
No argument.
Mills grins, but he means it. he sips beer. The conversation
lapses into long silence. Somerset concentrates on his plate.
Tracy looks at Mills, who eats while watching the basketball
game.
TRACY
(to Somerset)
How long have you lived here?
SOMERSET
Too long. Much too long.
(drinks)
What do you think of our fair city?
TRACY
You take the bad with the good, I
suppose. It's... it's...
MILLS
It takes time to settle in.
Tracy looks at Mills. Somerset can see it is a sore subject.
SOMERSET
(to Tracy)
You'll get used to it pretty quickly.
There are things in any big city that
stand out at first. But...
A LOW RUMBLING is HEARD as plates begin to rattle and clatter.
TRACY
Subway train. It's right below us/
The dishes clatter more. Coffee cups clink against their
saucers. Tracy holds her cup to stop it, tries to act like it
is nothing, but she is clearly bothered.
TRACY (CONT)
It'll go away in a minute.
They wait. The t.v. picture goes fuzzy. The RUMBLING grows
LOUDER, knocks something over in the sink. Mills continues
eating. Somerset fiddles with his food. The record player
skips, then plays on. The RUMBLING finally DIES DOWN, till
everything is normal.
MILLS
(uncomfortable)
This real estate guy... a real scum,
brought us to see this place a few
times. And, it was nice enough, and the
price was right. I was thinking it was
nothing, but I started to notice, he
kept hurrying us along. I mean what
could it be? Why would he only show it
like five minutes at a time, before he'd
hustle us out the door?
Mills laughs, lamely.
TRACY
We found out the first night.
Somerset tries to stay straight, but he can't help laughing.
SOMERSET
I'm sorry... it's a nice apartment.
He pulls himself together, but only for a moment. He can't stop
it, laughs harder, covering his mouth. Tracy and Mills laugh.
MILLS
(sighs)
Oh, fuck.
INT. MILLS' APARTMENT, LIVING ROOM/KITCHENETTE -- LATER NIGHT
The record player spins a different album, DIFFERENT MUSIC.
Tracy's clearing the last dishes into the sink. Mills and
Somerset have beers.
SOMERSET
All television does is teach children
that it's really cool to be stupid and
eat candy bars all day.
TRACY
I don't think I've ever met anyone who
didn't have a television.
Tracy takes a pot of coffee to the table and pours.
MILLS
That's weird. It's un-American.
Somerset shrugs.
MILLS (CONT)
What about sports?
SOMERSET
What about them?
Tracy brings over a plate of cookies and puts it on the table.
MILLS
You go to movies at least.
SOMERSET
I read. Remember reading? What's the
last book you read, Mills?
MILLS
T.V. Guide.
Mills laughs. Burps. he turns to Tracy.
MILLS (CONT)
Excuse me.
(to Somerset)
I just have to say, I can't respect any
man who's never seen Green Acres.
Somerset gives a blank stare. Tracy walks away.
MILLS (CONT)
You've never seen The Odd Couple? The
Flintstones?
SOMERSET
I vaguely recall Wilma, and someone
named... Dino.
Across the room, Tracy turns the t.v. and the record player off.
She goes into the bedroom, shuts the door behind her without a
word. Somerset and Mills turn to the closed door.
They look at each other, then sit for a time. Somerset drinks
coffee. Mills drums his fingers on his beeper. Big silence.
INT. MILLS' APARTMENT BUILDING, STAIRWELL -- NIGHT
Mills walks up the creaky stairs. He carries his briefcase, a
six-pack and art books. Somerset follows, reading a case file.
MILLS
We think he acted like he was delivering
a package. The doorman at Mr. Gold's
building says he doesn't even look at
anyone who goes in anymore.
Mills opens a door to the roof --
EXT. MILLS' APARTMENT BUILDING, ROOFTOP -- NIGHT
Mills and Somerset walk onto the roof. It is a spectacular view
on all sides. Miles of city lights. Breathtaking. SOUNDS of
the CITY reach them.
SOMERSET
No connection between the two victims?
Mills shakes his head, unloads what he's holding onto a rusty
table. He sits in one of two lawn chairs. Somerset sits across
from him.
SOMERSET (CONT)
No witnesses of any kind?
MILLS
None. Which I can't understand. It's
like this guy's invisible.
SOMERSET
In this city, minding your own business
is a perfected science.
Somerset takes a picture from the file, the drawing of the sun
with an eye at its center. He opens a book, CHRISTIAN SYMBOLS,
which is full of illustrations. He starts paging through.
SOMERSET (CONT)
At the precinct, Sunday nights, they
offer a public crime prevention course.
And, the very first thing they teach is
that you should never scream "help" if
you're in trouble. Scream "fire."
Because people don't want to get caught
up in anything. But, a fire... that's
entertainment. They come running.
Somerset holds the books up to Mills, points to a picture of the
sun and eye, same as the drawing Mills found.
SOMERSET (CONT)
"The Sun in Splendor with the Eye." It
refers to God the father, and to Saint
Thomas Aquinas.
MILLS
Which saint is he?
SOMERSET
Aquinas wrote a summary of theology,
Summa Theologica. And he wrote about
the seven deadly sins.
Mills takes the book and looks it over.
SOMERSET (CONT)
Now, what else have you got?
MILLS
Look, I appreciate being able to talk
this out, but... it's my case.
SOMERSET
So... satisfying my curiosity. I'm
still leaving town on Sunday.
Mills is pondering, very tired. He unlatches his briefcase,
takes a photocopy of the photo of the falsely pretty woman and
hands it to Somerset.
MILLS
The eyes were circled. With Mr. Gold's
blood.
SOMERSET
This is his wife?
MILLS
(nods)
She was away on business. She got back
the day he was killed. If this means
she saw anything, I don't know what.
We've questioned her about ten times.
SOMERSET
And, if it's a threat?
MILLS
We put her in a safe house.
SOMERSET
This is the one thing.
MILLS
I know.
EXT. SLUM TENEMENTS -- NIGHT
Two twenty-story tenement buildings stand practically underneath
the span of a bridge. The streets are littered with garbage.
Teenagers stand in cliques in front of a liquor store. Cars
pass slowly, CAR STEREOS PUMPING out HIP HOP.
Under the bridge, in shadow, a car is parked between two
dumpsters. The trunk is open.
AT THE BACK OF THE CAR
The trunk is full of cardboard boxes which are in turn full of
tall, orange candles. Hundreds of candles. JOHN leans in under
the trunk's bulb, opens a leather pouch and checks the contents:
A plastic bottle of prescription pills. A bottle of aspirin. A
hypodermic needle filled with liquid. Lastly, many jars of baby
food: STRAINED CARROTS, STRAINED SPINACH, CREAMED CORN, etc.
INT. SLUM TENEMENT BUILDING, STAIRWELL -- NIGHT
John climbs the stairs holding the leather case and a closed
shoebox. He wears clip-on sunglasses, a hat pulled low, a thin
overcoat on his plump body.
INT. SLUM TENEMENT BUILDING, HALLWAY -- NIGHT
John comes from the stairwell door, looks, walks up the hall.
The walls are graffitied. The soiled floor is wet in spots.
ARGUMENTS and LOUD CHILDREN are HEARD from behind closed doors.
John comes to apartment 303. He's winded from the climb. He
takes out keys, lets himself in. Closes the door.
EXT. MILLS' APARTMENT BUILDING, ROOFTOP -- NIGHT
Somerset stands at the edge, holding the photo of Mrs. Gold. He
puffs on a cigarette, looks out at the city lights.
SOMERSET
It's like he's preaching.
(pause)
The sins were used in medieval sermons.
There were seven cardinal virtues, and
then seven deadly sins, as a learning
tool. The sins distract man from true
worship. True faith.
Mills is seated at the table with art books open.
A breeze fans the pages of the books. The flipping pages reveal
views of heaven, hell, adoration, crucifixion and sin.
MILLS
Like in these paintings, and in Dante's
Purgatory, right? But, in Purgatory,
Dante and his buddy climb that big
mountain...
SOMERSET
Seven Terraces of Purgation.
MILLS
Anyway... pride comes first, not
gluttony. And in all the paintings,
the sins are in a different order. I
can't find a pattern.
SOMERSET
Because there's creativity in the mix.
Consider these books as the murderer's
inspiration. Or aspiration.
Somerset drops his cigarette to the empty street, watching the
glowing tip fall. He looks at the woman's circled eyes.
SOMERSET (CONT)
He sees himself contributing to the body
of Christian work.
MILLS
He's punishing these people.
SOMERSET
For all of us to see and learn from.
These murders are like forced attrition.
MILLS
What? Forced what?
SOMERSET
Attrition. When you regret your sins,
but not because you love God.
MILLS
Because someone's holding a gun on you.
Somerset thinks. He walks from the edge to Mills.
SOMERSET
When Mr. Gold's wife found the body,
about how long was she in the apartment?
MILLS
She didn't find it. The door to the
apartment was open and a neighbor...
SOMERSET
I thought you said she found the body.
When she got back from a business trip.
MILLS
No. She got back after you and I had
already been there.
Somerset thinks, coming up with something.
MILLS (CONT)
What?
Somerset holds up the photo of Mrs. Gold.
SOMERSET
Maybe she is supposed to see
something... she just hasn't had a
chance to see it yet.
INT. SAFE HOUSE -- NIGHT
The room is like a bland hotel room. Mills stands beside MRS
GOLD. He shows her photos from the murder scene. Mrs. Gold is
crying. Somerset stands across the room.
MILLS
Please, look for anything strange or out
of place. Anything at all.
MRS GOLD
I... I don't understand. Why now?
Mills helps her go through the photos. He is shaken himself,
not wanting to put her through this.
MILLS
I need your help if we're going to get
the guy who killed your husband. If
there's anything in these pictures...
Mrs. Gold sobs quietly, wipes her tears.
MRS GOLD
I don't see anything.
MILLS
Are you absolutely sure?
MRS GOLD
I can't do this now... please.
ette to the empty street, watching the
glowing tip fall. He looks at the woman's circled eyes.
SOMERSET (CONT)
He sees himself contributing to the body
of Christian work.
MILLS
He's punishing these people.
SOMERSET
For all of us to see and learn from.
These murders are like forced attrition.
MILLS
What? Forced what?
SOMERSET
Attrition. When you regret your sins,
but not because you love God.
MILLS
Because someone's holding a gun on you.
Somerset thinks. He walks from the edge to Mills.
SOMERSET
When Mr. Gold's wife found the body,
about how long was she in the apartment?
MILLS
She didn't find it. The door to the
apartment was open and a neighbor...
SOMERSET
I thought you said she found the body.
When she got back from a business trip.
MILLS
No. She got back after you and I had
already been there.
Somerset thinks, coming up with something.
MILLS (CONT)
What?
Somerset holds up the photo of Mrs. Gold.
SOMERSET
Maybe she is supposed to see
something... she just hasn't had a
chance to see it yet.
INT. SAFE HOUSE -- NIGHT
The room is like a bland hotel room. Mills stands beside MRS
GOLD. He shows her photos from the murder scene. Mrs. Gold is
crying. Somerset stands across the room.
MILLS
Please, look for anything strange or out
of place. Anything at all.
MRS GOLD
I... I don't understand. Why now?
Mills helps her go through the photos. He is shaken himself,
not wanting to put her through this.
MILLS
I need your help if we're going to get
the guy who killed your husband. If
there's anything in these pictures...
Mrs. Gold sobs quietly, wipes her tears.
MRS GOLD
I don't see anything.
MILLS
Are you absolutely sure?
MRS GOLD
I can't do this now... please.
Mills looks at Somerset. Somerset holds other photos.
MILLS
We have to show her those. There might
be something she's missing.
Somerset looks at the photos in his hand, hesitant. These
photos show Mr. Gold's corpse, not covered in any way.
SOMERSET
Have her look one last time.
MRS GOLD
Wait. Here... here's something...
MILLS
What is it?
Mrs. Gold points at the constructivist painting on the wall in
one photo. The painting is an abstraction of colored squares.
MRS GOLD
This painting... in the living room...
MILLS
What?
MRS GOLD
Why is it hanging upside-down?
Mills jerks his head to look at Somerset. Big score.
INT. LUXURY APARTMENT/CRIME SCENE, LIVING ROOM -- NIGHT
This is where the greed murder took place. Somerset and Mills
are taking the constructivist painting off the wall. Nothing on
the wall behind the painting. Blank space.
MILLS
Nothing.
SOMERSET
This has got to be it.
Somerset puts the painting down, resting it on its bottom edge.
The frame is backed by a thick sheet of brown paper. He points
to where the wire used to be screwed into the frame, and to
where it has been re-screwed.
SOMERSET (CONT)
It has to be. He changed the wire to
rehang it.
Somerset tears along the edge of the brown paper to get to the
space between it and the canvas. He tears out the entire sheet.
Mills helps pull it away, but there's nothing there. Empty.
Mills looks at both sides of the paper, then tosses it away.
MILLS
It's nothing.
Somerset pays the painting down, face up. He pokes his finger
on the painted surface. Mills watches as Somerset kneels, takes
out a credit card and presses it's edge against the canvas,
trying to peel up some of the paint.
MILLS (CONT)
Give it up. The killer didn't paint the
fucking thing.
Somerset pushes the painting away, stands, frustrated.
MILLS (CONT)
He fucked us.
Somerset backs away from the wall, staring at the space where
the painting hung. There is only a nail. He stares intently,
then turns and walks out of the room.
Mills holds his hands to his temples, furious. SOMERSET can be
HEARD from the other room, going through drawers, dropping
things. GLASS is HEARD BREAKING. Mills grabs a lamp and throws
it on the floor.
MILLS (CONT)
Son of a bitch!
Somerset comes back in, holding something. He steps over the
lamp and goes to the blank wall space.
MILLS (CONT)
What?
SOMERSET
Bear with me.
Mills watches. Somerset has a woman's make-up compact in hand.
He opens it, uses the soft brush to begin applying the red rouge
powder to the wall around the nail.
MILLS
(incredulous)
Oh, yeah, sure. You got to be kidding.
SOMERSET
Shut up and wait!
Somerset brushes with wider strokes. He blows, leans very close
to the wall to study the powder. Leans closer still. Pause.
SOMERSET (CONT)
Call the print lab. Now.
INT. MILLS' APARTMENT, BEDROOM -- NIGHT
Tracy is asleep with lights on. She stirs, opens her eyes.
INT. MILLS' APARTMENT -- NIGHT
Tracy opens the door, enters. It's quiet. She sees Mills and
Somerset are gone. She's all alone. Unhappy.
EXT. MILLS' APARTMENT, FIRE ESCAPE -- NIGHT
Through the window, we can see into the bedroom. Tracy comes
back from the living room. She goes to her side of the bed,
kneels. She reaches between the mattress and bedspring, takes
out a paperback book she has hidden there.
She comes to the window, opens it and climbs out onto the fire
escape. She sits, dangles her feet through the metal bars. She
opens the book and tries to read by the street light, resting
her head against the railing. A WOMAN is HEARD SCREAMING
distantly.
Tracy looks down the empty street, unsettled. The woman is not
heard again.
Tracy lays back, looks at the sky, holding herself. We can now
see the title of the book: PREPARING FOR PARENTHOOD. There is a
picture of a baby on the cover.
Tracy cries, quietly.
INT. LUXURY APARTMENT/CRIME SCENE, LIVING ROOM -- NIGHT
A MALE FORENSIC uses a magnifying glass to study a very clear
fingerprint in black powder on the wall.
FORENSIC
Oh, boy...
MILLS (O.S.)
Talk to me.
The forensic bites his lip, still studying.
Mills and Somerset watch the forensic who works offscreen.
MILLS (CONT)
(to Somerset)
Listen, honestly... have you ever seen
anything like this? Been involved in
anything remotely like this?
SOMERSET
No. I have not.
FORENSIC (O.S.)
Well, I can tell you this, detectives...
The forensic steps down from a stool. Behind him, where the
painting once was, there are fingerprints, clear and distinct.
The prints have been left side by side, to form letters which
form the words: HELP ME.
FORENSIC (CONT)
...just by studying the underloop...
these are not the victim's prints.
INT. PRECINCT HOUSE, PRINT LAB -- NIGHT
Dark. A TECHNICIAN sits before an old computer. The computer's
green screen shows fingerprints being aligned, compared and then
rejected; whir - click - whir - click - whir - click. Mills and
Somerset watch, bathed in the green glow.
SOMERSET
It doesn't work for me. I can't believe
he wants us to help him stop.
MILLS
Who the hell knows? There's plenty of
schizoids out there doing dirty deeds
they don't want to do. With tiny voices
whispering nasty things in their ears.
Somerset doesn't buy it. The technician adjusts a knob.
TECHNICIAN
I've seen this baby take three days to
finish a cycle, so you guys can go cross
your fingers somewhere else.
INT. PRECINCT HOUSE, HALLWAY -- NIGHT
Somerset and Mills come from the print lab. A janitor is
mopping the hall. The computer is HEARD WHIRRING AND CLICKING
onwards. Somerset sits with a groan on a couch outside the
door. Mills flops beside him.
SOMERSET
You really meant what you said to Mrs.
Gold. You really believe we'll get him,
don't you?
MILLS
And you don't?
SOMERSET
I wish I still thought like you. I'm so
far gone from that.
MILLS
So, tell me what you think we're doing.
SOMERSET
All we do is pick up the pieces. We
take all the evidence... all the
pictures, statements. Write everything
down and note what time things happened.
We take it all, make a nice, neat pile
and file it away. Just in case it's
ever needed in a courtroom.
MILLS
You're unbelievable. In my entire life,
you're the oldest man I've ever met.
SOMERSET
I've seen even the most promising clues
lead to dead ends. Hundreds of times.
MILLS
I've seen the same. I'm not the country
hick-boy you seem to think I am.
Somerset takes out a cigarette and lights it.
SOMERSET
In this city, if all the skeletons came
out of all the closets... if every un-
revenged corpse were to suddenly rise
and walk again, there would be no more
room for the living.
Mills slumps back, crosses his arms, closes his eyes to sleep.
MILLS
Don't try to tell me you didn't get that
rush tonight... that adrenalin. Like we
were getting somewhere.
(pause)
And, don't try to tell me it was because
you thought we found something that
would play well in a courtroom.
Somerset looks at Mills, puffs the cigarette. The computer is
heard: whir - click - whir - click...
INSERT -- TITLE CARD
FRIDAY
INT. PRECINCT HOUSE, HALLWAY -- EARLY MORNING
Our detectives are fast asleep on the couch, leaning against
each other. People pass and look at them strangely.
CAPTAIN
Wake up, Glimmer Twins. We have a
winner.
INT. PRECINCT HOUSE, READY ROOM -- EARLY MORNING
A windowless classroom. The captain stands in front with a
white screen at his side. The face of a black man, 25, ZERO, is
projected on the screen from a slide projector.
CAPTAIN
His street name is Zero, as some of you
know. His prints were found at the
scene by Detectives Mills and Somerset.
FIVE hardened POLICE OFFICERS, four men, one woman, sit in
chairs facing the captain. They all wear bullet-proof vests
with "POLICE" stencil-painted across them. Somerset and Mills
sit in back, drinking coffee, still trying to wake up.
CAPTAIN (CONT)
Now, Zero has a long, long history of
mental illness. Serious illness. He
was all over your television sets two
years ago after he raped and killed a
seventy-three year old woman. He got
off, as the saying goes, on a
technicality. So we watched him on the
streets, and he went out of circulation
about a year ago.
FEMALE COP
If he disappeared, what do you want from
us?
CAPTAIN
His last place of residence is still in
his name. A search warrant is being
pushed through the court as we speak.
A red-headed cop, CALIFORNIA, 28, raises his meaty hand.
CALIFORNIA
So, have the housing cops walk up and
ring the doorbell. Problem solved.
The cops laugh. The captain clenches his jaw.
CAPTAIN
Listen, California. When you go in, if
Zero isn't home, some of his buddies
might be house-sitting. And besides
using, Zero deals, so, you will be very
uninvited guests.
There is chatter among the cops. Somerset leans to Mills while
the captain continues the briefing.
SOMERSET
Does not seem like our killer, does it?
MILLS
You tell me. I'm new in town.
SOMERSET
Zero does possess the requisite degree
of insanity... but, he doesn't have the
desire somehow. Our killer seems to
have more purpose. More purpose than
Zero could ever conceive of.
MILLS
We'll tag along.
Somerset wants no part of that.
SOMERSET
Why would we?
MILLS
Satisfy our curiosity?
INT. MILLS' CAR -- MORNING
Mills drives, follows a police van. Somerset rides shotgun.
Mills is pumped, ready. Somerset takes one Rolaids tablet off a
fresh roll and chews it.
MILLS
You ever take one?
Somerset pulls out his gun, checks the load.
SOMERSET
No. Never in twenty-four years. I took
my gun out only five times with the
actual intention of using it. I never
fired it. Not once.
MILLS
I pulled it once, fired it once. I
never took a bullet.
SOMERSET
And?
Mills turns a corner, tires screeching.
MILLS
It was my first one of these. We were a
secondary unit, in vice. I was pretty
shaky going in. When we busted the
door, looking for a junkie, the fucking
guy opened fire. One cop was hit in the
arm. He went flying... like in slow
motion.
(pause)
I remember riding in the ambulance. His
arm was like... a piece of meat. I
thought, it's just his arm. But, he
bled to death right there anyway.
A pause. Somerset opens the window, feels the air on his face.
SOMERSET
How did the fire-fight end?
MILLS
Well, I was doing really good in Philly
up till then. Lots of simple busts.
I've always had this weird luck... but,
this was wild.
(pause)
I got that fuck with one shot... right
between the eyes. And the next week,
the mayor's pinning a medal on me.
Picture in the paper, the whole nine
yards.
SOMERSET
How was it?
MILLS
I expected it to be bad, because I heard
about other guys. You know... I took a
human life. But, I slept like a baby
that