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-- THE END
 The film begins with the disappearance of Pennsylvania executive Tom Gruneman (played by Robert Milli). The police reveal that an obscene letter was found in Gruneman's office, addressed to a prostitute in New York City named Bree Daniels (Fonda), who had received several similar letters from him. After six months of fruitless police work, Peter Cable (Cioffi), an executive at Gruneman's company, hires family friend and detective John Klute (Sutherland) to investigate Gruneman's disappearance.
Klute rents an apartment in the basement of Daniels' building, taps her phone, and follows her as she turns tricks. Daniels appears to be liberated by the freedom of freelancing as a call girl, but in a series of visits to her psychiatrist (Vivian Nathan), she reveals the emptiness of her life and that she wants to quit. Klute asks Daniels to answer some of his questions, but she refuses. He approaches her again, revealing that he has been watching her. She does not recall Gruneman. She reveals that she was beaten by one of her johns two years earlier, but after seeing a photo of Gruneman, she says she cannot say for sure.
Daniels takes Klute to meet her former pimp, Frank Ligourin (Scheider), who reveals that one of his prostitutes, Jane McKenna, passed the abusive client on to Bree and another prostitute named Arlyn Page (Dorothy Tristan). McKenna committed suicide and Page became a drug addict and disappeared. Klute and Daniels develop a romance, though she tells her psychiatrist that she fears these feelings and wishes she could go back to "just feeling numb." She admits to Klute a deep paranoia that she is being watched.
They find Page, who tells them the customer was not Gruneman but an older man. Page's body then turns up in the Kill Van Kull. Klute deduces a connection between the two "suicides" of the prostitutes, surmising that the client probably also killed Gruneman and may kill Daniels next. He revisits Gruneman's contacts to find connections with the case. By typographic comparison, the supposed obscene letters of Gruneman are traced to Cable, with whom Klute has been meeting to report on his investigation.
Klute asks Cable for an additional $500 to buy the "black book" of the first prostitute who apparently committed suicide, telling Cable he is certain the book will reveal the identity of the abusive client. Cable corners Bree and reveals that he sent her the letters, explaining that Gruneman had interrupted him when he was attacking a prostitute. Certain that Gruneman would use the incident as leverage against him within the company, Cable attempted to frame Gruneman by planting the letter in his office. He confesses to the killings. After playing an audiotape he made as he murdered Page, he attacks Daniels. Klute rushes in, and Cable jumps or is thrown out a window to his death (the film uses ambiguous editing).
Daniels moves out of her apartment with Klute's help, though her voiceover with her psychiatrist reveals her fear of domestic life and a likelihood that the doctor will "see me next week."
The film begins with the disappearance of Pennsylvania executive Tom Gruneman ( played by Robert Milli ) . The police reveal that an obscene letter was found in Gruneman s office , addressed to a prostitute in New York City named Bree Daniels ( Fonda ) , who had received several similar letters from him . After six months of fruitless police work , Peter Cable ( Cioffi ) , an executive at Gruneman s company , hires family friend and detective John Klute ( Sutherland ) to investigate Gruneman s disappearance . Klute rents an apartment in the basement of Daniels ' building , taps her phone , and follows her as she turns tricks . Daniels appears to be liberated by the freedom of freelancing as a call girl , but in a series of visits to her psychiatrist ( Vivian Nathan ) , she reveals the emptiness of her life and that she wants to quit . Klute asks Daniels to answer some of his questions , but she refuses . He approaches her again , revealing that he has been watching her . She does not recall Gruneman . She reveals that she was beaten by one of her johns two years earlier , but after seeing a photo of Gruneman , she says she can not say for sure . Daniels takes Klute to meet her former pimp , Frank Ligourin ( Scheider ) , who reveals that one of his prostitutes , Jane McKenna , passed the abusive client on to Bree and another prostitute named Arlyn Page ( Dorothy Tristan ) . McKenna committed suicide and Page became a drug addict and disappeared . Klute and Daniels develop a romance , though she tells her psychiatrist that she fears these feelings and wishes she could go back to just feeling numb . She admits to Klute a deep paranoia that she is being watched . They find Page , who tells them the customer was not Gruneman but an older man . Page s body then turns up in the Kill Van Kull . Klute deduces a connection between the two suicides of the prostitutes , surmising that the client probably also killed Gruneman and may kill Daniels next . He revisits Gruneman s contacts to find connections with the case . By typographic comparison , the supposed obscene letters of Gruneman are traced to Cable , with whom Klute has been meeting to report on his investigation . Klute asks Cable for an additional $ 500 to buy the black book of the first prostitute who apparently committed suicide , telling Cable he is certain the book will reveal the identity of the abusive client . Cable corners Bree and reveals that he sent her the letters , explaining that Gruneman had interrupted him when he was attacking a prostitute . Certain that Gruneman would use the incident as leverage against him within the company , Cable attempted to frame Gruneman by planting the letter in his office . He confesses to the killings . After playing an audiotape he made as he murdered Page , he attacks Daniels . Klute rushes in , and Cable jumps or is thrown out a window to his death ( the film uses ambiguous editing ) . Daniels moves out of her apartment with Klute s help , though her voiceover with her psychiatrist reveals her fear of domestic life and a likelihood that the doctor will see me next week .
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Klute
Klute
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<pre><html>
<head>
<script>
<b><!--
</b>if (window!= top)
top.location.href=location.href
<b>// -->
</b></script>
<title>Klute</title>
</head>
<pre>


<b>INT. DINING ROOM - TOM GRUNEMANN HOUSE - DAY
</b>
CLOSE SHOT of TOM GRUNEMANN, attractive young
executive, sitting at the head of the dining room
table carving a turkey for Thanksgiving Day dinner.
There are joyous sounds of celebration. The CAMERA
PANS around the table revealing the happy family
and guests. Among them are KLUTE and CABLE.

Camera stops at Mrs. Grunemann who sits at the foot
of the table opposite her husband. She smiles
across at him with pleasure. We cut to Tom
Grunemann smiling back at her. We cut back to a
closeup of Mrs. Grunemann  looking back at her
husband with love. We cut back to Tom Grunemann's
chair - only now it is empty. The joyous sounds
disappear on this cut. It appears that Tom
Grunemann has disappeared before our eyes. One
moment he is there, and the next moment he is gone.
The camera pans back down the table, only now it is
empty except for Grunemann's children and Mrs.
Grunemann. She is now dressed in something dark.
She and the three children sit eating another meal
in emptiness. She has changed from a joyous woman
to a woman bereaved.

<b>INT. RESEARCH PLANT: ON ROSS - DAY
</b>
The industrial frontier. SPECIAL AGENT ROSS steps
into frame, glancing (perhaps idly, a little
impatiently) in this direction at some loud
industrial goings-on just beyond camera, then
returns toward GROUP.

The group includes CABLE and a YOUNGER FBI AGENT
with clipboard, to whom KLUTE is supplying
preliminary data. KLUTE's manner is somewhat
rumpled, awkward.

<b>			KLUTE
</b>	Klute. With a K. K - L - U -

<b>			ROSS
</b>	Are you with plant security,
	Sergeant?

<b>			KLUTE
</b>		(shakes head)
	Town Police.

<b>			ROSS
</b>	Then how are you involved?

<b>			KLUTE
</b>		(slowly)
	I know Tom Grunemann.

<b>			ROSS
</b>		(shortcutting again)
	You knew the subject Thomas
	Grunemann. How well?

<b>			KLUTE
</b>	We grew up together. Kids.

<b>			ROSS
</b>	Can you account for his
	disappearance in any way?

<b>			KLUTE
</b>	No.

<b>			ROSS
</b>	Did he recently appear to you
	agitated or depressed?
		(aside to younger Agent,
		recording)
	-- indicates no -- Did he voice to
	you grievance or discontent with
	his research work here? Indicates
	no. Moral or sexual problems or
	peculiarities? --

<b>			KLUTE
</b>	No.

<b>			ROSS
</b>	Marital problems in general?
	Indicates possibly -- am I right
	Sergeant?

<b>			KLUTE
</b>	Everybody's got some, I guess.

<b>			ROSS
</b>	Did he ever mention specifically a
	girl or woman in New York?

<b>			KLUTE
</b>	No.

<b>			ROSS
</b>	Examine this letter please.
		(continues)
	We recovered that from the shredder
	-- the plant disposal and
	incinerator system. Grunemann
	apparently typed it Friday, before
	he left, decided not to send it,
	tossed it away. We've already
	contacted the New York Police; they
	think they know the girl in
	question.

<b>C.U. KLUTE
</b>
Klute reads. We see a controlled incredulity and
revulsion.

<b>			ROSS (CONT'D)
</b>	He never mentioned this type thing
	to you? You didn't know he had
	these interests?

<b>INT. GRUNEMANN HOUSE: C.U. HOLLY - DAY
</b>
HOLLY thrusts the letter back toward camera, toward
KLUTE crying out -

<b>			HOLLY
</b>	My husband was not like that! My
	God, Klute.

<b>			KLUTE
</b>	It looks like he sent her quite a
	few of those Holly -- the girl --
	she recalls six or seven letters
	like --

<b>			HOLLY
</b>		(calmly)
	-- No. I mean sure a little rough
	stuff, but just what people usually
	-- No, I would've said we were
	pretty good.
		(pause)
	Johnnie I don't understand. I just
	don't understand.

Klute nods. She is talking for both of them. Klute
looks out the window to the children playing
outside. CAMERA PANS out window to Klute's POV of
children playing on a cold winter day. The trees
are stripped bare.

<b>EXT. RESEARCH PLANT
</b>
Tree lined area, lush and green - Summer.

<b>INT. RESEARCH PLANT: DIRECTOR'S OFFICE - DAY
</b>
CAMERA pulls back inside window to Klute staring
outside, as if still pondering the fate of Tom
Grunemann. The group in the office includes ROSS
(holding a report), TRASK, a New York detective,
Cable, and the plant director, STREIGER.

<b>			ROSS
</b>	-- has disclosed no evidence of
	crime or criminal intent within the
	jurisdiction of this bureau, and
	since subject Thom --

<b>			CABLE
</b>		(turns sharply,
		interrupts)
	It's been almost a year! Tom
	Grunemann's been missing for a
	year. And all the FBI has to offer
	is a report that must bore even
	you.

<b>			ROSS
</b>		(restraint)
	Well sir.

<b>			STREIGER
</b>	Are you closing the case?

<b>			ROSS
</b>	No sir, we don't state that. We're
	countin --

<b>			CABLE
</b>	But you don't find it worth much
	effort.

<b>			ROSS
</b>		(injured dignity)
	Well Mr. Cable, you've got me here
	from the Bureau. You got Lieutenant
	Trask here from New York
	representing his department and I
	don't frankly consider --

<b>			STREIGER
</b>		(moderating, suggesting)
	Why couldn't you ever find out
	anything from the girl?

<b>			ROSS
</b>		(refers the question)
	Trask --

<b>			TRASK
</b>		(summarizes from notes)
	We first hold her under
	surveillance expectin your boy
	Grunemann to show up there. Didn't.
	Then we bagged -- we arrested her
	on a CP charge, convicted, two
	month's women's city prison, offer
	to reduce sentence, she cooperated.
		(counts)
	Four interrogations. She thought
	she remembered Grunemann -- from
	those letters from before, she made
	that connection -- but she hadn't
	seen him since and couldn't
	identify his photograph and she --

<b>			STREIGER
</b>	Why not?

<b>			TRASK
</b>	Oh a good call girl, she'll turn
	six-seven hundred tricks a year.
	The faces get blurred.
		(resumes)
	And since then, recent months,
	she's reported several, you know,
	incidents: like breather calls,
	anonymous phone calls, also
	somebody maybe following her,
	watching her, things like that. So
	it's I guess you could say,
	conceivable Grunemann's still
	around there, just hangin around
	her, spooking her. But you know,
	that --

He shakes his head, gestures doubtingly. Ross caps
it.

<b>			ROSS
</b>	The subject got emotionallv
	disturbed; he just dropped out.
	There's thousands.

<b>			STREIGER
</b>	Inspector we understand your
	position; ours is a little
	different. We have an investment in
	Tom Grunemann. The Company has an
	investment, and we feel entitled to
	investigate for ourselves.

<b>			ROSS
</b>	Private investigation, you mean.
	Yes sir, of course you're entitled,
	and there's some very competent --

<b>			STREIGER
</b>	Klute offered us his services;
	we've accepted.

Pause. Ross and Trask look at Klute - more than a
bit startled - then at each other. Klute just looks
uneasy.

<b>			STREIGER (CONT'D)
</b>	Klute knew Tom. He has a great many
	ideas about the case --

<b>			ROSS
</b>		(sourly)
	Yes sir, we know he --

<b>			STREIGER
</b>	We'd expect him to work in
	cooperation with you. He'd report
	to each of you and to our Company's
	New York office, to Pete -- Pete
	goes there on a regular schedule
	back and forth, and --

<b>			ROSS
</b>		(tactfully)
	Mr. Streiger, speaking frankly --
	we've appreciated the Sergeant's
	interest you know, all along. Here,
	locally. But New York, that's -
	well --

<b>			TRASK
</b>		(to Klute, leniently)
	Ever done any missing person's
	work?

<b>			ROSS
</b>	Spent much time in the city?
		(to others)
	You see, I have to wonder --
	speaking frankly; the Sergeant
	knows I'm only speaking frankly -

<b>			CABLE
</b>	You wonder why we thought of Klute?
	Frankly? He's interested.

<b>INT/EXT. WIDE SHOT: PENNSYLVANIA COUNTRYSIDE - DAY
</b>
Verdant Pennsylvania farmland. Early morning. Near
at hand an open field set about with bee hutches
and patched with mist.

A FIGURE, a shadow (Klute's actually) moves across
frame from the left, blanking in. We reorient to -

<b>INT. BEDROOM - KLUTES HOUSE - DAY
</b>
We see that we've been looking out from the bedroom
window of this house. Klute turns to rolltop desk
in bedroom and picture of Tom Grunemann, picture of
Bree Daniel, and other material he has collected on
the case. He puts them in his suitcase and closes
the suitcase. He shuts rolltop desk.

<b>INT. KLUTE'S HOUSE - DAY
</b>
We follow Klute through the house with suitcase. He
puts away a last dish, shutting off water, gas, and
electricity, and so on -- takes a last look around 
- reaches for the door handle. WE CUT TO --

<b>INT. COMMERCIAL AUDITION - SOUND STAGE - DAY
</b>
A section of wall, a door coming open -- and the
FIGURE of BREE entering and standing. We have gone
from the warm sunlight of the country to mustv
darkness.

She appears chic, poised, and perfect as a magazine
picture.
But as she gets used to the darkness and her eyes
focus on a line of equally beautiful girls sitting
and waiting in folding chairs along a wall, we see
that she is a great deal less certain of demeanor.
Assailable. WE CUT TO -

<b>EXT. KLUTE'S HOUSEYARD, HOUSE, BARN - DAY
</b>
Klute, stepping out, closes, locks and checks the
house door, then moves on to his car -- a vintage
Plymouth -- and tosses in his suitcase; and then
takes a last turn around the yard itself; props
open the cover of a beehutch, and lets down the
rail gate of a sidefield. He approaches to roll
shut his barn door -- and on this action we CUT
again TO --

<b>INT. COMMERCIAL AUDITION - SOUNDSTAGE - DAY
</b>
<b>			DIRECTOR (O.S.)
</b>		(hastily)
	Honey, no, we don't have too many.

She slaps the cup down, hurls herself forward --
SWISH PAN -- onto a MALE ACTOR, thrusting him down
to the floor, her hands at his throat. As we WIDEN
TO INCLUDE DIRECTOR AND MORE OF SCENE, and as the
Director reads from script, supplying a narrator
voice -

<b>			DIRECTOR (CONT'D)
</b>	Now before it comes to that, let's
	have a look, et cetera, et cetera --
<b>	OK -
</b>
Bree and the Male Actor relax slightly, as -

<b>ANGLE TO REVEAL ROOM, OTHERS
</b>
We reestablish the scene -- a few pieces of film
equipment -- and the congery of other ACTORS and 
ACTRESSES preparing to read for parts. As the
Director approaches, counsels Bree -- all of this
quick and consecutive --

<b>			DIRECTOR (CONT'D)
</b>	-- Honey you make it look a little
	real. It should have, you know,
	that fun to it.
		(beat)

<b>			BREE
</b>	Strangle him to death funny?

<b>			DIRECTOR
</b>	Well we go from this into stomach
	diagrams. It can't be too -- look
	let's try it again from -

-- but then he glances at his watch, and at the
others waiting their turn.

<b>			DIRECTOR (CONT'D)
</b>	No -- just give us the faces at the
	end, would you?

Bree and the Male Actor set their cheeks together,
beaming half-moon smiles to camera, hold it for a
moment, as the Director reads again -

<b>			DIRECTOR (CONT'D)
</b>		(reads)
	-- And another family saved by Elso
	tablets. OK --
		(brightly)
	Thank you very much.

-- and holds out his hands for their scripts, at
the same time as he summons from a list in his
other hand --

<b>			DIRECTOR (CONT'D)
</b>	Pierce -- Danner -

BREE passes a new group of beautiful girls sitting
in line waiting their turn as she exits as brightly
as possible.

<b>EXT. NEW YORK SIDEWALK: PEDESTRIANS - DAY
</b>
They trudge along the sidewalk -- the herd, the
late-afternoon crush. A LONG-LENS shot, the crowd
compacted. We see BREE milling along with the rest.
She maneuvers to a sidewalk PHONE BOOTH, enters. We
see her deposit, dial.

<b>INT. PHONE BOOTH, BREE - DAY
</b>
She is connected (to her registry).

<b>			BREE
</b>	Bree Daniel, any messages?
		(waits -- none)
	OK, thanks.

She waits for a moment. Then makes a curious, small
gesture of her hand -- deposits another dime, dials
again, is answered.

<b>			BREE (CONT'D)
</b>	Trina? Bree. Do I? Oh no, just a
	commercial I thought I might get,
	that's all.
		(quickly, more brightly)
	Well I'd take a quick thirty, hon.
	Do you have a commuter for me?
	Wait.

As she prepares to write it down, we CUT BACK TO -

<b>EXT. KLUTE'S HOUSEYARD: KLUTE - DAY
</b>
Klute finishes rolling shut, and padlocks, the barn
door. He returns to his car, sits in (leaving door
open) starts engine. Again -- one last time -- the
look around. Then he pulls the door shut, pulls
out. And on this we CUT TO --

<b>INT. HOTEL CORRIDOR - DAY
</b>
A GROUP -- middle-aged Couple, Child, Bellman with
suitcases -- wait to descend in elevator as BREE
gets off. We TRACK with her along corridor to a
door. She checks number and knocks.

<b>REVERSE: THROUGH DOOR TO BREE
</b>
A MAN opens the door. We neither see or hear him
clearly -- he is foreground, defocused. His shirt
is untucked. Bree cocks her head, greets him
cutely.

<b>			BREE
</b>	Hullo.

He mumbles some kind of greeting, steps back. She
pauses a moment in the door (casing, instantly) --
then quite confident, friendly, provocative all at
once --

<b>			BREE (CONT'D)
</b>	Ooh, I knew I'd like you.

-- and CUT TO --

<b>EXT. CENTER OF TOWN: KLUTE DRIVING - DAY
</b>
Klute's car draws through the business section of
town, moves on --

<b>INT. HOTEL ROOM: BREE - DAY
</b>
C.U. BREE (the Man out of frame and unheard-from)
as she bargains gaily -- and at the same time a
little watchfully.

<b>			BREE
</b>	Lover, that's got to be a little
	extra. I mean it sounds very
	exciting, what you speak of, you've
	got me all excited. But something
	special like that, you know it's
	got to cost a little more, mm?

-- and CUT TO --

<b>INT. CAR: KLUTE DRIVING - DAY
</b>
Klute has laid his jacket aside, rolled his
sleeves, is eating the last of a vending machine
sandwich. The CAR RADIO is on. He leans forward,
tuning it from --

<b>			1ST ANNC'R
</b>		(energetic)
	--R - W - M, radio's voice is the
	Shippensburg Valley, on a beautiful
	clear warm Thurs --

-- to --

<b>			2ND ANNC'R
</b>		(rural)
	-- Tucky Wonder Beans picking up a
	half cent over yesterday's price at-

-- and CUT TO --

<b>INT. C.U. ON BREE, MAN (HOTEL BED) - DAY
</b>
The Man's face is buried against her neck, her
labors over her. She cries out ecstatically,
transportedly -- it would seem at the edge of
orgasm --

<b>			BREE
</b>	Oh lover, oh it's too much -- oh
	you thrill me -- yes, like that,
	it's -- oh it's beautiful, oh --

-- and at the same time refers privately to her
wristwatch. And CUT TO --

<b>EXT. WIDE SHOT: ACCESS RAMP OF TURNPIKE - LUSH
</b><b>HILLY COUNTRY - DAY
</b>
<b>KLUTE'S CAR
</b>
As Klute's car drives onto the turnpike surrounded 
by green country, we ZOOM into a close shot of
Klute through the windshield of his car. And then
in what seems like a continuous shot we ZOOM back
to a wide angle revealing Klute caught in the
endless line of cars in a typical traffic jam at
the entrance to New York City, surrounded by
smoggy, grey, urban skies.

<b>INT. CITY MULTILAYERED PARKING BUILDING - KLUTE'S
</b><b>CAR - NIGHT
</b>
KLUTE sits inside his car as it is mechanically
lifted into the air. It looks as if he is being
manipulated by a robot.

<b>EXT. STREET: OUTSIDE THE BROWNSTONE - NIGHT
</b>
BREE moves along street, returning home,
apprehensive of the one or two other distant
FIGURES. She turns in at one of the Brownstones.

<b>INT. STAIRWELL OF BROWNSTONE - NIGHT
</b>
We watch Bree as she mounts to the top floor, the
door of her apartment, barren, isolated,
frightened.

<b>INT. BREE'S APTARTMENT - NIGHT
</b>
BREE unlocks the door, switches on a light, cases
the apartment for a moment before entering,
securing chain-lock, putting aside her things.
There is a RECORD PLAYER near the first interior
doorway. She switches it as she moves by. By time
the first record has dropped, she has the shower
turned on, is getting rid of her dress. We CUT BACK
<b>TO --
</b>
<b>EXT. EMPTY STREET: KLUTE - NIGHT
</b>
Klute walks, as before, carrying his suitcase. We
see him slow, concernedly looking toward --

<b>INT. BREE'S APARTMENT: ON BREE - NIGHT
</b>
Bree sits on a studio couch, near the record
player, with a QUILT huddled over and around her,
her back against the wall. The MUSIC is classical,
curiously -- the sound of a HARPSICHORD. She is
more or less expressionless -- but trembling
violently, shaking.

<b>FRONT WINDOW SIGN BEING REMOVED WHICH READS "FOR
</b><b>RENT" - STORE - INQUIRE CRAWICZ, DAY
</b>
INT. BREE's APARTMENT: BREE - DAY

Bree moves about energetically, preparing to set
out on rounds. A KNOCK on the door. She startled,
then approaches to door, to peep-hole, lifts lid
aside.

<b>THROUGH PEEPHOLE TO KLUTE FACE
</b>
Klute's face is somewhat distorted by the peephole
lens; he is gazing mildly about the landing.

<b>BREE
</b>
<b>			BREE
</b>		(through door, curtly)
	What is it?

<b>			KLUTE (O.S.)
</b>	Miss Daniel? My name is Klute --
	John Klute --

She turns the door handle , parts the door about
three inches, looks through at him. He starts to
enter.

<b>			KLUTE (CONT'D)
</b>	Can I talk to you?

-- and the door crunches against its chain-lock. He
stops perforce, a bit startled. A pause. A slice of
Bree's face looks coldly out at him. He summons a
smile.

<b>			BREE
</b>	What about?

<b>			KLUTE
</b>	My name's John Klute.

<b>			BREE
</b>	You said that.

<b>			KLUTE
</b>	I'm an investigator. I'd like to
	ask you some questions about Tom
	Grunemann.

She tightens again.

<b>			BREE
</b>	Who?

<b>			KLUTE
</b>	Tom Grunemann. He wrote you some
	letters.

<b>			BREE
</b>		(innocently)
	Gee.

<b>			KLUTE
</b>	He was a research engineer at the
	Tuscarora Laboratories in
	Pennsylvania. He disappeared from
	there last April. I've been hired
	to look for him.

<b>			BREE
</b>	Why?

<b>			KLUTE
</b>	You know what I'm talking about.
	Miss Daniel.

<b>			BREE
</b>	Honest?

<b>			KLUTE
</b>	Will you let me ask you some
	questions?

<b>			BREE
</b>		(gumbo-southern)
	Dew yew hayuv ah-dentifikyshun?

He takes out a folded letter and a wallet and
passes them both through to her. Silence. She
examines them with care, then appears to soften a
little; even smiles slightly.

<b>			BREE (CONT'D)
</b>	You're not police or FBI; you're
	just a private investigator?

<b>			KLUTE
</b>	Mm.

<b>			BREE
</b>	And you just want to ask me a few
	questions?

<b>			KLUTE
</b>	Mm.

She smiles again, hands the letter and wallet back
out, closes the door (doesn't slam, just closes).
Klute looks at it blankly for a time, starts to
knock again, decides not to -- turns and descends
the stairs.

<b>BREE
</b>
Bree listens through the door to his departing foot
steps. They fade from hearing. She hastens to
assemble her properties.

<b>EXT. FRONT DOOR - DAY
</b>
Klute comes out door and descends the stairs at the
same even pace -- he walks into the vacant store
below.

<b>INT. BASEMENT STORE - DAY
</b>
It had once been a Boutique that sold happy
clothes. There are some psychedelic posters and a
few remnants of its former identity. Klute's
suitcase is propped open on a cot behind a counter.
The ceilings are low, forcing Klute to stoop as he
enters. He seems out of place and out of scale. A
case containing a tape recorder stands on the
floor. On the table are a FOLDER of Klute's notes,
and a paper bag. Klute enters and deliberately
resumes his settling in. From the paper bag he sets
aside an electric FAN, then lifts out from the
shopping bag a cheap tin ALARM CLOCK and begins
winding it.

<b>INT. BREE'S APARTMENT - DAY
</b>
Bree has shifted position to a window, is looking
down at the street. She sees - and we hear - SOUND
OF BUS APPROACHING, distantly. She grabs her
properties, whips out the door.

<b>EXT. ON DOOR OF BROWNSTONE - DAY
</b>
Bree skids to a stop just inside the door, scans
quickly out in one direction then the other (in
case Klute has been waiting in ambush on the
sidewalk) then races -- PAN -- to BUS AT CURB --
makes it, pulls herself aboard --

<b>INT. KLUTE'S APARTMENT: KLUTE - DAY
</b>
Klute has been watching from his window. We hear
the BUS PULLING AWAY. He turns back, plugs in the
electric fan. Then hoists the TAPE RECORDER,
unsnaps the cover. We see clearly what it is.

<b>INT. AGENCY OFFICE - DAY
</b>
BREE is showing her notebook to an AGENT. He leans
forward courteously, occasionally stroking his
forehead with his fingertips -- a nice man with a
headache.

<b>			BREE
</b>	-- and I take acting classes with
	Lee Tainter --

<b>			AGENT
</b>	-- Lee, yes --

<b>			BREE
</b>	-- and I was in two of his workshop
	type productions, Uncle Vanya and
	the girl in Five Characters --
		(indicates picture)
	-- here -- and then of course I
	have the modeling and the
	demonstrator work, the trade-fair
	work -- but naturally I feel ready
	for something more, well you know,
	sustain --

<b>			AGENT
</b>	Well, thanks very much for coming
	in.

She starts for the door -- he's already turning
away -- then ducks back, hands him one of her
Glossies, laughing prettily at her own
forgetfulness.

<b>			BREE
</b>		(beautifully -- the
		business)
	Thank you very much.

<b>EXT. STREET - DAY
</b>
BREE comes out, pauses with notebook to cross out,
the call completed, checks the list of those
remaining, sets forth again. We hear TRASK'S VOICE
OVER, very quick, very clipped.

<b>			TRASK (V.O.)
</b>	Man, just a poor pretty little
	hooker, like to be an actress --

<b>INT. MISSING PERSONS BUREAU - DAY
</b>
CLOSEUP photograph of dead man. It is replaced with
series of photgraphs of dead men. CAMERA pulls back
to reveal KLUTE flipping through the file of the
unidentified dead.

<b>			TRASK (V.O.)
</b>	What you lookin' to get from her?
	You think she's got Grunemann hid
	somewhere, the attic, feedin him
	soup? Or maybe he's hidin in a dark
	alley and he'll jump on her and you
	jump on him. And third place, even
	if she does know somethin' she's
	right, she don't have to talk to
	you. You don't have police power,
	you can't make her.

KLUTE closes the file.

<b>			KLUTE
</b>	That's a lot of people to die
	unknown.

<b>			TRASK
</b>	Unknown, unidentified and unwanted.
	And there's more every day man,
	there's more everyday.

As KLUTE slowly walks away we bring in TELEPHONE
RING and BREE VOICE, OVER answering.

<b>			BREE VOICE
</b>	Bree Daniel.
		(then)
	Yeah, hi hon.

<b>EXT. BREE APARTMENT - NIGHT
</b>
Camera is looking up through lighted window outside
at BREE on phone.

<b>			BREE
</b>	Oh hon, I just don't know. I'm
	trying to stay out of it.

<b>EXT. KLUTE APARTMENT - NIGHT
</b>
CAMERA pans down from BREE's window to KLUTE's
window at the bottom revealing KLUTE at tape
recorder. The TAPE RECORDER is going, its light
winking. KLUTE holds headset against one ear, makes
a note or two. We hear BREE's and other GIRL'S
<b>VOICES, UNDER, FILTERED.
</b>
<b>			GIRL'S VOICE
</b>	-- comes in with these other yulds
	maybe two or three times a year,
	and five big ones baby, just one
	evening.

<b>			BREE VOICE
</b>	Marta, thanks, and I'd love to
	party with you hon, but --

Klute sets down the headset (we drop the VOICES far
under, INDISTINGUISHABLE), makes a note, and thumbs
open the box of a fresh reel; the present reel is
near the end. We establish a pile of ALREADY
RECORDED TAPES. We CUT BACK TO --

<b>INT. BREE APARTMENT: BREE ON PHONE - NIGHT
</b>
<b>			BREE
</b>	Well try to get someone else Marty
	and if I change my mind -- sure
	hon, bye.

She hangs up, starts away. The PHONE RINGS AGAIN.
She tries to ignore it. It persists. She finally
turns back to answer it, and we CUT TO --

<b>INT. CASTING OFFICE - AD AGENCY - DAY
</b>
CAMERA STARTS on huge photo montage of the Family
of Man and pans down to a group of beautiful girls
sitting on a bench below. They are dwarfed by the
enormous picture. Each one clutches an almost
identical portfolio of pictures in her lap. Camera
pans down row of portfolios until it stops at BREE 
- impatiently waiting her turn. WE CONTINUE THE
TELEPHONE VOICES OVER, WILD TRACK STYLE. The MAN'S
VOICE is thick with drink, and emotion. First the
click, then --

<b>			BREE VOICE
</b>	Bree Daniel --

<b>			MAN'S VOICE
</b>	Oh God baby, oh God I really love
	you.

<b>			BREE VOICE
</b>	That's nice; who is this?

<b>			MAN'S VOICE
</b>	I really love you baby, you know
	that?

A CLICK, and the MAN'S VOICE CONTINUING, trailing
into helpless sobs --

<b>			MAN'S VOICE (CONT'D)
</b>	Hello? Hello? Oh my God, hello?

<b>EXT. STREET: BREE
</b>
Bree comes out from the building (note possible
costume change; not necessarily consecutive
action), checks off on her list continues on her
way -- as we CONTINUE WILD TRACK STYLE VOICES.
Starting with a CLICK and --

<b>			BREE VOICE
</b>	Bree Daniel.

<b>			2ND MAN'S VOICE
</b>		(nicely)
	Bree -- Frank Hanley, you remember,
	Fayetterville?

<b>			BREE VOICE
</b>	Oh yeah, hi Frank, sure.

<b>			2ND MAN'S VOICE
</b>	Well I'm in town, like to see you.

<b>			BREE VOICE
</b>	Well Frank that's awful nice but
	I'm out of action, sort of, you
	know --

We FADE THIS CONVERSATION UNDER BUT HOLD,
CONTINUING, as --

BREE PASSES CAMERA -- and we PAN TO SHOT OF KLUTE,
at corner, unseen by her and apparently in
surveillance of her. Then he too turns out of
frame, and we CUT TO --

<b>INT. PENN STATION - DAY
</b>
CAMERA is looking down at an enormous gift package
on a platform. There is a sound of a recorded
fanfare and with the pull of a string the package
is opened revealing a brand new LINCOLN CONTINENTAL
CONVERTIBLE. People applaud and the car starts to
revolve. At the wheel of the car sits BREE. We CUT
to a shot through the windshield of car --

<b>BREE'S POV
</b>
A sea of staring faces revolves around her. We
cross fade with SPANGLER VOICE OVER (as if
recalling a case record).

<b>			SPANGLER (V.O.)
</b>	Bree Daniel, Caucasian, twenty
	eight, good physical health, no
	narcotics record, presenting an
	unusually strong personality some
	ways, high intelligence, a high
	bracket call girl.

<b>EXT. WOMEN'S PRISON ROOF - CAGED IN RECREATION AREA
</b>
SPANGLER, a prison psychiatrist, sits on a bench
eating a sandwich partially wrapped in wax paper
and sipping from a carton of milk. He is obviously
a man pressed for time. KLUTE sits beside him.
Across from them some prisoners are taking their
exercise. Through the metallic netting that
surrounds them, we see the skyline of New York
City. It only dramatizes more the sense of being
caged.

<b>			SPANGLER
</b>	-- Usual case history -- this isn't
	a medical confidence, it's all of
	them -- broken family, lonely,
	confused, crummy childhood, early
	promiscuity, formal prostitution
	beginning in her teens, income
	twenty-five to thirty thousand a
	year.
		(notes Klute's reaction)
	Oh they don't keep the money: they
	get rid of it, they get pimps. Why?
		(stabs at record)
	Why do you want to know all this?

<b>			KLUTE
</b>	I want to know how Tom Grunemann
	got mixed up in it.

<b>			SPANGLER
</b>	Not unusual.

<b>			KLUTE
</b>	Did she talk about him to you?

<b>			SPANGLER
</b>	About his letters -- that's all she
	remembered. Quite violent material,
	I'd say, obsessive, a quite sick
	man. But that's not unusual either.

<b>			KLUTE
</b>	Has she talked with you since
	prison?

<b>			SPANGLER
</b>	No. She had every good intention of
	it -- coming to me as a private
	patient, getting out of the life,
	devoting herself to an acting
	career.

<b>			KLUTE
</b>	I think she's trying that.

<b>			SPANGLER
</b>	Oh sure they try. The idea of a
	better life.  But they don't really
	know much about life: They get
	confused -- or scared or frustrated
	or bored -- they pop back to the
	one thing they can handle.
	The trick. The trick. Men in bed.
	Not men in general, not life, not
	love, not even real sex -- it
	avoids all that. Just the trick,
	the transaction.

<b>INT. PENN STATION - DAY
</b>
POV world revolving around BREE through windshield
of car. The circular motion slows down and then
stops. Cut to BREE getting out of car and walking
off platform. She looks a bit shaky. She is stopped
by one of the spectators.

<b>			MAN
</b>		(tapping her)
	We had a bet on - if you were real
	or not. I won.

She looks at him in disgust and crosses to phone
booth.

<b>INT. PHONE BOOTH - DAY
</b>
<b>			BREE
</b>		(on phone)
	Marta --

<b>INT. CHURCH DISCOTHEQUE - NIGHT
</b>
We are in the interior of what was once a church
and is now a discotheque. Interior is painted
purple; the record player stands on the altar over
the crowd. Pews are massed around the dance floor.
Stained glass windows are lighted from behind and
are circled with light bulbs that flash on and off.
For all of its obviously bizarre visual quality,
there is a sense of relaxation. It is a late night
gathering place of many who belong to the sexual
underworld of the city.

BREE and the OTHER GIRL advance to a pew. A MAN
sitting there (the other girl's pimp) with a THIRD
GIRL. BREE's companion greet him shyly, tenderly:
she and BREE sit down, join in conversation.

PULL BACK SLOWLY -- other pews, other girls and a
few men, the sisterhood -- To --

<b>BAR AREA IN BACK (WHAT ONCE MUST HAVE BEEN THE
</b><b>VESTIBULE OF THE CRURCH)
</b>
Among the people around the bar, pimps, whores, and
a sprinkling of hopeful Johns and curiosity
seekers. The camera picks a familiar face: CABLE.
He watches BREE with a mixture of amusement and
contempt. A GIRL comes over to him and tries to
proposition him. They appear to be discussing
price. Just as she thinks it is set, he walks away.

<b>INT. KLUTE'S APARTMENT - NIGHT
</b>
CLOSEUP photograph of TOM GRUNEMANN pinned to a
large piece of beaverboard KLUTE has placed on a
wall. CAMERA PANS over various pictures and pieces
of evidence KLUTE has pinned up in an attempt to
make some sense from the puzzle of TOM GRUNMIANN's
disappearance. CAMERA PANS over to KLUTE sitting on
cot looking up at the pieces of the puzzle. There
is a heated TV dinner in front of him.

The TAPE RECORDER reels start turning (sound
powered), the recording light starts winding (as
BREE, above, dials). KLUTE pays it scant attention 
- he can catch up with the news anytime. He sits
manfully in front of the TV dinner, starts peeling
back the foil --

<b>INT. BREE'S APARTMENT: BREE - NIGHT
</b>
She holds the phone, is answered. Her voice more
natural, a little shy, a little covert.

<b>			BREE
</b>	Hi. Bree.
		(is greeted)
	Hi. Well I could come over tonight 
	- if you'd like -- if there's no
	one else.
		(laughs diffidently)
	I really want to just talk to you.

<b>INT. KLUTE'S APARTMENT: KLUTE - NIGHT
</b>
The tape-recorder continues turning and winking as
the conversation upstairs continues. KLUTE looks at
TV dinner. He reaches for the headset of the
taperecorder, holds it loosely against one ear. He
exhibits a measure of new interest. The TAPE
RECORDER stops running. He immediately rewinds, and
starts listening through it again. We CUT TO --

<b>EXT. GARMENT DISTRICT - NIGHT
</b>
Large, dark buildings -- a DIM-LIGHTED WINDOW
showing at an upper floor of one -- the street
otherwise by and large deserted. A TAXI draws in, a
FIGURE IN EVENING DRESS (Bree) gets out, approaches
the building, glances around, either secretly or
apprehensively -- presses a buzzer, waits, gets
answering CLICKS, enters the dark hallway of the
building, starts upstairs.

<b>EXT. ACROSS THE STREET - NIGHT
</b>
KLUTE shifts into view, looking in the direction
Bree's gone, a little puzzled all in all. He
doesn't immediately follow; he waits.

<b>INT. GARMENT BUILDING - CUTTING ROOMS - NIGHT
</b>
We look past RACKS OF CLOTHING, as BREE arrives up
the dark stairway into dark rooms -- the scene,
mysterious, a little sinister. She seems fearful of
it herself, advances slowly, looking around, calls 
<b>-
</b>
<b>			BREE
</b>	Hi? -_

<b>ANGLE PAST MR. FABER, TO BREE
</b>
Mr. Faber is SILHOUETTED for a moment, standing,
watching her, from along an alleyway of garments.
She sees him, is startled then relieved.

<b>			BREE (CONT'D)
</b>	Oh --

He moves toward her.

<b>REVERSE ANGLE, TO MR. FABER
</b>
Mr. Faber is a man of 65 or so, rather handsome,
and for this occasion very spruce, very erect, very
nattily turned out. Bree complains cheerfully.

<b>			BREE (CONT'D)
</b>	You scared me, Mr. Faber.

He smiles, kisses her cheek, tests the fabric of
her evening dress -- (in passing, as a matter of
expertise).

<b>			MR. FABER
</b>	Good material, not too good cut.
	I'd do better for you.

Then he turns, lifts down a WOMAN'S DRESS CAPE,
carrying it -- graciously gestures her to precede
him --

<b>CORNER OF CUTTING ROOM
</b>
A dim pool of light here. A private area here,
sectioned off by rows of garments. A couch, rug,
coffee table, a chair or two -- a place for Buyers
to take their ease. BREE and MR. FABER enter. Her
manner is suddenly elegant, assured, regal; his
befits a man of the world. He fits the cloak around
her shoulders and gestures to the couch; she sits.
He pours a glass of wine for her, for himself. She
speaks with a neat continental accent -- doing it
fairly well, really -- a member of the
international set.

<b>			BREE
</b>	Oh thank you.

He sits in the chair opposite, sips his wine.

<b>			MR. FABER
</b>	Enjoy.
		(then)
	Well --

<b>			BREE
</b>		(diffident)
	It's good to see you. Well -- could
	we do it first and then just talk?

<b>			MR. FABER
</b>	Sure dear, yes.

<b>			BREE
</b>	Well -- well I'm just back. And --
	I must tell you -- something quite
	wonderful.

<b>			MR. FABER
</b>		(intently)
	Yes?

<b>			BREE
</b>	And Cannes was quite fun, quite;
	and we played baccarat and
	chemindefer and there was a nice
	little Italian marquis quite
	enthusiastic for me -- but a young
	man can be so silly --

<b>			MR. FABER
</b>	Mm.

<b>			BREE
</b>	And then one night -- at the gaming
	tables -- well I just saw him. A
	stranger -- looking at me -- and I
	knew suddenly that all my life I'd
	been --

She hesitates strangely, her fingers at the neck of
the cape. Faintly --

<b>			BREE (CONT'D)
</b>	-- May I? It's so --

<b>			MR. FABER
</b>		(quickly)
	Please --

She stands, unloosing the cloak, letting it fall on
the couch. But she doesn't sit again -- begins to
move here and there about the enclosure, her hands
wandering about her dress and body -- an erotic
restlessness.

<b>			BREE
</b>	Not young; he wasn't young -- gray
	at the temples, he -- well actually
	he looked like you.

<b>			MR. FABER
</b>		(tensely)
	Yes?

<b>			BREE
</b>	And nobody could tell me who he was
	-- an exiled prince or a mercenary
	or a bullfighter or -- but I felt
	it stirring inside me, this -- this
	wild, pagan feeling --

<b>EXT. GARMENT BUILDING DOOR - NIGHT
</b>
KLUTE arrives from across the street. It takes him
a while (with a 'loid' probably) to slip the lock.
He eases door open, moves inside --

<b>INT. CORNER OF CUTTING ROOM: BREE - NIGHT
</b>
BREE is farther along in her narrative, more
fervent in manner. MR. FABER sits at the edge of
his seat, ducking his head now and then in
pleasure, but making no move to molest her.

<b>			BREE
</b>	And next day at the beach -- our
	beach pavilion -- I saw him again,
	his eyes burning into me. I was
	helpless. Without his even speaking
	to me, without his even touching, I
	knew that somehow -- somehow --

She casts away an accessory garment. Mr. Faber
burns her with his eyes --

<b>INT. GARMENT BUILDING - CUTTING ROOMS - NIGHT
</b>
KLUTE mounts into view at the head of the stairs,
prowls along the aisles of clothing, looking --
sees --

<b>POV PAST GARMENT RACKS TO MR. FABER
</b>
Klute sees Mr. Faber first -- clearly a senior
citizen -- sitting transfixed, fastened in some
private dream. Then BREE drifts into view -- stands
-- lets fall the evening dress about her ankles,
poses -- drifts out of view again --

<b>KLUTE
</b>
Klute watches in that direction a moment longer. In
his expression a certain curiosity -- a prurience --
but rather more strongly, disappointment, a measure
of disgust. Not his affair. He turns away from it,
into camera, and --

<b>EXT. BREE'S BROWNSTONE - NIGHT
</b>
Near the entrance, outside the door to KLUTE's
apartment below. We open on BREE. She shouts
angrily, miserably --

<b>			BREE
</b>	Whyn't you just cut out?

We WIDEN TO INCLUDE KLUTE. Now she begins to get
it. He turns, opens door to his room below. She
comes slowly down steps.

<b>INT. KLUTE'S ROOM - DAY
</b>
She steps in the door, looks slowly around at his
various appurtenances -- the bed, the necktie over
the mirror, etc. -- and then, the TAPE RECORDER and
then the STACK OF TAPE BOXES. Softly, venomously --

<b>			BREE
</b>	Oh you bastard.

But then she adjusts -- a frightened but matter-of
fact hooker --

<b>			BREE (CONT'D)
</b>	Is it the shakedown hon? You picked
	a loser, I just don't have it.

<b>			KLUTE
</b>	No, I'm look --

<b>			BREE
</b>		(vehemently again)
	If I was taking calls full time
	would I be living in this kip? I'd
	be back on Park Avenue; I could
	support the whole National Guard!

<b>			KLUTE
</b>		(gestures upward)
	Could I ask some questions?

<b>			BREE
</b>	Or you'll get me shoved back in the
	brig you mean; another month with
	the bull-dykes.

She seems to have expressed it; the balance of
power. She turns, goes out, heads upstairs. Klute
unhurriedly takes up his folder of notes, then
follows.

<b>INT. BREE'S APARTMENT - NIGHT
</b>
Bree disposes her belongings. Klute moves to table.
There is a group of plants on the table that long
since died of neglect. He notices them and the
disorganization of the room without comment, opens
his folder, rummages for the photographs. Then,
exasperatedly --

<b>			BREE
</b>	Look, I told the police everything:
	I don't even remember the schlub!

Klute doesn't respond. Klute sets out a photograph
for her to look at.

<b>INSERT: PHOTOGRAPH TOM GRUNEMANN
</b>
<b>KLUTE, BREE
</b>
<b>			BREE
</b>	They showed me that one. I
	understand it's Grunemann, but I
	told them, I just don't remember.

Klute tosses down a second photograph.

<b>INSERT: SECOND PHOTOGRAPH
</b>
Tom Grunemann, Elaine Grunemann, two daughters.

<b>BREE, KLUTE
</b>
<b>			BREE
</b>		(cool)
	A family sort of man.

Klute grunts, meaning 'yes'. She echoes his grunt,
meaning we don't know what. He tosses another --

<b>INSERT: WIDE PHOTOGRAPH - COMPANY PICNIC
</b>
An everybody-over-here, fellow-employees, sort of
picture. (Including the figures of Streiger and
Cable among many others, male and female.) The
usual impedimenta -- picnic baskets, balls, bats, a
held sign: 'Tole-American'. KLUTE'S FINGER
indicates --

<b>			KLUTE (V.O.)
</b>	-- Tom, again.

<b>KLUTE, BREE
</b>
She looks at the picture briefly, at him
questioningly.

<b>			KLUTE
</b>	Company outing or picnic or
	something like that.

<b>			BREE
</b>	Isn't that sweet.
		(then)
	Well it could be any one of them
	bubi; I get to see them all.

She separates from Klute, around the table (but
remains standing, restless). Klute puts photo
aside, prepares to take notes, as she pleads --

<b>			BREE (CONT'D)
</b>	Look -- please -- will you just try
	to get it from my side? A year ago.
	I was in the life fulltime. I was
	living on Park with leather
	furniture and a million dresses.
	Then they dropped on me, the fuzz,
	they caged me -- they started
	asking me about a man, some man,
	I'm supposed to have seen a year
	before that. Two years ago, two. He
	could be in Yemen!

She waits for Klute to respond -- he doodles
permissively on his pad of paper -- she goes on.

<b>			BREE (CONT'D)
</b>	A name. Grunemann. Nothing. And
	they showed me pictures like this
	and they meant nothing. Then they
	asked me, well had I been getting
	letters, from someone out there in
	Cabbageville --

<b>			KLUTE
</b>	-- Tuscarora --

<b>			BREE
</b>	All right, yes, I had been. Those
	sick, wild letters -- I'm watching
	you, gonna follow you, gonna punish
	you, kill you et cetera. Well, they
	said, all right that's Grunemann.
	So try to remember when you and he 
	- when -- well I don't know, there
	was that dumper once, he sounded
	like that dumper --
		(explains)
	Dumpers; they get their kicks
	beating you up. A man hired me
	once, then tried to really kill me 
	- that'd be about two years ago.

Without warning she wheels to the open windows, and
shouts out full-voiced -- both startling and
somewhat intriguing Klute --

<b>			BREE (CONT'D)
</b>		(shouts)
	OK Tommy-baby, Allie-Allie-in-free
	kid, I got the gumdrops.

Turns around again, to Klute. Cheerfully --

<b>			BREE (CONT'D)
</b>	You remind me of my uncle.

<b>			KLUTE
</b>	What?
		(then --)
	What do you remember about that --
	dumper?

<b>			BREE
</b>	Nothing. Except he wasn't kidding.
	Usually it's a fakeout, you
	probably know. They pretend to tie
	you up, and you wear a dress with a
	cloth belt and they pretend to whip
	you or you --
		(beat)
	Hell it's their money. I'll hang
	from the shower rod and whistle
	Maytime. Except this guy was really
	tripped out on it; he --

<b>			KLUTE
</b>	But you can't say that Dumper was
	Tom Grunemann.

<b>			BREE
</b>	I can't say he was anybody!

A brief pause. Klute sorts his notes. She may take
it that he's packing to leave -- hopes so anyhow.
For an instant we see the undefended girl
underneath --

<b>			BREE (CONT'D)
</b>	So -- OK -- that's all?

Then again she changes manner -- remembering a
practical problem, approaching it as a matter-of
fact hooker.

<b>			BREE (CONT'D)
</b>	Well could I have them back now
	hon? -- those tape recordings
	you've got downstairs -- OK? -- and
	if you want you can have a good
	time and I'll have a good time and--

<b>			KLUTE
</b>	What about everything since?

She draws back again. Up to now she's been
reasonably on top of things. Starting now we see
her driven toward the things she'd really rather
not talk about -- and increasingly more shaken.

<b>			KLUTE (CONT'D)
</b>		(prompts)
	Everything that's happened since
	Tom Grunemann disappeared. The
	phone calls and the --

<b>			BREE
</b>	Just phone calls, right? They ring,
	you answer, they don't say
	anything, just blank. Kids getting
	kicks. Burglars looking for an
	empty apartment. I mean there is
	nothing that proves --

<b>			KLUTE
</b>	What about the other things you've
	reported? --
		(consulting notes)
	-- being followed on the --

<b>			BREE
</b>		(interrupts -- awkwardly)
	Look -- I'm sorry -- I've led
	everybody wrong. I mean yes, I get
	those feelings, but that's just me,
	that's just feelings.
		(beat)
	I'm sure this will amuse you;
	I'm scared of the dark. And
	sometimes I get shook up, I hear
	people or -- well, I'll come out in
	the morning and think someone's
	been prying at my mailbox, or
	there's a little -- trash outside
	my door and I wonder if someone
	left it there for -- do you see? --
	things other people wouldn't even
	notice. Well that's not real, it's
	just nerves; it's got nothing to do
	with --

The PHONE RINGS. She startles. Then approaches with
some difficulty -- but then answers with complete
calm in her Smith-girl voice.

<b>			BREE (CONT'D)
</b>	Bree Daniel.
		(listens. Brightly)
	Oh yes, Ted Carlin, how is Ted?
		(listens)
	Oh, well, thank you very much but
	maybe the next time you're in town?
		(listens)
	Well I just love Ted and I'd love
	to meet you -- you have a very nice
	voice -- but I just --
		(listens, grows impatient)
	Well I'm having a chat with a very
	nice cop. Actually not a real cop;
	he's a private inves --

A BUZZING from the phone; the connection abruptly
broken. She hangs up, recites.

<b>			KLUTE
</b>	Is that how you get most of your
	dates? Someone gives your name to
	someone else?

<b>			BREE
</b>	Most of them.

<b>			KLUTE
</b>	Is that how you met the Dumper? --
	Someone else gave --

<b>			BREE
</b>	How would I remember?

<b>			KLUTE
</b>	How else do you meet them? Pimps?
		(a beat)

<b>			BREE
</b>		(patient)
	You're very square. Pimps don't get
	you dates, cookie; they just take
	the money.

Klute takes up the slip of paper previously given
him by Trask. In the same manner as before --

<b>			KLUTE
</b>	I have some names the police gave
	me. Frank Ligourin. Will you tell
	me what --

<b>			BREE
</b>		(trembling)
	Look, I'm sure this'll amuse you
	too. Ilia trying to get away from
	all that.

<b>			KLUTE
</b>	What about the old gentleman the
	other night, Mr. Faber?

She freezes again, looking at him. Then savagely --

<b>			BREE
</b>	You saw that, goddamn you? You saw
	it? He's seventy. His wife's dead.
	He started cutting garments at
	fourteen. His whole life, he's
	maybe had a week's vacation, I'm
	all he has and he never, never
	touches me, and what harm in it,
	what --

She chokes -- then goes on --

<b>			BREE (CONT'D)
</b>	Klute, tell me, what's your bag?
	Are you a talker, or a button man
	or a doubler, or maybe you like
	them very young -- children -- or
	get your chest walked around with
	high-heeled shoes, or have us watch
	you tinkle? Or --

<b>			KLUTE
</b>		(under)
<b>	-- OK --
</b>
<b>			BREE
</b>	-- You want to wear women's
	clothes, or you get off ripping
	things --

She grabs up the company picture, raging on --

<b>			BREE (CONT'D)
</b>	-- you perverted hypocrite square
	bastards.

<b>			KLUTE
</b><b>	OK.
</b>
Something in his inflection -- very slight --
cautions her. She falls silent as suddenly as she
began. Then cheerfully --

<b>			BREE
</b>	Gee I hope this doesn't make my
	cold any worse.

<b>			KLUTE
</b>	Tell me about Frank Ligourin.

<b>			BREE
</b>		(casual, pleasant)
	Mm? Oh, he was my old man. We broke
	up.

She wanders away toward a bureau. Her shirt seems
to itch her; she scratches her ribs. Then opens
drawer, takes out a different shirt as --

<b>			KLUTE
</b>	When?
		(beat)
	When did you and Ligourin break up?

She pulls off her shirt, unhooks her brassiere and
discards it, apparently quite unselfconscious.
Klute reacts; then, carefully maintaining his cool 
<b>-
</b>
<b>			KLUTE (CONT'D)
</b>	Mind not doing that?

She turns to him in total innocence, holding the
shirt rather carelessly in front of her -- a new
attack.

<b>			BREE
</b>	What? This?

<b>			KLUTE
</b><b>	-- OK?
</b>
<b>			BREE
</b>		(ingenuously)
	I thought you could trick me for
	those tapes. Don't you get lonely
	in that little green room? Or let
	me get you someone; I have terrific
	friends, wild.

<b>			KLUTE
</b>	No thanks.

At this point -- or about this point -- Klute takes
note of something. A little above her. He grows
more watchful, but containing it carefully. We
don't understand the change in his manner -- or
even notice; she doesn't. In mock dismay --

<b>			BREE
</b>	Gee. I've had men pay two hundred
	dollars for me -- here, you're
	turning down a freebie.
		(pause)
	You can get a perfectly good
	dishwasher for that.

He has risen, is approaching her slowly -- carrying
his notes as if to check something. She is hopeful
again --

<b>			BREE (CONT'D)
</b>	You've changed your mind? You do
	want to play?

<b>			KLUTE
</b>		(quietly, steadily)
	I don't want you to look up.
	There's someone on the skylight.

She gasps, terrified -- immediately -- almost
beyond control. He taps the pencil on his notes.

<b>			KLUTE (CONT'D)
</b>	Easy -- pretend you're looking here-
		(more insistently)
	-- here.

She manages to take hold of a corner of the notes,
trembling. He goes on --

<b>			KLUTE (CONT'D)
</b>	Now I'm going to walk around -- you
	just keep talking, straight
	through, straight through.

He strolls away from her. His destination is the
area of the door -- out of view from the skylight --
from where he can head for the roof. But he doesn't
head that way directly -- first takes a turn in
another direction, his bearing casual. Prompting --

<b>			KLUTE (CONT'D)
</b>	Tell me about acting -- what are
	you doing tomorrow -- where do you
	go?

<b>			BREE
</b>		(manages, barely)
	I go on rounds.

<b>			KLUTE
</b>	Rounds, what are they? -- don't
	watch me, keep talking.

<b>			BREE
</b>	You go see agents -- or Equity
	calls, open casting calls. And ad
	agencies -- commercials -- you
	don't get work, you just go around.

Klute has strolled out of view from above --
instantly flattens himself against the wall, eases
the door open, about to slip and charge. As Bree
labors on --

<b>			BREE (CONT'D)
</b>	And they're always polite -- show
	people -- they say thank you very
	much. You lie there covered with
	blood, smiling, they say --

<b>INT. LANDING AND LADDER TO ROOF - NIGHT
</b>
FOOTSTEPS across the roof above, as the watcher
discovers Klute's ruse. Klute opens the door --
climbs ladder to roof.

<b>EXT. ROOFTOPS - NIGHT
</b>
-- Klute out, looking around --

<b>EXT. ROOFTOPS: PAST KLUTE TO FLEEING FIGURE - NIGHT
</b>
The figure -- the man -- scissoring over the low
walls where one brownstone joins another. Klute
gives chase -- over ridges, past water tanks,
oddments of roof furniture --

<b>EXT. SEVERAL ROOFTOPS BEYOND - NIGHT
</b>
The FIGURE races to a roof door disappearing into
abandoned building.

<b>INT. STAIRWELL - ABANDONED BUILDING
</b>
CAMERA follows KLUTE as he cautiously makes his way
down the stairwell of the boarded up old
brownstone. He gets to the first floor. He can see
no exit in the building. He opens door that leads
to a narrow staircase into the cellar.

<b>INT. CELLAR - ABANDONED BROWNSTONE
</b>
It is as black as a dungeon and as low. He lights a
match, but sees no one. There is a sound of
movement coming from the floor above, He runs up
the steps to the floor above and sees a very faint
light coming through one of the closed apartment
doors. Carefully takes out a gun and then with one
quick movement he breaks through the door.

<b>INT. ABANDONED APARTMENT
</b>
The walls, ceiling, floors are entirely covered
with crudely painted psychedelic signs and sayings.
The room is lighted by some candies stuck in
bottles. Sitting on a blanket on the floor are
several teenaged boys and girls having a pot party.
They have obviously made a clubhouse for themselves
in the abandoned house. It is a MOOT POINT whether
they or KLUTE is more stunned at the sight that
faces them. He puts his gun away in embarrassment.
Again he has been made to feel like an awkward
peeping tom in this hidden world of the city.

<b>INT. CELLAR - ABANDONED BUILDING
</b>
CAMERA wanders restlessly through the blackness and
stops at a pinpoint of light coming through a low 
door. CAMERA goes through opening into long narrow
furnace room with the ceiling so low that an
ordinary man could not stand up. We hear the sound
of breathing. CAMERA follows the sound through the
darkness revealing a sweaty man huddled in the
corner looking like some strange animal from a
painting by Bosch. It is Cable.

<b>INT. BREE'S APARTMENT - NIGHT
</b>
Bree has wrapped herself in the quilt -- standing
up against a corner shivering, immobilized. We hear
KLUTE'S FOOTSTEPS DESCENDING -- she flinches -- he
enters.

<b>			KLUTE
</b>	I couldn't get him.

He sees her condition. Gently --

<b>			KLUTE (CONT'D)
</b>	It's all right.

He reaches to touch her -- she quails away from
him.

<b>			BREE
</b>	Well do you think it was him?

<b>			KLUTE
</b>	What do you think?

<b>			BREE
</b>	Can't you get him?

<b>			KLUTE
</b>	Maybe, if you tell me the things
	you haven't.

<b>			BREE
</b>		(pause)
	You asked me where I got that date
	with the dumper -- Frank sent me on
	it.

<b>			KLUTE
</b>	Do you know where he got the
	dumper?

<b>			BREE
</b>	He never told me.

<b>			KLUTE
</b>	Well, let's go down and ask him.

<b>EXT. CENTRAL PARK WEST BUILDINGS - DAY
</b>
A shot catching the edge of CENTRAL PARK itself --
our first small view of greenery -- to the tall, be
limousined APARTMENT BUILDINGS OF C.P.W. The
FIGURES OF KLUTE, BREE walking upstreet, turning
under one of the canopies -- (Klute carries a
zipper book-case).

<b>INT. APARTMENT HOUSE LOBBY - ON DOORMAN AT PHONE -
</b><b>DAY
</b>
The DOORMAN hangs up the brass house-phone, smiles
and gestures them graciously into the (self
service) ELEVATOR. We see Klute -- without making
too much of it -- taking in the mirrors and marble
work.

<b>INT. ELEVATOR (MOVING): KLUTE, BREE
</b>
She breaks the silence.

<b>			BREE
</b>	What did you expect? Frankie still
	has a good string, three girls.
	Figure three hundred a week from
	each.

<b>			KLUTE
</b>	Is that what you gave him?

Silence.

<b>INT. LIGOURIN'S APARTMENT: ON DOOR - DAY
</b>
The BUZZER sounding, FRANK LIGOURIN crossing to
open the door for BREE, KLUTE. Cheerful,
hospitable, nice, unpretentious.

<b>			FRANK
</b>	Bree -- hi -- come in, come in.

The point of this one brief shot -- Bree's face --
in the instant after Frank has spoken and before
she enters, with Klute following. Her half-second
of hesitation. This is someone who gets to her
somehow -- probably always will.

<b>WIDER LIGOURIN'S APT: THREESHOT - DAY
</b>
The apartment is as expected -- but not overdone; a
certain small amount of someone-lives-here litter.
A few, large but not very good, ABSTRACTIONS on the
walls. There is a large TABLE covered over with
photographs and mock-ups of magazine pages, a felt
board or easel with lettering samples -- Frank's
props really.

<b>			BREE
</b>	Frank -- Klute.

<b>			FRANK
</b>		(shakes hands)
	Hi. Come in.
		(leads them in, indicating
		table)
	I was just catching up some work --
	mocking up the photographs.
		(to Klute)
	I used to be a photographer myself 
	- Bree tell you? -- Before I got in
	the publishing.

<b>			BREE
</b>	Frank, he knows you're a pimp. He
	knows you were my pimp.

Short silence. Then with the tact of a gentleman
dealing with rude, difficult woman --

<b>			FRANK
</b>	Well Bree, maybe you'd rather --

He gestures gently to indicate outside. She nods
once. He escorts her in that direction, OUT the
door, closing it behind them.

<b>INT. HALLWAY OUTSIDE LIGOURIN'S APARTMENT - DAY
</b>
He escorts her to the elevator, pushes the down
button for her. In silence so far. Then, quietly --
as one who knows the other's thoughts --

<b>			FRANK
</b>	How's it been?

She shrugs a shoulder at him, looks away. He goes
on in the same quiet voice.

<b>			FRANK (CONT'D)
</b>	With me Bree it's eternally the
	same. Toward you. I guess you know
	that.

<b>			BREE
</b>	Yeah Frank, I know that.

She yanks at the elevator doors. But the elevator's
not here yet. She turns away sharply into the door
marked "Stairway". He turns back to his apartment.

<b>INT. LIGOURIN'S APARTMENT - DAY
</b>
Frank reenters, with the calm smile of troop
chaplain.

<b>			FRANK
</b>	I've always respected Bree.
		(then)
	I'd like to make something clear.

<b>			KLUTE
</b>	I've just got a few --

<b>			FRANK
</b>	I'd like to make something clear. I
	don't go after a girl; a girl comes
	to me. Her choice. Right?

He gestures Klute to one chair, sits in another,
waits calmly, attentively.

<b>			KLUTE
</b>	I'm looking for a man. Tom
	Grunemann.
		(no response, whatever)
	Bree thinks he may have been the
	dumper -- that call she had two
	years ago. She says you sent her on
	it.

<b>			FRANK
</b>	Two years ago? Sorry.

<b>			KLUTE
</b>	They tell me you use narcotics.
	Could I bring someone around to
	look at your arms?

<b>			FRANK
</b>	Look -- dad -- I may stand better
	with the cops than you.

Klute waits.

<b>			FRANK (CONT'D)
</b>	OK, a family matter. Between the
	girls. I had two other cows --
		(corrects himself)
	-- two other girls besides Bree.

<b>			KLUTE
</b>	She told me.

<b>			FRANK
</b>	OK and one of them  Jane McKenna --
	she blows a little jealous of Bree 
	- you know? -- Bree comes first?
	And evidently she knew the freak ---
	that he was a dumper -- she conned
	me into passing him to Bree, you
	know, so Bree'd get hurt. I didn't
	know. Till afterwards.

<b>			KLUTE
</b>	Why didn't you tell Bree,
	afterwards?

<b>			FRANK
</b>		(a little shocked)
	You don't tell them. That one of
	their own in-laws laid a dumper on
	them?
		(shakes head)
	Peace in the family.
		(pause)
	Beyond that, I don't know. All she
	wrote.

<b>			KLUTE
</b>	I'd like to talk with Jane McKenna.

<b>			FRANK
</b>		(smiles)
	Would I be telling you all this?
	She copped out long ago. She
	committed suicide Baxter.

<b>INT. APARTMENT HOUSE LOBBY: BREE - DAY
</b>
BREE sits, looks with curiosity at housewives her
age -- bringing their children in from the park, as
if trying to imagine what their lives could be
like. KLUTE emerges from elevator.

<b>EXT. STREET (TWO SHOT) - DAY
</b>
<b>			BREE
</b>	Did you like my friend Frankie?

<b>			KLUTE
</b>	No.

<b>			BREE
</b>	Didn't he tell you what you wanted?

<b>			KLUTE
</b>	It didn't go anywhere.
		(then)
	But that's not why --

<b>			BREE
</b>	About the dumper, didn't he tell
	you that?

<b>			KLUTE
</b>	It was Jane McKenna who sent you
	the dumper.

<b>			BREE
</b>		(coldly)
	Well -- she's dead.

At the corner he slows, starts unzipping his
bookcase as if indicating a change of route.

<b>			BREE (CONT'D)
</b>	I thought you were going back to
	the apartment.

<b>			KLUTE
</b>		(he shakes his head)
	You said you wanted these.

He hands over the TAPE-REELS.

<b>			BREE
</b>	Oh golly, oh just what I've always
	dreamed of, dirty phone calls.
		(then)
	How come?

<b>			KLUTE
</b>	You told me what you could. I guess
	I'm through with your part of it.

<b>			BREE
</b>		(grudgingly)
	Is there anything more I could --

<b>			KLUTE
</b>	I don't see anything, do you?

<b>			BREE
</b>	What're you gonna do next?

<b>			KLUTE
</b>	Try some other ways.
		(starts off)

<b>			BREE
</b>	What do I do meanwhile? -- wait for
	that clown to fall through the
	skylight on me?

<b>			KLUTE
</b>	And I don't think that was Tom.

<b>			BREE
</b>	You said it was!

<b>			KLUTE
</b>	No, I said what did you think.

<b>			BREE
</b>	Oh -- wait -- oh I get it. You said
	that just to keep me scared. So I'd
	tell you everything I -- oh clever;
	oh you smart, tricky hick.

<b>			KLUTE
</b>	Well --

<b>			BREE
</b>		(harshly)
	Hey, but did we get to you, Klute?
	A little?

<b>			KLUTE
</b>	Yeah, you got to me.

<b>			BREE
</b>	-- Us city folks? The sin, the
	glitter, the wickedness?

<b>			KLUTE
</b>	Oh. No. Not that way. I'd say it
	was more -- I don't know --
		(hunts the word)
	-- too bad? Pathetic?

<b>			BREE
</b>	Goodbye.

She turns smartly away, deposits the tapes in
passing in a litter box, departs. Klute looks after
her for a moment, then turns on his way. Then --

<b>EXT. POV THROUGH LITTERBOX IN FOREGROUND TO POV OF
</b><b>FIGURES OF KLUTE, BREE - DAY
</b>
This shot holds both in view for a moment, until
they both disappear separately in the traffic.
CAMERA moves in slightly on litterbox as a man's
hand comes into frame and removes the tapes.

<b>INT. KLUTE'S APARTMENT: KLUTE - NIGHT
</b>
Klute, in pajama bottoms, lies in bed. A miserably
hot humid night. KNOCK at the door. He answers.
BREE stands in the doorway in bare feet.

<b>			BREE
</b>	What the hell do you mean,
	pathetic?

She walks in past him, sits down on the edge of his
bed.

<b>			KLUTE
</b>	It's kind of late.

<b>			BREE
</b>	It got lonely upstairs. There's
	someone on the roof.

He takes her seriously, starts to move.

<b>			BREE (CONT'D)
</b>	Oh, don't be a doo-doo.

<b>			KLUTE
</b>	Not much point to this, is there?

<b>			BREE
</b>		(placidly)
	Ezra, I'm lots better than you're
	used to. Tell me -- the other
	night, watching me with Mr. Faber --
	wasn't your tongue a little bit
	hanging out?

<b>			KLUTE
</b>	Mm.

<b>			BREE
</b>	So you're not too different from
	him, or the chap on the roof, or
	Tommy-baby --

He starts for the bed, as if to lift her onto her
feet. She takes off her robe and swings her legs
up, and under the sheet.

<b>			BREE (CONT'D)
</b>	Look, if you don't use it somebody
	else just will. And you've done
	your whole bit with me, your entire
	duty, and so now this is my thing.
	So enjoy, Mr. Faber would say,
	enjoy.

Under the sheet she unlooses her pajama bottoms,
kicks them away, starts unbuttoning the shirt.

<b>			KLUTE
</b>	Bree -- thanks -- I don't want to.

<b>			BREE
</b>	Oh don't be all hypocrite. Or do
	you really like other kicks? Is it
	more just having power over
	someone? -- so you don't really
	need to --

He tries to rebutton the pajama shirt. She catches
his hand, thrusts it underneath. In grief and anger
<b>--
</b>
<b>			BREE (CONT'D)
</b>	Who the hell are you, buttoning me
	up?

<b>					  QUICK
</b><b>					  DISSOLVE --
</b>
<b>UPSHOT, C.U.
</b>
Their bodies lock together descending toward camera
<b>--
</b>
<b>					  DISSOLVE --
</b>
<b>DOWNSHOT, C.U. SAME ACTION
</b>
Her hands slide about his shoulders. She is
laughing softly, affectionately, mockingly --

<b>			BREE
</b>	I knew it, I knew it, a killer.

<b>					  DISSOLVE --
</b>
<b>C.U., HER FACE
</b>
-- triumphantly, contemptuously, orgiastically --

<b>			BREE
</b>	Oh lover -- oh you thrill me -- oh,
	it's beautiful -- oh yes, yes -- oh
	like that, like that, yes --

<b>					  DISSOLVE --
</b>
<b>FACES
</b>
Klute gasps deeply -- entering orgasm. As soon as
she hears it, judges it, she drops her hands from
his shoulders, stills her own movements, lies
utterly passive, smiling calmly, letting him finish
for himself. He can't stop -- cries out -- cries
out again, burying his face against her -- is done.

Then he slowly raises up, shuddering, looking down
at her. He knows what she's done to him, is
helpless to do anything back. He rolls slowly out
of the embrace of her legs and lies silently --
looking upward, very much as we saw him at start of
scene.

<b>FAVORIVG BREE
</b>
She waits, still smiling, for a while. But she's
not done with him yet. She rolls to lie with her
upper body on his, trailing her fingers across his
face. Affectionately, as a good whore --

<b>			BREE (CONT'D)
</b>	What's the matter hon? You were
	great. Terrific. A tiger.

<b>			KLUTE
</b>	Thanks.

<b>			BREE
</b>	Well what're you down about? You
	mean because you didn't get me
	there?
		(pause, comfortingly)
	You can't expect that. I mean
	Frank, yes, he'd get me there all
	the time -- but never with a John.

She sits up, gropes her pajamas from the floor,
puts them on. In the same fond tone --

<b>			BREE (CONT'D)
</b>	And I'm sorry I can't stay and
	learn your special little games.
	And I certainly don't want you to
	feel bad about this -- losing your
	virtue all of a sudden -- because I
	sort of knew you would. As I said,
	like everyone, right?

She has the pajamas and robe on, pauses near the
door --

<b>			BREE (CONT'D)
</b>	Besides - you can always tell
	yourself you made me come
	downstairs. Ta, luv.

<b>INT. THEATRE: READING SCENE - DAY
</b>
A WIDE SHOT. An open casting call in an Off
Broadway Theatre. Darkness, except for the work
light onstage. A small GROUP there -- onstage --
including the figure of BREE. Just offstage, the
figures of DIRECTOR (JANG) and a PRODUCER. And the
rest of the theatre, the audience section, dotted
with the heads of ACTORS, ACTRESSES waiting for
their turns. Bree's voice rings out across the
gloom.

<b>			BREE
</b>	-- Why?

<b>CLOSER, ONSTAGE
</b>
The others stand rigid as statues, facing dead
front -- an experimental drama, clearly -- all
holding scripts, as Bree hastens from one to
another, fiercely, imploringly --

<b>			BREE (CONT'D)
</b>	Why -- please, why? -- Why lose,
	why look? Why hate and give and
	want and love? Why get, grieve, g --

<b>			JANG
</b>		(loudly, cheerfully)
	Thank you very much.

All break posture, start offstage, while Bree,
caught in mid-stride, clowns it a little.

<b>			BREE
</b>	-- gug -- gug --

-- then toward Jang, a bit succinctly, indicating
script --

<b>			BREE (CONT'D)
</b>	Why? -- I want to know what.

<b>			JANG
</b>		(laughs tolerantly)
	No, that was very good everybody.
	Do we have all your resumes?

<b>			PRODUCER
</b>		(from list)
	Booth -- Osman -- Zuff -- Anjeris
	Chaka.

WIDER, near stage front.

Bree shrugs, steps down off stage with the others.
Bree finds Jang's hand out for her script, smiles
wanly, turns it over, continues on out of scene.

She finds something - someone -- impeding her way.
Looks up.

<b>PAST BREE TO KLUTE
</b>
Klute has edged out into the aisle to intercept
her.

<b>EXT. THEATRE ENTRANCE: GREENWICH VILLAGE - DAY
</b>
Bree comes out, turns.

<b>			KLUTE
</b>	You asked if there was anything
	more you could help me with.

<b>			BREE
</b>	When?

Pause. Impasse.

<b>			KLUTE
</b>	I've checked the records of Jane
	McKenna's death -- I can't get
	anything special. But Frank
	Ligourin had another girl you said,
	besides McKenna and you.

<b>			BREE
</b>	Arlyn Page.

<b>			KLUTE
</b>	Did she and Jane McKenna know each
	other?

<b>			BREE
</b>	Frankie kept them in the same
	apartment: it cut his travel-time.

<b>			KLUTE
</b>	Then maybe Arlyn Page knew the
	Dumper too.

<b>			BREE
</b>	Arlyn had a very big habit - heroin
	- she's the one who started Frank.
	She's strung out now; you won't
	find her.

<b>			KLUTE
</b>	You could help me find her. You
	know the people.
		(as she turns away)
	I'll pay you a hundred dollars.

<b>			BREE
</b>	I can make that in a lunch break!
		(then)
	Look, Hiram, you're sure it isn't
	just me? -- you decided you liked
	it, after all, the other night;
	you'll hang around for seconds?

<b>			KLUTE
</b>	Don't worry.

She examines him -- shrugs -- turns, proceeds along
the sidewalk, Klute accompanying --

<b>EXT. DISCOTHEQUE - NIGHT
</b>
In the small hours. The same place seen previously,
the gathering place. KLUTE, BREE arriving and
entering.

<b>INT. DISCOTHEQUE - NIGHT
</b>
Klute and Bree head toward the rear. Her arrival
causes a little stir. She exchanges greetings with
one or two, is watched by others.

<b>			BREE
</b>	Joanie -- Mike, hi --
		(to another, a Negro girl)
	Hi Pat.

<b>			PAT
</b>		(giggles)
	Hey Bree honey, who you got?

<b>			BREE
</b>	A new daddy. I'n he cute?

Bree leads on to where --

<b>PAST KLUTE, BREE TO TRINA
</b>
TRINA sits alone at a rear table -- anything but a
whore in appearance -- a quietly beautiful,
immaculately dressed woman of about thirty.

<b>			BREE (CONT'D)
</b>	Trina this is Klute. I told you
	about him.

<b>			TRINA
</b>	Oh yes Mr. Klute -- won't you both
	join me?
		(as they sit)
	And how do you like our fair city?
	There's so much here don't you
	think? The museums and the books
	and the foreign films -- Bree, have
	you seen the Godard film?

<b>			BREE
</b>	Uh uh.

<b>			TRINA
</b>	Oh you've got to. He does such fun
	things with imagery. And I've been
	reading The Fall --
		(to Klute, enunciating
		carefully)
	-- The Fall by Ahlbair Camoo --
	it's the same thing, you know the
	imagery --

<b>			BREE
</b>		(patiently)
	Trina honey, he just wants to find
	Arlyn Page.

Trina undergoes a change of demeanor. Flatly --

<b>			TRINA
</b>	Why? She's a junkie.

<b>			BREE
</b>		(prods gently)
	She was with you after she left
	Frank.

<b>			TRINA
</b>	Well she's not now.
		(then quavering --)
	I did everything for Arlyn. I loved
	Arlyn I took her right into my
	apartment, my own sweet apartment
	on First. But she wouldn't stay off
	it -- the junk -- and I wept and I
	pleaded and I held her in my arms -
	and she started taking things, my
	things, and selling them for horse.
	My clothes.
	We could've had everything
	together, everything -- and then
	the bitch sold
	my mink!

<b>INT. ANOTHER LATE NIGHT SPOT - NIGHT
</b>
We dolly with KLUTE & BREE as they walk in front of
a row of tables. This night spot is totally black
except for a series of huge slide projections on
the wall in back of the tables. The slides, which
change every few seconds are elegant
representations of the beautiful people living the
good life as seen in such magazines as VOGUE, TOWN
& COUNTRY & HARPERS BAZAAR. The customers sitting
in the darkness below provide a direct contrast to
the pictures in back. The silhouette figures of
BREE & KLUTE stop at a table seating three people,
two call girls and a pimp. CAMERA moves in.

<b>			FIRST GIRL
</b>	Arlyn Page?

<b>			SECOND GIRL
</b>	You'll never catch up; she's
	grooved out.

<b>			BREE
</b>	Gil?

The pimp looks distrustfully at Klute who reassures
<b>--
</b>
<b>			KLUTE
</b>	I'm not looking for her personally 
	- someone she might know about.

<b>			PIMP
</b>		(shrugs; to Bree)
	Try Janie Dale.

<b>INT. JANIE DALE'S PENTHOUSE
</b>
It is a very small penthouse. KLUTE & BREE stand in
the small living room waiting for JANIE DALE. There
are two very casually dressed prostitutes sitting
around the living room. One sits at an upright
piano playing of all things STRANGERS IN THE NIGHT.
Another one sits on a couch talking to a Wall
Street Broker who is spending his lunch hour. KLUTE
finds himself staring down into a pile of
pornography magazines on the coffee table. BREE is
amused at his discomfort.
JANIE DALE, the madame, who has been on the phone
in the back, puts the receiver down and crosses to
the girl on the couch. JANIE looks and talks a bit
like Lauren Bacall.

<b>			JANIE DALE
</b>		(to girl on couch)
	It's old Mr. Clean from Cleveland.
	He wants to know when he can fly in
	and clean up the apartment and see
	you. I told him I have all the
	cleaning equipment and that he can
	come anytime, but it's up to you.

GIRL on couch rises.

<b>			GIRL
</b>	You know he wants us to be
	dominant.

<b>			JANIE DALE
</b>	Tell him that he'd better have his
	ass in here by one o'clock on
	Monday afternoon or you won't let
	him clean the bathroom floor, and
	tell him the price has gone up
	twenty bucks -- Old Dutcn
	Cleanser's not as cheap as it used
	to be.

She shrugs and turns to KLUTE & BREE.

<b>			JANIE DALE (CONT'D)
</b>	You wanted to know about Arlyn,
	honey? I had to let her go dear.
	Arlyn stopped being reliable.
		(explains to Klute)
	I deal with a high type client,
	business people, you understand? I
	can't send them someone that's all
	the time half zonked out.

<b>			KLUTE
</b>	Do you know where she went?

<b>			JANIE DALE
</b>	Try Momma Reese.

<b>THIS IS A CHEAPER APARTIENT THAN JANIE DALE'S
</b>
The girls look cheaper, and the customers, rather
than Wall Street lawyers and brokers, look more
like out of town salesmen who stay at local motor
inns.

MOMMA REESE is older than JANIE DALE, heavier and
with no pretense at chic. She indicates that she
has not seen ARLYN in some time.

<b>			MOMMA REESE
</b>	Try Bill Azure. If you can find
	him.

<b>INT. EIGHT AVENUE BAR - ABOUT 4 IN THE MORNING
</b>
This is a hangout where black and white pimps wait
to meet their whores after their night of street
walking. This streetwalker world is far removed
from the world of the call girl or the world of
Janie Dale. CAMERA pans past a group of pimps at
the bar taking bet on whose girls have made the
most money that night. CAMERA then goes on to
reveal KLUTE talking to another pimp (Azure). Azure
represents a clear step down from Frank Ligourin. 

We catch only part of their dialogue.

<b>			AZURE
</b>	-- a couple weeks then she'd drift
	off a couple of weeks, you know
	what I mean?

<b>			KLUTE
</b>	Have you heard from her recently?

<b>			AZURE
</b>	She liked me all right but she had
	what she liked better, you know
	what I mean?

We START FADE SOUND as Klute repeats --

<b>			KLUTE
</b>	Have you heard from her recently?

-- and CUT TO --

<b>INT. LINGERIE SHOP: PROPRIETRESS, BREE, KLUTE
</b>
<b>			PROPRIETRESS
</b>	-- She'd come in and I'd let her
	have something. Why not; she'd been
	a good customer, a beautiful
	person, a beautiful beautiful
	person.

Again we fade sound a little before picture, then
<b>CUT TO --
</b>
<b>EXT. OUTSIDE ADULT MOVIE THEATER: KLUTE,
</b><b>STREETWALKERS - DAY OR NIGHT
</b>
Outside Theatre or Bookstore - Peepshow; an 8th
Avenue establishment. SILENT ACTION this (or VOICES
UNDER). Klute confers with one girl who summons and
consults another. They seem to know of Arlyn --
haven't seen her recently -- refer him elsewhere --

<b>EXT. APARTMENT HOUSE: MRS. VASEK, KLUTE - DAY
</b>
A shabby place in a shabby neighborhood. Mrs.
Vasek, the landlady, shifts barrels at the same
time that she barks at Klute, in heavy accent.

<b>			MRS. VASEK
</b>	The whore, yeah. I threw out.

<b>			KLUTE
</b>	Do you know where she went from
	here?

<b>			MRS. VASEK
</b>	Live like animals. Her and the man.
	Out.

<b>			KLUTE
</b>		(reacts)
	Was she living with a man?

We see Klute persisting - DISSOLVE

<b>EXT. WIDE SHOT: SLUM STREET - DAY
</b>
We still HOLD WIDE to establish the scene. This is
a genuine slum. We see Bree, Klute move along
street. We see Bree drop back a little, Klute
waiting for her to catch up.

<b>EXT. STREET: BREE, KLUTE
</b>
<b>			KLUTE
</b>	What's the matter?

<b>			BREE
</b>		(glances about)
	What the hell do you think's the
	matter.
		(then suggests)
	I could wait for you someplace.

<b>			KLUTE
</b>	If Arlyn Page is living with Tom
	Grunemann --

<b>			BREE
</b>		(eagerly)
	-- Then you don't need me.

<b>			KLUTE
</b>	But if it's someone else I do.

He starts on, simply assuming that she'll follow.
(There is a degree of acquaintanceship in their
manners now - a reluctant collaboration.)

<b>			BREE
</b>	You sure pull a lot of mileage out
	of a hundred dollars.

-- and follows on. He checks numbers, then crosses
street diagonally toward a half-framed house.

<b>INT. NEWARK HOUSE - DAY
</b>
A downshot from second floor level toward the entry
way where KLUTE & BREE appear. KLUTE strikes a
match to inspect the names of tenants. He and Bree
climb through stench and litter to the second floor
-- a door. From somewhere near at hand come the
sounds of someone RETCHING. A square of wood has
been sawed out of the door itself, removing handle
and lock -- light sifts through. Klute hesitates,
decides against knocking, pushes in.

<b>INT. ARLYN'S APARTMENT - DAY
</b>
The retching sounds are coming from the connecting
room. No one visible here. A very few barren pieces
of furniture. We hear ARLYN'S VOICE ask from the
next room --

<b>			ARLYN (O.S.)
</b>	Cappy?

ARLYN enters rather eagerly. She sees Klute first,
then Bree -- recognizes her -- retires flat against
a wall, holding one palm outwards to shield her
face. She is unbelievably gaunt. Inside one elbow,
looking rather like a birthmark, we see a lacework
of purple where her veins have pulped together.

<b>			BREE
</b>	Arlyn? Honey?
		(then)
	Look, it's all right.

From the connecting room a MAN'S VOICE (Berger's)
calling out hoarsely.

<b>			BERGER (O.S.)
</b>	Is it Cappy? Cappy? --

<b>			BREE
</b>	Arlyn, it's all right.

BERGER hastens, stumbles, into the doorframe
carrying a CAR-RADIO with wires dangling, speaks
before he sees them.

<b>			BERGER
</b>	Cappy, I got a radio!

He stops for an instant face-to-face with Klute.
Then turns, plunges out of view again. Arlyn breaks
after.

<b>			ARLYN
</b>	No --

We hear the MUMBLE and WHISPER of their voices from
the connecting room (as she reassures him). Bree
looks inquiringly at Klute (is that Grunemann?): he
shakes his head. Pause, then ARLYN reenters,
wrapping her fingers together timidly -- wanting
them out -- her only purpose.

<b>			ARLYN (CONT'D)
</b>	Bree -- honey - please, we're
	waiting for someone.

<b>			BREE
</b>	Arlyn, he just wanted to ask some
	questions -- something you could
	help us about.

<b>			ARLYN
</b>	Can't you see I'm strung out?
		(cries out)
	Please, we're waiting for it --
	he's got to have it!

<b>			KLUTE
</b>	We'll go. Just something you could
	tell us, first.

Arlyn seems to accept the bargain. He indicates to
Bree to proceed, stands away a little. Arlyn covers
her elbow with one hand. Bree manages as best she
can.

<b>			BREE
</b>	Honey, a couple of years ago, with
	Jane and Frankie? -- Jane sent me a
	Dumper --

<b>			ARLYN
</b>	Please, if he sees you, he won't
	come!

<b>			BREE
</b>	Arlyn, just tell me, did Jane have
	a dumper, one of her regular Johns?

<b>			ARLYN
</b>	What about him? Yes.

<b>			BREE
</b>	Did he come around often?

Klute hands Grunemann's picture to Bree: Bree shows
it to Arlyn. Arlyn inspects it, then uncertainly,
weakly --

<b>			ARLYN
</b>	No. He was an older man hon. The
	dumper was older.

<b>			KLUTE
</b>	Do you remember his name? What can
	you tell me about him?

We hear FOOTSTEPS - UNDER, DIMLY - mounting the
stairs. Bree notices them first, Klute persisting
with Arlyn --

<b>			BERGER (O.S.)
</b>		(shouts desperately)
	Arlyn, get them out.

<b>			ARLYN
</b>	Please, I am begging you.

<b>			KLUTE
</b>	It's important.

<b>			ARLYN
</b>	That's not the Dumper, that's all!
	He was an older man!

<b>			KLUTE
</b>	Can you give me any more
	description than that?

Arlyn catches the footsteps, dodges past him toward
the door, intending to reassure --

<b>			ARLYN
</b>	Cappy? --

-- as the pusher, CAPPY, steps in. All of this is
very quick, simultaneous, a confusion of voices.
CAPPY takes one look at Klute --

<b>			ARLYN (CONT'D)
</b>	It's all right, they're all right --

-- turns and runs.

<b>			BERGER (O.S.)
</b>	Cappy? -- Cappy?

Cappy's FOOTSTEPS race away down the stairs. BERGER
plunges out from the connecting room, still
carrying the car radio, shouting, pursuing --

<b>			BERGER (CONT'D)
</b>	Cappy it's all right! I got a radio
	-- don't run, don't --

We hear him STUMBLE AND FALL on the stairs outside,
the sound of body reeling down. Arlyn shrieks and
races after: Klute and Bree follow.

<b>INT. HOUSE: LOWER HALL - DAY
</b>
We see BERGER lying at the foot of the stairs. As
Arlyn clatters down toward him, Berger sways up
onto his knees. His nose is bloodied, he cries.
Arlyn casts herself on her knees beside him, pulls
his face against her, croons to him, soothes and
tends him.

<b>			ARLYN
</b>	Oh baby -- no it's all right -- oh
	my baby baby baby --

Klute and Bree are only a half-step behind. Klute
offers to assist: Arlyn puts him away ferociously.

<b>			ARLYN (CONT'D)
</b>	Get out!
		(to Berger, again)
	Don't cry my baby; I'll find him,
	I'll get it. Baby, baby, don't cry.
		(to Klute savagely,
		incoherently)
	Leave us alone! Get out and get out
	and leave us alone!
		(to Berger)
	My honey, my baby, my baby --

We DISSOLVE TO --

<b>INT. SUBWAY TRAIN: REFLECTION IN WINDOW OF BREE AND
</b><b>KLUTE SITTING SIDE BY SIDE
</b>
CAMERA moves in closer so we only see reflection of
BREE looking at herself and at the world seeming to
speed by at an inhuman pace as the lights of the
tunnel zoom past her face. What she sees is the
figure of a woman with life screaming past her out
of control.

<b>INT. SUBWAY
</b>
SUBWAY slows to a stop and a door opens. BREE sits
with KLUTE staring at the open door and then
without warning - gets up and runs off the train.
The door closes, leaving KLUTE locked in the train.

<b>SUBWAY EXIT
</b>
SHOT of BREE's feet rushing up the stairs in
darkness and then quick cut to her face as she hits
the sunlight. She pauses for a moment - relieved to
be out of the darkness.

<b>EXT. ROOFTOP OF BREE'S BROWNSTONE - NIGHT
</b>
CAMERA pans from night view of New York City to
KLUTE sitting on the rooftop alone as if trying to
comprehend all he has seen, the mystery of TOM
GRUNEMANN's disappearance in this world and the
mysteries of the behavior of BREE.

<b>SKYLIGHT INTO BREE'S APARTMENT - NIGHT
</b>
Alongside of him the skylight of BREE's apartment
lights up. He looks through the skylight and sees
BREE enter her apartment. He can hear BREE talking
to somebody, and then he sees that she is talking
to FRANK LIGOURIN.

KLUTE watches through the skylight and hears bits
and pieces of the scene between BREE and FRANK. He
sees the same kind of symbiosis, the same kind of
parody of loving that he saw between ARLYN &
BERGER. As the scene becomes more intimate he
leaves.

<b>INT. CABLE'S (CITY) OFFICE: ON KLUTE - DAY
</b>
The pristine, antiseptic, elegance off CABLE'S
office is in its own way as unreal and dehumanized
as the sexual underworld KLUTE has been exploring
with BREE, and KLUTE looks as out of place in the
one as he does in the other. TRASK sits beside
KLUTE facing CABLE who is impeccably dressed. He is
the total image of the executive in control.

<b>			CABLE
</b>	She wouldn't be reliable anyhow --
	a narcotics addict.

<b>			KLUTE
</b>	I believed her, Pete.

<b>			TRASK
</b>	He's right you know. Waiting for
	the pusher, she'd tell you
	anything.

<b>			KLUTE
</b>	I believed her: the Dumper was not
	Tom Grunemann.

<b>			CABLE
</b>	All right, suppose it wasn't Tom
	Grunemann; where does that get you?

<b>			KLUTE
</b>		(smiles ruefully)
	It's where it doesn't get me. I've
	got nothing left that connects to
	anything.

<b>			CABLE
</b>	Then, close the case.

<b>			KLUTE
</b>	I better keep looking.

<b>			CABLE
</b>	Where, how?

<b>			KLUTE
</b>		(the best he can offer)
	I could try Arlyn Page again. She
	saw much more of the Dumper than
	Bree Daniel.

<b>			CABLE
</b>	You just finished telling me she
	had nothing to offer. Not Tom, you
	said, the Dumper was clearly not
	Tom.

<b>			KLUTE
</b>	It's got to make sense some way.

CABLE'S SECRETARY appears for a moment tapping her
watch significantly.

<b>			SECRETARY
</b>	Mr. Cable -- they are meeting in
	Mr. Camara's office.

<b>			CABLE
</b>	Yes Evvie, thanks. Gentlemen, I'm
	sorry.

They rise, dismissed. He sorts a paper or two,
continues to Klute.

<b>			CABLE (CONT'D)
</b>	I'm flying back out to Pennsylvania
	Friday; I'll fill them in on
	things.

<b>			KLUTE
</b>	How is it back there?

<b>			CABLE
</b>	I think you're homesick.
		(reflects)
	I'll be out at my camp over the
	weekend. Nice right now, that touch
	of fall in the air, that skim of
	frost in the early mornings, very
	peaceful.
		(briskly again)
	John, I'll be back here again
	Thursday; I'll be in touch.
	Lieutenant, thank you.

KLUTE and TRASK depart.

CABLE closes the door and returns to his desk. He
pulls out a tape recorder from a drawer in his
desk, rewinds it and turns it on. We hear a
playback of the previous scene with KLUTE and
TRASK. He stands at the window listening with some
satisfaction; as if listening to what KLUTE
revealed keeps him in control of the situation.

<b>EXT. WINDOW - CABLE'S OFFICE - DAY
</b>
The CAMERA pulls back from a CU of CABLE standing
at the window to a wide angle looking at CABLE
through the window. The window is 30 or 40 stories
high. The wide angle lens almost makes the building
look like it is standing on point, and CABLE, a man
suspended in space.

<b>EXT. WIDE SHOT: DOCKS - DAY
</b>
A TUGBOAT has pulled in. The SOUND of its heavy
ENGINES, IDLING, runs underneath this entire
sequence. A POLICE VEHICLE or two has parked at the
head of the dock. We see several figures on the
rear deck of the tug, but it's not clear at this
distance what they're doing. The POLICE CAR WITH
KLUTE arrives. He dismounts and proceeds from dock
to tug-deck.

<b>EXT. TUGBOAT DECK: GROUP - DAY
</b>
TRASK glances toward Klute as he arrives, but
doesn't greet him. His attention, like the others,
is directed downward and

off-scene (to the surface of the water actually,
just outboard of the tug). We see beside Trask TWO
Uniformed Cops (SUGARMAN and SPENCE) and DECKHANDS.
And we hear, along with the throbbing of the
engines, a stirring about of the water and a
peculiar third noise -- rather commingled with the
engines -- which we can't at first identify.

Klute joins the group, watches.

SPENCE brings into view, and shakes out, a giant
neoprene body bag. INSTRUCTIONS among the group AD
<b>LIB, UNDER --
</b>
<b>			TRASK
</b>		(toward Klute)
	They were bringing a freighter down
	through Kill Van Kull; propellers
	washed it up on top.

SUGARMAN brings into view a METAL BASKET attached
with short ropes. He complains --

<b>			SUGARMAN
</b>	Why didn't you bring it up on deck?

<b>			DECKHAND
</b>	Would you bring it up on deck?

They slip the basket downward, out of frame (into
the water).

<b>			DECKHAND (CONT'D)
</b>		(to other)
	Mickey, get something. Get the eels
	off.

<b>			SPENCE
</b>		(calmly)
	They'll drop off theirselves when
	she comes out.

We CUT TO -

<b>BERGER - DAY
</b>
We see Berger sitting huddled against the tugboat
cabin -- we haven't seen him before -- with his
hands bunched in front of his mouth. We identify
the noise which may have puzzled us before -- his
<b>SOBBING.
</b>
<b>DOWNSHOT: SURFAICE OF WATER, BASKET, BODY
</b>
We catch a fleeting glimpse of the body being
lifted, just before it breaks the surface of the
water.

<b>FAVORING KLUTE
</b>
Klute looks on as EFFECTS trace the processing of
the body. SPENCE kneels down out of frame to slide
the bag around it. TRASK kneels down to make a
brief examination -- straightens again. To Klute --

<b>			TRASK
</b>	It'll go to the Examiner. But I
	don't see nothin that means nothin.

We MOVE WITH KLUTE as he turns and moves away a few
feet along deck. Here he stands. Then SUGARMAN
moves into view holding a clipboard. Routinely --

<b>			SUGARMAN
</b>	You help us with ID? We can't get
	nothin from him.

He indicates the direction of Berger. Klute
examines the clipboard data.

<b>			KLUTE
</b>	Arlyn Page was probably an alias.
	She went by the names Terry Arlyn
	and June Price. She may have been
	from Pittsburgh, someone told me. I
	can give you a list of people who
	knew her, if that would help to --

<b>			SUGARMAN
</b>	No point, thanks.

<b>			KLUTE
</b>	Is he claiming the body?

<b>			SUGARMAN
</b>	Uh uh, that'd mean funeral
	expenses.

He spits, moves back in the direction of the group;
Klute continues to stand. BERGER moves in his
direction. Brokenly --

<b>			BERGER
</b>	Man could you help me?

Klute doesn't understand his purport, reacts
instantly, sympathetically --

<b>			KLUTE
</b>	Yeah, what?

<b>			BERGER
</b>	You know, help me out. That's my
	baby there, dead. I got to get up.

Klute stares at him -- a quiet horror -- as Berger
insists --

<b>			BERGER (CONT'D)
</b>	Man you don't know what that does
	to me, my baby dead --

<b>			KLUTE
</b>	-- You've got to get up.

<b>			BERGER
</b>	Yeah.

Klute shoves a bill in his hand, turns away very
sharply, off the tugboat.

<b>EXT. DOCK: KLUTE - DAY
</b>
Klute walks a longer distance this time, sits down
on one of the pilings of the dock. Watching him we
see what might be a profound awe and grief at all
these things -- but is, in fact, a good deal more.

EFFECTS, O.S. as Police Vehicles are loaded, driven
away and as tug toots, runs up engines, puts out
again.

TRASK moves into scene, sits on another piling,
looks at him speculatively. Silence. Then --

<b>			TRASK
</b>	That's how the other one died, you
	know. In the water.

<b>			KLUTE
</b>		(nods)
	I looked it up.

Then -- (we are assuming a complete understanding
here between Klute and Trask, non-verbal. What
Trask is asking, in effect, is: is this meaningful?
Do we both suspect the same man?)

<b>			TRASK
</b>	Well?

<b>			KLUTE
</b>	Yeah.

<b>INT. BREE'S APARTMENT - DAY
</b>
It is late afternoon, but BREE is in her pajamas
curled up in her bed. There are some magazines
scattered around the bed and the television set is
on an old movie. There are cracker crumbs in the
bed and a cup of coffee and an open jar of peanut
butter with the knife sticking out of the jar on
the floor by the bed. It would seem that BREE has
spent most of the day in bed. She looks like an
unkempt child. The phone is ringing, but she does
not answer it. The phone no sooner stops than the
door bell rings. Reluctantly she gets out of bed
and goes to the door. She looks through the spy
hole and sees Klute's face. She undoes two locks
and an obviously new chain and bolt and opens the
door.

<b>			BREE
</b>	Well hello -- come on in.

He barely enters the room. His manner is cool and
remote.

<b>			KLUTE
</b>	I thought you ought to know, Arlyn
	Page is dead.

<b>			BREE
</b>	How?

<b>			KLUTE
</b>	The same as Jane McKenna.

<b>			BREE
</b>		(she betrays no reaction)
	Thanks for the jolly news. I
	thought maybe you'd left town by
	now. You kind of just disappeared.
	But you boys from Tuscarora have a
	habit of disappearing, don't you?

Klute looks around the disorderly room. The plants
in the windowsill have never been in worse shape.
They look as if she deliberately let them die of
thirst.

<b>			KLUTE
</b>	The next few weeks I would like to
	know where you are all the time.

<b>			BREE
</b>		(harshly)
	Why?

<b>			KLUTE
</b>	Just let me know when you are going
	out and where --

<b>			BREE
</b>	What if i go out on tricks - you
	wanna come along? You could sit and
	read the National Geographic.

<b>			KLUTE
</b>	How can you do it to yourself?

<b>			BREE
</b>		(coolly)
	I don't get you.

<b>			KLUTE
</b>	Ligourin: How could you do it?

<b>			BREE
</b>	I told you before, you wouldn't
	understand.

<b>			KLUTE
</b>	You're right, I don't understand.
	Explain it to me.
		(pause)
	You were scared. Arlyn Page, that
	scared you. Well it should; that's
	death.
	So what did you do, you ran
	straight for it, death. Ligourin
	kills women.

<b>			BREE
</b>	No.

<b>			KLUTE
</b>	No, no you're right, I'm sorry. He
	uses women; he lets them kill
	themselves. Is that how you want
	it?

<b>			BREE
</b>	Arlyn was a junkie; I'm not on
	junk!

<b>			KLUTE
</b>	No, you can find some other way.
		(beat)
	Explain it to me. Bree, show me any
	sense to --

<b>			BREE
</b>		(screams, incoherently)
	You get the Christ out! You dumb
	stupid bastard, you don't know
	anything, you square, you get out!
	I don't have to show you anything;
	you get out!

Klute goes.

<b>INT. KLUTE'S APARTMENT - DAY
</b>
The empty apartment. He enters, switches a light on
(dusk), tosses aside jacket, bookcase, etc., then
sits down on the edge of his bed, with one foot
propped up on it.

FOOTSTEPS and A RAP at the door. He looks up, but
doesn't move, doesn't answer. BREE opens it,
enters. There are tear-tracks down her face, but
she's no longer crying. She tries to smile, tries
to explain her wants. Then with the unhurried,
graven composure of absolute desperation, she sits
on the edge of the bed.

<b>			BREE
</b>	If I asked you something, would you
	not laugh? -- asked you to look at
	something?

She pushes up her sleeve, points at tiny spot on
her arm - a freckle. He peers at it then at her
puzzledly.

<b>			BREE (CONT'D)
</b>		(apologetic)
	I thought it was maybe changing
	shape or something.

Klute looks at it again. Judiciously --

He shows her a spot or two on his own forearm. She
compares, is reassured. Embarrassedly, she tries to
smile. It is unsuccessful. She gets up and moves
about. Her manner in general is totally unguarded,
honest, undramatic, searching.

<b>			BREE (CONT'D)
</b>	Look -- I hate everybody; and I'm
	sorry for everybody; and I'm scared
	all the time.

He only grunts. A sound like 'OK' or 'all right' --
an invitation to leave. But she won't be driven
away. More urgently, helplessly:

<b>			BREE (CONT'D)
</b>	Look, I don't know either. It's
	like the only thing I know how to
	do -- I feel safe.

She's left the door a little ajar. He widens it for
her.

<b>			KLUTE
</b>	It's been a full day.

She pushes it out of his hand, pushes it shut. A
little more angrily:

<b>			BREE
</b>	Please.

<b>			KLUTE
</b>	We did this before.

<b>			BREE
</b>	No.
		(then)
	Well all right. But you want to and
	I want you to and we both know it
	and all right.

<b>			KLUTE
</b>		(evenly, slowly)
	I don't like getting splashed.

She accepts it decently. Tries to smile again,
nods.

<b>			BREE
</b><b>	OK ----- OK
</b>
She gestures, tries to find something more to say,
moves by degrees toward the door -- and would
succeed in leaving. But then:

<b>			KLUTE
</b>	--- Bree ---

Standing still, she starts again to cry -- and
bravely to keep the crying to herself. The child
bereft. He contends with himself, then crosses to
her, puts his arms around her, soothes her hair. A
completely asexual gesture at this point, a giving
of comfort. She clings, trembles, burrows. Then --
a SERIES OF DISSOLVES: The street outside, at
different times of night interposed, with Bree and
Klute at different times of love, As Follows:

<b>EXT. THE STREET - DAY
</b>
The street as we saw it just previously... still
daylight... still somewhat populated, but drawing
toward dusk.

<b>					  DISSOLVE:
</b>
<b>INT. KLUTE'S APARTMENT: BPEE, KLUTE - NIGHT
</b>
Darkness now, or close to dark; the room heavily
shadowed. Bree and Klute sit together on the bed.
He still strokes her hair. He has pulled a blanket
around her shoulders. The transaction is still not
overtly sexual, but the tenderness is more overt.
He rubs his cheek against her forehead. She herself
is quieter, comforted. She begins to stir against
him.

<b>					  DISSOLVE:
</b>
<b>EXT. THE STREET - NIGHT
</b>
The street at night. Eleven o'clock, let's say.
Some lit windows; a single car moving past.

<b>					  DISSOLVE:
</b>
<b>EXT. THE STREET - NIGHT
</b>
All the windows dark this time. The deepest night,
just before the sky begins to lighten.

<b>					  DISSOLVE:
</b>
<b>INT. KLUTE'S APARTMENT: BREE, KLUTE - NIGHT
</b>
Klute is alseep -- more or less -- on his stomach.
Bree beside him lies awake. She trails her fingers
about his back. A rather tentative, exploratory
business. Her expression is more wondering than
anything else -- what does she have here, and can
she get used to it?

<b>					  DISSOLVE:
</b>
<b>EXT. THE STREET - DAY (DAWN)
</b>
The street's first stirrings. From not far off, the
sounds of trash cans being collected.

<b>					  DISSOLVE:
</b>
<b>INT. KLUTE'S APARTMENT: BREE, KLUTE - DAY (DAWN)
</b>
Klute half sits up in bed. Bree is fast asleep with
her head pillowed on his midsection. Some humor in
this shot: he wants to move but doesn't want to
wake her. At a point he risks it, reaches out for
something beside the bed. Her eyes open
immediately. He puts his hand on her face, trying
gently to press her back.

<b>			KLUTE
</b>	Go back to sleep.

But she takes his hand -- and retains it -- rolls
onto her back. Still relaxed, but a little more
separate, thoughtful -- a mixture of the Bree we've
seen before and the Bree we've glimpsed, the
possible Bree. She observes:

<b>			BREE
</b>	I'm still scared.
		(beat)
	I mean different but still.
		(frowns)
	Look, I made it very clear from the
	start, you're a yokel, you don't
	excite me, you don't even interest
	me, and so I only have one question
	which is what the hell are you
	doing in my bed?

<b>			KLUTE
</b>	My bed.

She grins, then starts to reach for him, still
receptive -- then feels another (and genuine) pang,
turns her head away sharply.

<b>			BREE
</b>	Oh!

He looks at her with concern, but only caresses
her. She manages to explain --

<b>			BREE (CONT'D)
</b>	I am scared. The things I do. The
	things I could do to you.

<b>			KLUTE
</b>	Mm.

<b>			BREE
</b>	No, not just 'mm'. You don't know
	what I --

He settles himself beside her, makes overtures. She
responds, but:

<b>			BREE (CONT'D)
</b>	Oh boy, say, you think you're
	pretty good.

<b>			KLUTE
</b>	Yup.

She pretends to bite -- they tussle -- she feels a
suddenly growing excitement, seizes him. Fiercely,
welcomingly, full out.

<b>			BREE
</b>	Oh --

And we cut directly to:

<b>INT. SPANGLER'S OFFICE: BREE, SPANGLER - DAY
</b>
Bree standing, angry, antagonistic, demanding. In a
way -- a Bree-like way -- she's seized psychiatry
by the throat.

<b>			BREE
</b>	The son of a bitch seduced me!

She waits. Spangler says nothing.

<b>			BREE (CONT'D)
</b>	I know: it's ridiculous. But it's
	tearing me up and I don't know why.
	And look, all right, I came here
	didn't I? And if I have to, I'll
	keep coming here, the works, and
	talk about my mummy and my daddy
	and I'll even pay for it, but will
	you kindly for God's sakes say
	something?

<b>			SPANGLER
</b>		(smiles)
	I'd just be guessing.

<b>			BREE
</b>	Guess!

<b>			SPANGLER
</b>	Maybe this wasn't just a trick.
	Maybe you're in danger of real
	love, real involve --

<b>			BREE
</b>		(primly, distintly)
	I do not love him.

<b>			SPANGLER
</b>		(undeterred, suggests)
	You've spent your life avoiding
	this. You'll try hard to deny it;
	you're quite likely to destroy it.

<b>					  WE CUT TO:
</b>
<b>EXT. THE PLAZA OF LINCOLN CENTER
</b>
Sunlight is beaming on the graceful fountains and
elegant architecture.
Groups of cheerful tourists are admiring the
civilized monuments to man's search for culture.
CAMERA pans to ugly street across the way revealing
Klute approaching and entering a dingy warehouse
topped by an absurdly placed copy of the Statue of
Liberty. This is the municipal storehouse.

<b>INT. MUNICIPAL STOREHOUSE - DAY
</b>
The abrupt cut from the bright sunlight leaves us
in almost total darkness as we follow KLUTE. We are
in a huge storeroom. As we grow accustomed to the
darkness we see bits and pieces of incongruous
objects scattered along Klute's path - old pieces
of furniture, lamps, piggy banks, etc. - the
remnants of the lives of the plundered, the
destroyed and the dispossessed. Some is stolen
property, some evidence for homicide cases, and
some the unclaimed possessions of the unclaimed
dead.

A CUSTODIAN -- an ancient retainer sort, a civil
servant, leads KLUTE into an old elevator cage.

<b>INT. ELEVATOR
</b>
Klute and Custodian as elevator ascends; looking up
the elevator shaft through the open cage we see a
series of doors hanging over space seeming to lead
nowhere. The whole sequence has the feeling of a
dream of being lost in a black limbo.

Klute and Custodian leave elevator on higher floor
and walk down the long very low corridor past rows
of locked vault doors. The Custodian stops at one
and opens it. We are in a small dungeon-like room
filled with banks of files from floor to ceiling.
The Custodian counts to himself --

<b>			CUSTODIAN
</b>	Four -- five -- what number'd I
	say?

<b>			KLUTE
</b>	Four ninety-seven, Jane McKenna

Custodian finds it, unlocks for Klute's inspection.
Reaches for paper Klute's holding.

<b>			CUSTODIAN
</b>	-- And I keep the authorization,
	please.

<b>			KLUTE
</b>	I thought there'd be more.

Klute pokes through a small collection of personal
effects -- perhaps an ankle bracelet, rabbits foot,
faded snapshot of a child, some letters, pitiful
remnants of Jane McKenna's life. Klute closes the
drawer, and the front of the drawer is marked
McKENNA, JANE?

Over the visual material of Klute's trip through
the warehouse we hear WILD TRACK VOICE OVER bits
and pieces of BREE talking with the psychiatrist.

<b>			BREE (V.O.)
</b>	All right. Loneliness.
		(space)
	Well -- separated. From other
	people. Forgotten.
		(space)
	Well, as if I can be here, I can go
	through the motions, right? But the
	truth is, I don't belong.

<b>			SPANGLER (V.O.)
</b>		(prompts mildly)
	Don't belong?

<b>			BREE (V.O.)
</b>		(snappishly)
	Do you always have to repeat?

<b>			SPANGLER (V.O.)
</b>	Sorry.
		(then)

<b>			BREE (V.O.)
</b>	Well it's more than loneliness.
	Hate. People hating me -- and
	watching me and following and
	waiting to hurt me -- you know? I'm
	all screwed up.

<b>			SPANGLER (V.O.)
</b>	You think people hate you.

<b>			BREE (V.O.)
</b>	The truth is I hate them: they must
	hate me. All right, the money.
		(pause)
	All right, not the money. A kind of
	put-on.
	It gets things back together.
		(pause)
	Well let's say I'd go to one of
	these cattle-calls, a tryout. I
	mean before -- before I got this
	job -- and they'd always say thank
	you very much and i'd feel, you
	know, brought down. They didn't
	want me.

<b>			SPANGLER (V.O.)
</b>	Didn't want you.

<b>			BREE (V.O.)
</b>		(snaps)
	I said that.
		(resumes)
	Well, so you have a choice. You can
	either feel lonely -- you know, the
	hate -- or --
		(then more rapidly,
		plunging)
	So you take a call and go to a
	hotel room and there's some John
	you've never seen before, but he
	wants you. He must, he's paying for
	it.
		(beat)
	And usually they're nervous and
	that's all right, too, because
	you're not; you know this thing.
	And then for a while, boy, they
	really pay attention, you're all
	there is.
		(beat)
	And it's not real and you don't
	have to even like them -- you can
	even hate them, it's all right, it
	safe -- you know?

<b>INT. PROJECTION ROOM - MISSING PERSONS BUREAU
</b>
On the left a portion of the original obscene
letter. On the right a series of comparison
documents -- beginning with a portion of a personal
letter. We hear TRASK'S, KLUTE'S VOICES OVER, and
occasionally cut to them as --

<b>			TRASK'S VOICE
</b>		(skipping, summarizing)
	All right, there's Tom Grunemann,
	you're right, different margins,
	different spacing absolutely,
	sloppy, right.

<b>			KLUTE'S VOICE
</b>	Mm.

<b>			TRASK'S VOICE
</b>	All right, try this next guy.

The right-hand document is switched.

<b>KLUTE, TRASK
</b>
Klute reacts.

<b>			TRASK
</b>	Think this is our guy?

<b>			KLUTE
</b>	I don't know. It looks familiar to
	me.

<b>			TRASK
</b>	Thought it might. It's off an
	arrest report you typed two years
	ago. Man you wanted samples of
	everybody.

Then -- with subdued satisfaction, switching the
projector again.

<b>			TRASK (CONT'D)
</b>	Now the next cat. Mm?

<b>SCREEN; DOCUMENTS
</b>
<b>			TRASK'S VOICE
</b>	Same margins top and sides. He does
	best with his middle fingers; you
	get fainter registration from
	outside keys like Q, A, L, P and
	like that. Next thing look around
	apostrophes, how he hits the space
	bar before --

<b>KLUTE & TRASK - STARING AT PROJECTIONS
</b>
<b>			KLUTE
</b>	But what reason could he have? What
	possible reason?

<b>			TRASK
</b>	Unless he was involved with
	Grunemann's disappearance.

<b>			KLUTE
</b>	I knew Tom never wrote that letter.

<b>			TRASK
</b>	What else do you know?

<b>			KLUTE
</b>	I never could believe that Tom was
	a split personality. I never
	believed he was a Dumper; and I
	don't believe he disappeared of his
	own volition; and I don't believe
	he's alive.

<b>			TRASK
</b>	We have some very tentative
	circumstantial evidence of freeky
	behavior, but there's no evidence
	of murder - there's not even a
	body.

<b>			KLUTE
</b>	I don't believe Tom's alive.

As Klute talks he paces back and forth in the
darkness. He crosses in front of the lighted
screen; the letters projected on the screen ripple
over his face.

<b>			KLUTE (CONT'D)
</b>	But why? Why?

<b>INT. MISSING PERSONS BUREAU
</b>
Klute and Trask are seen entering from the
Projection Room. In the background we see an old
black woman sitting in front of the picture file of
unidentified dead, carefully studying each picture.

In the foreground Klute sits down at a phone and
dials.

<b>			KLUTE
</b>	Yes, Mr. Cable's office, please.

CAMERA goes in close on Klute.

<b>			CABLE'S VOICE
</b>		(through telephone)
	John, how are you?

<b>			KLUTE
</b>	I'll be sending you on a report
	tonight.

<b>			CABLE'S VOICE
</b>	It's a beautiful day in Tuscarora -
	I don't envy you that humidity in
	the city.

<b>			KLUTE
</b>	It's not so bad.

There is a silence. Both Klute and Cable seem to be
waiting for one or the other to make the next move.

<b>			KLUTE (CONT'D)
</b>	Would you like to know what's in
	it? The report.

<b>			CABLE'S VOICE
</b>		(obligingly)
	What's in it?

<b>			KLUTE
</b>	I think Tom Grunemann's dead. I've
	been a lot of places - I've asked a
	lot of people. I've found no proof
	he's around. I've found no proof he
	was ever around.

<b>			CABLE VOICE
</b>	How do you go from that to the idea
	Tom's dead? Suicide you're
	suggesting? He killed himself?

<b>			KLUTE
</b>		(plodding, unemphatic)
	He could've been murdered.

<b>			CABLE'S VOICE
</b>	I'm sure the FBI and the Police
	explored that possibility.

<b>			KLUTE
</b>	No. They never did, really. But
	that's what I'm going to recommend.
	The next step. Unless something --

<b>			CABLE'S VOICE
</b>	Have you discussed this with them?

<b>			KLUTE
</b>	It's in the report.

<b>			CABLE'S VOICE
</b>	Do they have the report? Have you
	discussed it with them?

<b>			KLUTE
</b>	I wanted to give it to you first.

<b>			CABLE'S VOICE
</b>	All right. All right --
		(then)
	John, just sit tight will you? I'll
	read your report, I'll discuss it
	with the others. I'll be back next
	Thursday, we'll talk the whole
	thing over then. Nothing til
	Thursday, all right?

<b>			KLUTE
</b>	All right.

<b>			CABLE'S VOICE
</b>	Thank you. Goodbye, John.

<b>			KLUTE
</b>	Goodbye, Pete.

Klute hangs up.

<b>			KLUTE (CONT'D)
</b>	He was always at their house on
	holidays. Tom and Holly always had
	him, over on holidays. Tom felt
	sorry for him - his whole life was
	work. Tom felt sorry for him.

The old black lady motions to Trask who crosses to
her. She points to a picture in the file. She has
obviously found her missing person among the
photographs of the unidentified dead. She starts to
stand but then sits again, obviously shaken.
Klute crosses to her and gently helps her out of
the chair. He sees in her face the same sense of
loss he feels for his friend.

<b>EXT. OUTDOOR MARKETS - EIGHT AVENUE - NIGHT
</b>
<b>KLUTE & BREE
</b>
Bree examining and feeling fruit in some imitation
of a very shrewd and experienced housewife shopper.
She is obviously enjoying her sense of domesticity,
and Klute is amused by her enjoyment.

<b>OUTDOOR NURSERY - EIGHT AVENUE - NEXT TO MARKET
</b>
The nursery is an absurdly cheerful spot of
greenery in the midst of the dirty chaos of the
avenue.

Klute and Bree wander through the plants.

<b>			BREE
</b>	I saw Mr. Faber.
		(beat)
	You remember Mr. Faber, don't you?

<b>			KLUTE
</b>		(controlledly)
	Yeah.

<b>			BREE
</b>	Is that all you have to say?

<b>			KLUTE
</b>	What am I supposed to say?

<b>			BREE
</b>	Well, I told him I wouldn't - uh -
	go there any more.
		(pause)
	I know it's tough to understand,
	but it wasn't easy. You see, he was
	nice to me. I mean, it wasn't just
	him. I got something out of it too
	I guess. Anyway, I told him I
	wouldn't go there anymore.

She is like a child awaiting praise from her
teacher. Klute says nothing. They continue walking
among the plants and he picks up a few that she had
admired.

<b>			KLUTE
</b>	Well, here's your gold star.

Considering his contempt for all the dead plant
life he has seen in her apartment in the past, she
is pleased by this act of belief in her.

<b>			BREE
</b>	Spangler says we have a
	relationship.

<b>			KLUTE
</b>	What?

<b>			BREE
</b>	You and I -- a relationship.

<b>			KLUTE
</b>	I was wondering what that was.

<b>			BREE
</b>		(beat)
	Hell there's nothing so mysterious
	about the square life.

<b>EXT. BROWNSTONE ENTRYWAY - NIGHT
</b>
Bree, Klute approach unhurriedly along the
sidewalk. She is holding his arm, HUMS to herself,
enjoys the evening.

<b>INT. STAIRWALL - NIGHT
</b>
We follow them up.

<b>INT. ANGLE INTO BREE APARTMENT - NIGHT
</b>
The apartment is a shambles -- furniture
overturned, decorations ripped from the wall,
bedding scattered and ripped.

<b>INT. BREE APARTMENT - NIGHT
</b>
Klute jettisons the grocery bags, thrusts himself
inside, looks quickly about, finds no one. Bree
follows more slowly, whispering:

<b>			BREE
</b>	Oh Jesus. Oh Jesus.

<b>			KLUTE
</b>	Don't touch anything.

He moves quickly to the rear of the apartment,
looks at the rear window which has been broken
inward in a litter of glass -- then returns to the
table at the front of the apartment; his folders.
Bree cracks wise, unsteadily.

<b>			BREE
</b>	You suppose he's a married fella?

<b>ANGLE TO TABLE; FOLDERS
</b>
The contents of the folders have been spilled
across the table and -- we ZOOM IN -- the
photographs of Tom Grunemann sorted out and ripped
apart, Even the COMPANY PICNIC photograph has been
painstakingly torn, specifically to destroy the
image of Grunemann in the front row.

<b>KLUTE
</b>
He stands, looking down, taking no notice as --

<b>			BREE
</b>	He got in my clothing!

Then a moment later, she cries out again, more
sharply:

<b>			BREE (CONT'D)
</b>	Oh. Oh.

He turns quickly. She is holding out, at arms
length, a pair of her underpants. With a disgust so
extreme she can only laugh.

<b>			BREE (CONT'D)
</b>	Oh look what he did in them.

<b>			KLUTE
</b>	Drop it.

She doesn't respond. He seizes her arm, shakes the
garment back onto the floor. She starts to gag,
slaps her hand over her mouth, starts for the
bathroom. Klute yanks her back.

<b>			KLUTE (CONT'D)
</b>	Stay out of there.

She twists free of his hands, backs away. The same
elementary terror we've seen before.

<b>			KLUTE (CONT'D)
</b>	Listen to me: It's all right. I've
	been expecting something.

<b>			BREE
</b>		(full out, vengefully)
	My God, I thought it was over. And
	here I am, daddy, right back at the
	start.

<b>			KLUTE
</b>	Bree --

<b>			BREE
</b>	Right back at the start, right?

<b>			KLUTE
</b>	Go down in my room.

<b>			BREE
</b>	You said it was over, right? You
	said not to worry any more, all
	over, right?

She's broken for the door; it's questionable that
she's even heard him. He hasn't time to pursue --
shouts again --

<b>			KLUTE
</b>	Go down in my room and wait.

Then he turns back into the apartment.

<b>INT. BREE'S APARTMENT - DAY
</b>
A DOWNSHOT TO UNDERPANTS (as if from Klute's POV,
connecting directly to the previous shot) -- then a
FLASHBULB goes off and a hand and pair of tongs
enter frame and flip the garment into a collecting
box and we widen to reveal that it's now daylight
and the scene has been invaded by POLICE
TECHNICIANS. One is a photographer; another, a
fingerprint man, is spraying surfaces with a can of
fixative. In the foreground Klute and Trask are
talking with Ross, the FBI man. Ross is looking
through a dossier on Cable that Klute has compiled.
Over the following conversation we show CLOSEUPS of
material in the dossier. It contains photographs of
Cable and his life from childhood to the present -
including pictures of him with his mother and
father - she a very dominant looking lady and he a
very passive looking man;
also graduation pictures and pictures with his
former wife taken when he was still a very young
man. They are the personal images of a life time.

<b>			ROSS
</b>		(to Klute)
	But if Cable killed Grunemann why
	would he get you hired to look for
	Grunemann?

<b>			KLUTE
</b>	Because he knew I couldn't leave
	the case alone. And this way at
	least he'd keep track of it. And
	me.

<b>			ROSS
</b>	What about Grunemann's letters to
	the girl, everything like that?

<b>			TRASK
</b>	Cable's letters, Cable's phone
	calls. Cable's everything else.
	He's been a Dumper a long time. He
	just passed off his own peculiar
	habits on the other man -- it kept
	things goin'.

<b>			ROSS
</b>	OK, pretend I believe you. Tell me
	how you get an indictment.

<b>			TRASK
</b>	Can't. Yet. Oh we got everythin'
	else: first rate evidence Cable
	typed those dumper letters to Bree
	Daniel. And Jane McKenna: Klute
	found a couple in her personal
	remains. We got dates of Cable's
	trips here coincidin' with phone
	calls to Bree Daniel, also the
	dates of death of McKenna and Page.
	We got some hints of his personal
	history. His father, unsuccessful
	salesman, committed suicide when he
	was 13. His mother pinned all her
	hopes on her son. He won a national
	science youth award at the age of
	eight. They had no money, but she
	hired special tutors for him in the
	summer time. She saw a good thing.
	He graduated from high school at 14
	-- college at 16 -- no friends --
	The kids in his class thought of
	him as a freak. He got his Ph.D. at
	18 -- married at age 21 to his then
	employer's daughter. The marriage
	lasted 4 weeks. Her father had it
	annulled. She says he was impotent.
	World War II he got in bad trouble
	about a German girl, no details. We
	think we know why he killed
	Grunemann -- he found out Cable was
	a dumper; Cable couldn't take that.
	We think we know why he killed
	McKenna -- she wanted to blackmail
	him for it. All fine. But we got no
	body, no direct witnesses, we can't
	go any-damn-where.

<b>			KLUTE
</b>	That's the reason i told him we had
	no evidence Tom was still alive. We
	wanted to shake him into another
	phone call or another letter. It
	didn't work out just that way.

The Technicians, meanwhile have packed to depart.
The first Technician scoops the torn up photographs
into another collecting box. Trask retrieves the
company outing photograph.

<b>			TRASK
</b>	Gov, want to leave me that one. How
	come he got to play with this one,
	anyway.

<b>			KLUTE
</b>	I left them here. I was doing some
	work here.

Trask eyes Klute for a moment, as if a querying his
relationship with Bree. Klute is clearly
unresponsive. Trask resumes.

<b>			TRASK
</b>	It's damn lucky you didn't have the
	dossier on Cable here.

<b>			KLUTE
</b>	Nobody's seen that.

<b>			TRASK
</b>	If we get anything from the lab,
	we'll have it by noon. And just
	think -- all he really had to do
	was write us a letter.

<b>			ROSS
</b>	Sounds to me you better shake him
	again. Put him in a spot he has to
	do something more -- but this time
	give him a time and a place to do
	it.

<b>			KLUTE
</b>	He called this morning from
	Tuscarora. Asked me to meet him at
	3:00 at the downtown heliport. He's
	on his way to Chicago.

<b>			TRASK
</b>	He sure chalks up a lot of flight
	time.

Klute starts gathering his papers we CUT TO --

<b>INT. STAIRWELL: BREE - DAY
</b>
Bree coming up the stairs meets the Technicians
coming down -- stands aside to let them pass --
starts up again and comes face to face with Klute.
On her part we see a wish to be reconciled -- a
shyness mixed with defiance -- but Klute's manner
is arduous. She smiles nervously, asks --

<b>			BREE
</b>	Ah, Schmendrick -- what's the scam?

<b>			KLUTE
</b>	Those were police laboratory
	people, they've been over the
	apartment.

<b>			BREE
</b>		(mock delight)
	Oh zippidy-doo, they'll find my
	fingerprints.
		(then)
	Can I go in? I need some stuff.

He nods; she starts by. Then --

<b>			KLUTE
</b>	Where'd you spend last night?

<b>			BREE
</b>	With Trina.

<b>			KLUTE
</b>	I called Trina.

<b>			BREE
</b>	Maybe I wasn't there when you
	called.

<b>			KLUTE
</b>	Bree, what's actually happened? It
	wasn't that bad.

<b>			BREE
</b>		(cuts in harshly)
	How do you know how bad it was?

<b>			KLUTE
</b>	Why couldn't you stay here with me?

<b>			BREE
</b>	Because I didn't want to be
	touched! I didn't think you'd get
	that!

Pause. Then, evenly --

<b>			KLUTE
</b>	Trask wants to talk with you.

She starts on, then turns back toward him -- rather
pleadingly --

<b>			BREE
</b>	Hey -- look officer -- I can
	explain everything. It was just --
	you know, everything all of a --

<b>			KLUTE
</b>	Trask wants to talk with you.

She continues on up; Klute continues down.

<b>INT. BREE'S APARTMENT - DAY
</b>
Entering without greeting Trask (his manner is not
uncivil but simply neutral, unreacting, Cop-like)
she quickly gathers up a few properties, a change
of shoes.

<b>			TRASK
</b>	Miss Daniel, be sensible, you find
	another place till we get things
	cleaned up.

<b>			BREE
</b>		(brightly)
	Oh well that shouldn't take you
	more than another, oh, two and a
	half or three years, should it?

<b>			TRASK
</b>	A few more days. We know who did
	this.

<b>			BREE
</b>	So do I.

<b>			TRASK
</b>	No, not Grunemann. He's dead. The
	man that killed him -- also prob'ly
	Jane McKenna, also Arlyn Page.

She spins around -- mute -- terrified.

<b>			BREE
</b>		(manages)
	Arlyn and Jane commited suicide. He
	said they commited suicide.

<b>			TRASK
</b>	Now there's a picture I'd like you
	to --

<b>			BREE
</b>	You said someone killed them, you
	said you know who, you said that.

<b>			TRASK
</b>	Well we're pretty --

<b>			BREE
</b>	Why isn't he locked up?

<b>			TRASK
</b>	We don't want to just lock him up;
	we want a conviction, we wanted him
	to do something more.

<b>			BREE
</b>	Is that why Klute didn't tell me?

<b>			TRASK
</b>	I guess he figured it was better.

<b>			BREE
</b>	What was better? I made better
	bait?

<b>			TRASK
</b>	No, that's not --

<b>			BREE
</b>	Is that what he set me up for?
	Everything he's told me from the
	beginning? -- don't worry, don't --

<b>			TRASK
</b>		(coldly)
	From the beginning I don't know why
	the hell he's messin with you. If
	he was me he'd know better. If he
	was even a city boy he'd know
	better. You're a whore Miss Daniel,
	that's the truth of it, right? Now
	somethin I'd like you to look at.

<b>			BREE
</b>	I don't have to look at anything. I
	don't have --

<b>			TRASK
</b>	Here please.

He coerces her to the table and unrolls the Company
outing picture. (We see the rip extending up
through the image of Tom Grunemann in the front
row.)

<b>			BREE
</b>	Oh no.

<b>			TRASK
</b>	Like for you to look for the man.

<b>			BREE
</b>	Grunemann? I've looked at him a --

Trask has clamped his thumb over the torn image of
Grunemann, indicates with the other hand --

<b>			TRASK
</b>	No. Not Grunemann. The Dumper. Just
	look around -- I said look for the
	Dumper.

We see her comply -- her eyes moving over the rows
of faces. Then we see her stiffen, hear her gasp --

<b>			BREE
</b>	Oh! --

-- and WE CUT TO --

<b>INT. DOWNTOWN HELIPORT - DAY
</b>
Cable welcomes Klute. His outer manner is warm,
voluble, congratulatory --

<b>			CABLE
</b>	Sorry we had to meet here. But I'm
	pressed for time.

<b>			KLUTE
</b>	Well there's a couple --

<b>			CABLE
</b>	I read your report. I had to go
	along with it -- the idea of this
	being a wild goose chase, Tom being
	nowhere around --

<b>			KLUTE
</b>	Well as a matter of --

<b>			CABLE
</b>	I've been up country, you know my
	summer place, my camp. I don't even
	have a telephone there. This
	morning they sent a messenger out,
	that you'd been trying to call me.

<b>			KLUTE
</b>	Yeah.

<b>			CABLE
</b>	I'm on my way to Chicago. Very
	important meeting tonight. Well --
	any new developments?

<b>			KLUTE
</b>	Yeah, two things Pete, that --

<b>			CABLE
</b>	You said Trask was arranging
	laboratory work. Police laboratory.
	Anything from that?

<b>			KLUTE
</b>	Yeah. It wasn't Tom.

<b>			CABLE
</b>	I'm sorry. I don't understand.

<b>			KLUTE
</b>	It wasn't Tom that broke in the
	room.

<b>			CABLE
</b>	It has to be Tom. You said he
	ripped up his own pictures, he --

<b>			KLUTE
</b>	Not Tom. Whoever it was left a kind
	of souvenir, I told you, in her
	clothing. Semen. The laboratory got
	a blood group reading from that.
	The man was blood type 0; Tom was
	an AB.

<b>			CABLE
</b>		(slowly)
	Some mistake perhaps that --

<b>			KLUTE
</b>	No. No mistake Pete. It doesn't
	prove who it was -- but proves it
	wasn't Tom.

<b>			CABLE
</b>	You must be discouraged.

<b>			KLUTE
</b>		(prosaically)
	Not too bad. This brings back that
	Dumper in the picture.

<b>			CABLE
</b>	That who?

<b>			KLUTE
</b>	Dumper, the man Bree Daniel
	mentioned and Arlyn Page knew and
	Jane McKenna knew.

<b>			CABLE
</b>	You said he was no possible
	connection with Tom. The Page girl
	told you that, not Tom.

<b>			KLUTE
</b>	Someone's been doing all these
	things.

<b>			CABLE
</b>	You were hired to look for Tom, not
	someone.

<b>			KLUTE
</b>	Pete, I've got a chance to buy Jane
	McKenna's black book.

<b>			CABLE
</b>	What?

<b>			KLUTE
</b>	Call-girls generally keep a book,
	you know, a list of their clients.
	Sometimes, if a girl retires,
	she'll even sell it worth good
	money. Jane McKenna had a black
	book; when she died it was stolen.
	I've been after it a long time.

<b>			CABLE
</b>	You were hired to look for Tom.

<b>			KLUTE
</b>	I'm meeting a man tomorrow night.
	He wants to meet me on East-River
	Drive -- he wants five hundred
	dollars for the book. Can you get
	that for me Pete?

Sometime -- right along about now -- it privately
comes to Cable that Klute may know everything and
that he, Cable, may be being trapped.

<b>			CABLE
</b>	I can't follow you.

<b>			KLUTE
</b>	Will the Company put up five
	hundred dollars to get Jane
	McKenna's list of clients?

<b>			CABLE
</b>	No. It's ridiculous. This has
	nothing to do with Tom Grunemann.

<b>			KLUTE
</b>		(shrugs, stolidly)
	It probably has the Dumper's name.
	It might give us some kind of new
	lead.
		(beat)
	I want a look at it anyhow.

<b>			CABLE
</b>	Klute, the Company's interest is
	Tom Grunemann. Solely and
	exclusively. You say you can't find
	Tom; all right, I'll see that
	you're paid off; the case is
	closed.

<b>			KLUTE
</b>	All right, but I'm going to see
	that list.

HELICOPTER FLIGHT is announced over loud speaker
and Cable and Klute walk onto field.

<b>EXT. HELICOPTER FIELD
</b>
People are boarding helicopter.

<b>			CABLE
</b>	Why would they deal with you? You
	don't know these people.

Klute is momentarily at a loss -- not a question
he'd prepared for -- improvises.

<b>			KLUTE
</b>	No, but Bree does. She's
	negotiating for me. Bree Daniel.

Cable takes an instant to compute the thing. Then --

<b>			CABLE
</b>	I can talk it over; possibly I can
	get the money. When are you meeting
	the man?

<b>			KLUTE
</b>	Tomorrow evening, nine. East River
	Drive and 73rd Street.

<b>			CABLE
</b>	Suppose I meet you there a half
	hour before.

<b>			KLUTE
</b>	Just send me a money order.

<b>			CABLE
</b>	No, I'd -- like to be in on it.

ATTENDANT comes over to motion Cable onto the
helicopter.

Klute smiles awkwardly, raises his hand in a
goodbye gesture.

<b>			KLUTE
</b>	Well --

<b>			CABLE
</b>	Tomorrow. See you tomorrow night.

<b>INT. HELICOPTER
</b>
Cable sits down next to window. The helicopter
begins to rise. CAMERA goes into a medium close
shot of Cable against the helicopter window. The
helicopter ascends in front of a very tall office
building made up of endless glass squares. A
telephoto lens brings the glass squares of the
building directly against Cable's head and
shoulders giving us the feeling that Cable is
almost levitating by himself. As one floor after
another disappears behind him we see an almost
manic exhultation in Cable's face; as if he is on
top of things once more.

<b>EXT. STREET OUTSIDE BROWNSTONE - DAY
</b>
We bring Klute along street, and into the
Brownstone.

<b>INT. STAIRWELL - DAY
</b>
Klute climbs the stairs to Bree's apartment --
knocks. He waits. No answer. He calls once --

<b>			KLUTE
</b>	Bree?

No answer. He starts downstairs again -- then turns
back, unlocks the door himself, enters.

<b>INT. BREE'S APARTMENT - DAY
</b>
The room is still disordered. Bree and Frank
Ligourin look at him, silently. Bree has been
assembling armfuls of dresses to carry away with
her. Frank sits nearby in a chair. Klute smiles a
little -- almost apologetically.

<b>			KLUTE
</b>	I'm always getting surprises.

Bree doesn't answer. She sets the armload of
dresses over the back of a chair, moves aside to
get others. Frank smiles cautiously, ruefully. Then
<b>--
</b>
<b>			KLUTE (CONT'D)
</b>	I don't want you to do this.

He still doesn't extract an answer. She returns
with other dresses.

<b>			KLUTE (CONT'D)
</b>	Please. I said I don't want you to
	do this.

<b>			BREE
</b>		(tight, small)
	Trask said I should move. Let's not
	make a thing of it.

He continues to look at her; she continues to
gather possessions. Then trying to smile, to deal
with it casually --

<b>			BREE (CONT'D)
</b>	Look, too much is going on here.
	I'm moving in with another girl,
	that's all. Just for a while.

<b>			FRANK
</b>		(helpfully)
	That's right. This other girl's got
	a very big apartment, big, plenty
	of room.
		(then)
	Look, it's not necessarily how it
	looks, right? It's --

He thinks better of continuing. Klute looks from
him back to Bree. He speaks gravely, spacing his
words -- unable to speak any faster.

<b>			KLUTE
</b>	No. Please. Not with this son of a
	bitch.

Frank rises, both nervous and offended -- but
dealing with Klute as between civilized men.
Smiling.

<b>			FRANK
</b>	Klute, let's handle it like
	grownups? I mean we're all grown up
	now, right?
		(ventures forward)
	-- we all respect each other, you
	know what I mean? -- I respect you,
	Bree respects you -- you could say,
	it just didn't work out between you
	and she. But you got to respect her
	too -- you know, her best
	interests, best for her --

Klute hits him, pursues, recovers, and starts to
beat him. BLOOD thickly descends the side of
Frank's face, as he struggles away. Bree is
screaming. Bree grabs at him from behind. He
thrusts her off. But it allows Frank to break away
through the still-open door. Klute pursues.

<b>INT. LANDING AT DOOR - DAY
</b>
Frank clatters down a stairs as Klute arrives in
the doorframe, and as Bree, behind Klute, screams --

<b>			BREE
</b>	No!

Klute is restrained -- restrains himself. Frank has
faced around on the stairs, still bleeding
extravagantly from his torn scalp. Earnestly --

<b>			FRANK
</b>	Hey, I'm gonna get you dropped.

Klute start's out after him -- Frank vaults away
down the stairs -- we hear him stumbling and
running -- Klute faces sharply around into the
apartment.

<b>INT. BREE'S APARTMENT - DAY
</b>
PAST KLUTE TO BREE. She is running away from him
again, to a corner of the apartment, fumbling at a
sewing basket. He starts in, after her.

<b>			KLUTE
</b>		(indistinctly)
	Please --

<b>TWO SHOT
</b>
She swings about as he overtakes her, holding a
pair of scissors -- simply and transcendently
terrified. She strikes at him, slashing his
forearm. He and she stand in absolute silence. He
looks down at the stain of blood spreading through
the fabric of his jacket sleeve. Then he turns out
of the room and down the stairs.

<b>EXT. BREE'S BROWNSTONE - DAY
</b>
Klute comes out of door -- goes down steps to his
own apartment. A passerby stops him for directions
and doesn't seem to notice the blood on his sleeve.
Klute goes into his apartment.

<b>INT. BREE'S APARTMENT: BREE - DAY
</b>
Bree is in the middle of dialing the phone. Her
hands are shaking; she misdials -- holds down the
receiver for a moment then starts again.

<b>INT. KLUTE'S APARTMENT: KLUTE - DAY
</b>
Klute stands in silence for a moment or two -- then
takes rather more note of his forearm. (Not
urgently but practically; it behooves him to stop
bleeding.) He turns toward the bathroom, pulling
his jacket off with the other hand.

<b>INT. BREE'S APARTMENT: BREE - DAY
</b>
Bree speaks to the phone, trying to make a simple
point, trying to keep her voice even.

<b>			BREE
</b>	-- until he gets back.
		(beat)
	Yes I heard you, I understand that.
	I said I'm going to come over, I'll
	wait until he gets back.

She hangs up before the other party can object in
detail -- takes up her purse and goes out, not even
closing the door behind her.

<b>INT. KLUTE'S APARTMENT: BATHROOM: KLUTE - DAY
</b>
Klute has knotted a hand-towel around his forearm,
now uses teeth and fingers to pull the ends tight.
Then -- intending to clean up -- he takes up a
washcloth, reaches for the faucet --

<b>EXT. BREE'S BROWNSTONE - DAY
</b>
Bree comes out of door - goes down steps -
hesitates in front of Klute's apartment struggling
with the question of whether to knock. CAMERA pulls
back to reveal we are watching her through the
windshield of a car in the parking lot across the
street. CAMERA pulls back further to reveal the
back of Cable's head as he sits in the car watching
her. Bree starts to knock on Klute's door but stops
herself and walks down the street. Cable's head
moves out of the shot. We hear the sound of the car
door opening and closing. Through the windshield we
see Cable cross in front of the car and start to
follow Bree down the street.

<b>INT. KLUTE'S APARTMENT: BATHRO0M: KLUTE - DAY
</b>
Klute finishes mopping up. SOUND OF TELEPHONE. He
turns back out of the bathroom and answers it.

<b>			KLUTE
</b>	Hello?
		(listens, then soberly - )
	Trask, I don't get that.

<b>EXT. STREET: BREE - DAY
</b>
Bree is about a quarter block away from the
Brownstone now, hurrying. She waves in the
direction of a cab, misses it, continues on. We CUT
<b>TO --
</b>
<b>EXT. STREET: CABLE - DAY
</b>
Cable stands looking after her, hesitates over
choice of action, decides to follow.

<b>EXT. STREET: FIGURES: PAST BREE TO CABLE - DAY
</b>
We establish the distance between them -- Cable 100
or so feet behind her, unnoticed by her,
maintaining about the same pace, not -- at this
point -- trying to overtake (perhaps waiting for
less populated surroundings) We CUT BACK TO --

<b>INT. KLUTE'S APARTMENT: KLUTE - DAY
</b>
Klute continues his phone conversation, short
spoken.

<b>			KLUTE
</b>	Who told you, his secretary?
		(listens)
	Has someone checked his hotel? He
	always stays at the --
		(then)
	I'll look around, I'll call you
	back.

He hangs up. First he checks out the windows (but -
if we want to be accurate - from mid room, without
directly approaching the windows themselves). Then
he secures a pistol from his jacket (and folds the
jacket itself over his arm to conceal it, as a
matter of public decorum), and goes on out.

<b>INT. STAIRWELL: KLUTE - DAY
</b>
Klute's manner, over the next few minutes, exhibits
an absolute, untheatrical, care and competence. A
man -- Cable -- may in fact be hiding here
somewhere to kill him. He sets about checking the
likely places -- first of all the lower hallway,
then the stairwell itself, moving steadily
unalarmedly up.

At the top he notes -- but still without main
concern that Bree's door is open. He calls ahead --

<b>			KLUTE
</b>	Bree --

<b>INT. BREE'S APARTMENT: KLUTE - DAY
</b>
He enters, puzzles, starts checking around (quite
thoroughly; she might be hiding from him). We CUT
<b>BACK TO --
</b>
<b>EXT. STREETS: BREE; FIGURE OF CABLE - DAY
</b>
Bree moves past CONSTRUCTION WORK, through one of
those temporary pedestrian passageways. Behind her,
nearer than before we see the FIGURE OF CABLE.

<b>INT. STAIRWELL - DAY
</b>
Klute comes quickly back downstairs, back into his
room, takes up the phone. Through the still-open
door we watch him begin dialing -- then CUT TO --

<b>INT. SPANGLER'S (OUTER) OFFICE - DAY
</b>
Bree sits isolated on the waiting-room couch. She
may have been here for fifteen minutes -- or an
hour. She turns the pages of a magazine -- one
handed, without even lifting it from the coffee
table, with an absolute lack of interest, a
mechanical gesture.

We hear FOOTSTEPS approaching directly toward where
we are watching Bree sit.

<b>			LELA (O.S.)
</b>	Mrs. Daniel --

<b>WIDER - TWO SHOT
</b>
Bree looks up in a kind of frozen terror, as the
Secretary smiles nicely -- lovingly down at her.

<b>			LELA
</b>	-- I have to close up now. Leave
	your name and number with his
	message service, Mrs. Daniel, and
	why don't you just go home and wait
	until he --

<b>			BREE
</b>	No.

<b>			LELA
</b>	Well I have to close up now.

<b>			BREE
</b>	Look -- could I use your phone?

<b>			LELA
</b>	Yes indeed.

<b>			BREE
</b>	Look. I almost killed my -- I
	almost killed someone.

<b>			LELA
</b>		(the same tone,
		completely)
	Well I'm certain Doctor Spangler
	will want to talk with you; excuse
	me.

Bree moves to the desk and telephone. But we move
with the Secretary as she moves into Spangler's
inner office and switches out the lights
(establishing TIME CHANGE: dusk now) and as we
hear, O.S., the sound of DIALING and BREE'S VOICE --

<b>			BREE (O.S.)
</b>	Is Mr. Faber there?
		(beat)
	Mr. Faber Senior.

<b>INT. GARMENT BUILDING: FABER'S OFFICE: FABER - DAY
</b><b>(NIGHT)
</b>
Mr. Faber's phone buzzes; he picks it up.

<b>			FABER
</b>	Yes?
		(then, glancing about)
	Bree?

<b>INT. SPANGLER (OUTER) OFFICE: BREE ON PHONE - DAY
</b><b>(NIGHT)
</b>
<b>			BREE
</b>		(haltingly)
	-- I'm -- I just have to talk to
	someone. I'm just a little way
	across town --

<b>FABER, ON PHONE (OFFICE)
</b>
<b>			FABER
</b>	Yes - yes dear, yes -- maybe half
	an hour, sure, yes.

He hangs up. An ancient stirring, a kind of
triumph. He glances about, then tightens his tie.
Then it comes to him, after all -- he takes note of
himself -- he leans forward against his desk and
rubs his forehead with old bony fingers. We CUT TO 
<b>-
</b>
<b>INT. KLUTE'S APARTMENT - DAY (NIGHT)
</b>
KLUTE on phone.

<b>			KLUTE
</b>	Trina, will you call me if you hear
	from, her? Will you check other
	people she might call? Yeah, if it
	wasn't trouble I wouldn't ask vou.

He hangs up, immediately starts to dial again, then
pauses to check a list he's laid out by the
telephone. While he's doing this, his PHONE RINGS.

<b>			KLUTE (CONT'D)
</b>	Yeah?
		(then)
	Nothing yet, Trask; I'm going down
	the list. I've tried Spangler's
	office and Spangler's home; I just
	get his message service. I'll keep--
		(interrupted -- listens --
		then -- grimly)
	I may have steered Cable that way.
	I told him Bree was dealing for me,
	for Jane McKenna's book. Have you
	found any --

He is interrupted again -- Trask wasting no words
on his end of things -- nods once --

<b>			KLUTE (CONT'D)
</b>	Yeah.

-- and depresses the receiver just long enough to
clear the connection, and starts dialing again --
We CUT TO --

<b>INT. STAIRWAY OF GARMENT BUILDING - DAY (NIGHT)
</b>
Quitting time. As Bree enters from street level,
employees are coming down the stairs, pushing past
her. She continues up on until at one point -- one
more officious or more communicative than the
others informs her --

<b>			FOREMAN
</b>	Lady, it's closing up there.

<b>			BREE
</b>	What?

<b>			FOREMAN
</b>	We're closing up, quitting time,
	Fabers.

<b>			BREE
</b>		(unsurely)
	I have an appointment with Mr.
	Faber.

<b>			FOREMAN
</b>	Oh, yeah.

He lets her pass, glances after her like the
others, continues on his way.

<b>INT. GARMENT BUILDING: FABER RECEPTION AREA - DAY
</b><b>(NIGHT)
</b>
Bree arrives at the head of the stairs -- as still
others press past her on their way down -- and
comes more or less directly up against the thickset
RECEPTIONIST. She is packing her purse, preparing
to depart, looks somewhat challengingly at Bree --
who sees no way to avoid the issue.

<b>			BREE
</b>	I have an appointment with Mr.
	Faber.

<b>			RECEPTIONIST
</b>	In there.
		(turns, bawls)
	Mr. Faber --

Bree goes on nervously in the direction indicated,
toward --

<b>A CORNER OF OFFICES: NATHAN FABER
</b>
NATHAN stands bending over a bench with back to
camera, conferring with another man as Bree
approaches -- looking to us, as to her, exactly
like his father. We hear the Receptionist's VOICE
repeating --

<b>			RECEPTIONIST (CONT'D) (O.S.)
</b><b>			(CONT'D)
</b>	Mr. Faber --

As Bree nears him, he straightens and turns -- a
much younger man. Bree stops short, recognizing the
error.

<b>			NATHAN
</b>	Yes?

<b>			BREE
</b>	I'm sorry -- Mr. Faber Senior.

<b>			NATHAN
</b>		(calmly)
	My father went home about fifteen
	minutes ago; he wasn't feeling too
	good.

She has already started away. He calls after her
evenly --

<b>			NATHAN (CONT'D)
</b>	Can I help you?

She looks back quickly, smiles nervously --

<b>			BREE
</b>	It wasn't important.

But we hold on him for a moment as she continues
out of scene -- until he turns away to other
matters. Then --

<b>RECEPTION AREA: RECEPTIONIST, BREE
</b>
Bree returns toward Receptionist, awkwardly --

<b>			BREE
</b>	Did Mr. Faber leave a message for
	me or anything? Mr. Faber Senior?
	Bree Daniel.

<b>			RECEPTIONIST
</b>	Oh, I thought that was for
	tomorrow.

The Receptionist riffles through a stack of
assorted envelopes -- hands one out to Bree -- and
promptly takes her way off. Out. Bree starts to
open the envelope then and there -- but OTHERS
continue to move past her. She seeks a more private
place.

<b>ROWS OF GARMENTS
</b>
Bree shelters herself out of sight from everyone
else -- though we continue to hear INTERMITTENT
VOICES, O.S. and continue to maintain the sense of
other presences.

We see her open the envelope --

<b>CLOSER: BREE, ENVELOPE
</b>
She finds nothing inside but money -- bills
totaling fifty dollars. We see her looking for a
message, finding nothing. It comes to her slowly
that she's been paid off and avoided. She bites her
lips in pain. She pushes back out of hiding --

<b>RECEPTIONIST AREA
</b>
-- back to the reception area again. (By now this
immediate scene has emptied, though we catch sight
of a figure or two at scene-start, moving through
the background, and continue to hear an occasional
NOISE or VOICE O.S.)

Bree looks about for someone -- then scouts for a
pencil, finds one in a desk (or bench) drawer,
starts to readdress the envelope (to direct it back
to Mr. Faber). Then she breaks off from that, takes
up a PHONE instead, dials -- waits -- then --

<b>			BREE
</b>	Bree Daniel. Has he called in yet?
	Well if he does, I'm at --
		(reads phone)
	-- two seven eight, three one
	hundred, and I guess I can wait
	here five minutes; then I'll try
	from somewhere else.
		(impatiently)
	Just tell him Bree Daniel; he knows
	who.

She hangs up, goes back to readdressing the
envelope. FOOTSTEPS are approaching in her
direction. She glances up apologetically.

<b>			BREE (CONT'D)
</b>	Mr. Faber, I just wanted to leave
	this for your father, and I
	wondered if you'd --

She pauses --

<b>ANGLE PAST BREE TO CABLE
</b>
Cable hastens toward her along a lane of garments.
In this brief glimpse a ludicrous and terrifying
figure -- a noise, a gesticulation (actually the
gesture is arms out, palms downward, intended as a
quieting gesture; and the hissing noise is intended
as a shushing). Bree cries out, turns to run --

<b>			BREE (CONT'D)
</b>	Someone --

-- as we immediately, even as she's turning, CUT TO
<b>--
</b>
<b>INT. KLUTE'S APARTMENT: KLUTE - DAY (NIGHT)
</b>
Klute speaks quietly but with terrible urgency into
the phone (dealing evidently with an ethically
skittish message service at the other end).

<b>			KLUTE
</b>	Did she leave a number?
		(beat)
	This is a police call; don't make
	me take time to prove it. Did she
	leave a number? What is the number?
		(beat)
	What is the number? --

<b>INT. GARMENT BUILDING - DAY (NIGHT)
</b>
Cable and Bree. They are at some remove from the
site of Cable's first appearance; there are other
evidences of time-lapse. Cable's manner is that of
slightly-strained patience -- a civility -- an
attempt now and then to smile. Bree watches his
every slight gesture, quivers to make a break for
it, tries throughout to buy time.

<b>			CABLE
</b>	Can't we talk together reasonably,
	just -- ordinarily?
		(beat)
	I know you're expecting some kind
	of -- extravagant behavior, but
	believe me -- do you believe me? --

<b>			BREE
</b>	Yes -- all right --

<b>			CABLE
</b>	-- We can talk --

<b>			BREE
</b>	-- Yes.

<b>			CABLE
</b>	All right, then, an ordinary
	matter. I'm a quite well off man, I
	have a -- position to respect. I
	would feel personally uncomfortable
	to be connected with a -- certain
	kind of woman, I'm sure you
	understand. Do you? Well I'd like
	to buy Jane McKenna's book.

He looks at her discerningly. She seems not to have
followed his exposition. He tries patiently to
clarify it.

<b>			CABLE (CONT'D)
</b>	Her black book, Jane McKenna's, her
	list of -- of persons. I was told
	you're negotiating for it on behalf
	of --

The PHONE RINGS, an explosive noise. Bree startles.
It has been put on night-ring, to sound all over
the loft, and the noise is deafening. But -- the
most bizarre element is Cable's absolute lack of
response to it. It rings and rings as he talks and
talks -- in the same expository tone as before,
without raising his voice. It drowns out most of
his words -- at most we catch only odd phrases of
all the following -- but he seems not to hear it
any more than the clamor of other things torturing
his soul.

<b>			CABLE (CONT'D)
</b>	That was what Klute told me -- you
	were negotiating for him to buy
	that list. And I'm in a position to
	pay a good deal more for it than he
	can. Do you understand? I'd like
	you to acquire it on my --
		(beat)
	Miss Daniel, do you not understand?
		(beat)
	Miss Daniel, I can't tell whether
	you understand me.
		(beat - still reasonably)
	Is this something Klute just
	invented? Is this a trap for me,
	Miss Daniel; does Klute know about
	me?

He turns and lifts a phone (one of the extension
phones situated around the loft) -- though up to
now he's given no evidence of even hearing the
ringing. He just stands holding the phone for a
time, then lowers it back on the receiver. With a
sort of absolute quiet --

<b>			CABLE (CONT'D)
</b>	You have no idea what I'm talking
	about.

<b>			BREE
</b>	Yes -- Jane McKenna's book -- I
	could make a phone call.

<b>			CABLE
</b>	No, you're frightened, you're
	pretending. Well -- Klute knows
	about me then. Does everybody know,
	can you tell me?

<b>			BREE
</b>	Yes.

<b>			CABLE
</b>	Then it doesn't matter what I do
	any more, does it?

Pause. Then he shudders slightly.

<b>			CABLE (CONT'D)
</b>	You people know nothing about pain.

We CUT TO --

<b>EXT. STREETS - DAY (NIGHT)
</b>
We see Klute -- probably in MLS -- running along
street. He tries for a cab -- misses it -- halts
the next by expedient of cutting bodily in front of
it. The Driver starts to lean out to object. Klute
mashes him back inside, enters the cab. We CUT BACK
<b>TO --
</b>
<b>INT. GARMENT BUILDING - DAY (NIGHT)
</b>
MLS, the two FIGURES: CABLE, BREE. They are
somewhat separated -- Cable has gone to look down
from one of the arched windows of the loft, while
Bree remains in place. She is a prisoner, we can
suppose -- when we cut closer we'll see her eyes
continually shifting, her mind calculating her
chances -- but he hasn't molested her. He bears her
no animus at this point. His manner is rather
quiet, undetermined. He feels some relief that the
thing is, in effect, over -- and some puzzlement
about what to do (with either her or himself) now.
He returns toward her.

<b>CLOSER: BREE, CABLE
</b>
Nearing her again, he gestures several times,
apologetically, seeking words.

<b>			CABLE
</b>	I've got no idea what I shall do.

He happens too close; she can't avoid shrinking.

<b>			CABLE (CONT'D)
</b>	I'm not going to hurt you,
	absolutely, I'm not.

<b>			BREE
</b>	Will you let me go then?

He seems not to have heard the request. He sits for
a moment. An intellectual interest, a curiosity.
(Meanwhile, perhaps, we see her starting to slip
her shoes off, in hopes of running.)

<b>			CABLE
</b>	It puzzles me so badly. I've done
	terrible things but I can't
	consider myself a terrible man.
	I've killed three people and I'd
	still want to say it was accident,
	do you see?

<b>			BREE
</b>		(tries again, slowly)
	If you'll let me go I could tell
	them what --

<b>			CABLE
</b>		(unhearing, resumes)
	Tom Grunemann discovered me -- we
	were here on business together, he
	discovered me with Jane McKenna.
	Then I suppose it was the -- the
	contempt I saw in his face and the
	certainty that sooner or later he'd
	use it against me. Within the
	Company. I endured that as long as
	I could, do you see?

<b>			BREE
</b>	I'm sorry, I'm just frightened.
	Yes.

<b>			CABLE
</b>	Excuse me Miss Daniel?

<b>			BREE
</b>	I said yes, I see.

<b>			CABLE
</b>		(doubtingly)
	Oh no, I don't think --

<b>			BREE
</b>	Tell me. I'll listen.
		(pause)
	I just want you to tell me.

He rises, approaches her -- apparently taken in,
credulous, grateful, wondering --

<b>			CABLE
</b>	You're willing to listen? You want
	me just to keep talking?

He hits her.

<b>			CABLE (CONT'D)
</b>	That's what you do, isn't it; you
	make a man feel accepted.
	That's what you all do. Your stock
	in trade a man's weakness.

He hits her again.

<b>			CABLE (CONT'D)
</b>	Why don't you ask for mercy? My
	God, what mercy has anyone given
	me?

<b>INT. ELEVATOR - KLUTE ASCENDING - DAY (NIGHT)
</b>
<b>EXT. GARMENT BUILDING ROOF (DIRECTLY ABOVE FABER
</b><b>LOFT) - DAY (NIGHT)
</b>
Klute has gun out - as he carefully makes his way
across the roof. Man in hotel window across street
holding drink - watches him with amused curiosity.
Klute spots entrance to stairway.

<b>INT. GARMENT BUILDING: KLUTE - DAY (NIGHT)
</b>
Klute goes downstairs to back entrance of Faber
loft. He slips inside. He hears THE SOUNDS OF THE
BEATING -- a stirring of feet and indistinct impact
sounds, a murmur of voices (but all quite muted,
undramatic). He maneuvers through lanes of
garments, trying to gain a line of sight. He
understands what's going on, strains to intervene,
but can't disclose himself. At a point, he drops to
hands and knees, slides underneath the garment
racks, drawing closer to Cable, trying to gain
position. We intersperse his progress with further
Bree-Cable fragments, as for instance --

<b>FRAGMENT: CABLE, BREE
</b>
<b>			CABLE
</b>	You're a person of no value, you
	have no value --

<b>KLUTE, SHIFTING CLOSER
</b>
Klute works his way steadily closer -- under
steadily increasing pressure, as the pursuit and
beating continue as SOUNDS, O.S. Even close at hand
the noises are ambiguous -- the clatter of
footsteps, grunts, a slap of flesh -- rather than
distinct. Once or twice we hear CABLE'S VOICE
clearly enough to make out words --

<b>			CABLE (CONT'D)
</b>	-- Is that contempt? Is it?
		(then)
	No, I'm the one who feels contempt.

-- and once or twice a CRY from Bree.

Klute tries to gain aim --

<b>P.O.V. TO BREE, CABLE
</b>
-- but Cable is too close upon her, and they are
too steadily in motion.

<b>KLUTE
</b>
Klute moves on -- moves on -- gains position --
springs.

<b>CABLE
</b>
Cable catches the sound, whirls, screams --

<b>P.O.V. TO KLUTE
</b>
Klute closes with him, knocks loose Cable's pistol 
- contends for it again, knocks it loose again.
EFFECT -- under -- SIRENS.

<b>CABLE, KLUTE
</b>
Cable breaks loose, backs a step -- backs another
step -- and then, turns and runs unhesitant against
one of the windows, exploding it outward with him,
both frame and glass.

<b>EXT. WIDE SHOT: BUILDINGS - DAY (NIGHT)
</b>
We see the body tracing its quick path down the
dark side of the building.

<b>EXT. DOWNSHOT FROM LOFT TO STREET (KLUTE'S P.O.V.) -
</b><b>DAY (NIGHT)
</b>
<b>EXT. BASE OF BUILDING: CABLE'S BODY - DAY (NIGHT)
</b>
The sound of SIRENS a little LOUDER.

<b>INT. GARMENT BUILDING: KLUTE, BREE - DAY (NIGHT)
</b>
Klute turns from looking down, moves to where Bree
kneels on the floor. He hunkers down.
In a gentle-enough VOICE, but matter-of-factly
withal -- as if to a child --

<b>			KLUTE
</b>	Come on.
		(pause)
	Come on.

(Note: also shoot in MSL, without dialogue, with
SIRENS O.S. full up.) Then we CUT TO --

<b>INT. KLUTE'S APARTMENT - DAY
</b>
KLUTE is packing to leave. We follow him about as
he carries clothing from closet and bureau, folds
it into his suitcase on the table. We hear the
familiar FOOTSTEPS on the stairs. Bree's KNOCK. He
lets her in, keeps on about his business. His
expression is sober; hers is quite tentative.

<b>			BREE
</b>	Hi.

He doesn't at least expel her. She ventures in,
sits on the table, swings her heels, watches him
pack. His arm impairs him. At length --

<b>			KLUTE
</b>	I got a call from Ross this
	morning. Cable owned a plot of
	woodland -- he'd go there on
	weekends. They found Tom
	Grunemann's body buried there.
	They've notified his wife.

<b>			BREE
</b>	Oh.
		(pause; then sharply --)
	Well it wasn't us city people that
	did it -- your fine rosy-cheeked
	country boy.

<b>			KLUTE
</b>	Mm.

<b>			BREE
</b>	You're going back?

<b>			KLUTE
</b>	Mm.

Pause. She compresses her lips, slips down from the
table, starts smartly out of the room.

<b>			KLUTE (CONT'D)
</b>	Wait.

She returns and sits on the table again, waits. But
Klute doesn't seem about to say anything more --
goes on packing.

<b>			BREE 
</b>	Well suppose I hadn't come
	downstairs. Would you just have
	folded up and sneaked away?

<b>			KLUTE 
</b>		(slowly)
	No. I was going to come up. I
	wanted to ask you to marry me.
		(pause)

<b>			BREE 
</b>	You wanted to, or you are?

<b>			KLUTE 
</b>	I am.

<b>			BREE 
</b>	You could at least look at me!

He complies, stands and looks, folding a necktie.
But now she finds she has to look away. Somewhat
brokenly --

<b>			BREE (CONT'D)
</b>	Look -- yes. I mean thanks, but --
	don't you think we better be
	realistic?

<b>			KLUTE 
</b>	About what?

<b>			BREE 
</b>	Look at me. I'm pretty and sort of
	clever and very well intentioned,
	and dear God I'd tear your heart
	out!

<b>			KLUTE 
</b>	I don't think so.

He resumes packing, continues through the
following.

<b>			BREE 
</b>	How can you not think so? You know
	the things I can do.

<b>			KLUTE 
</b>		(unclearly)
	They don't scare me any more.

<b>			BREE
</b>	What?

<b>			KLUTE 
</b>	Doesn't scare me. I think we could
	handle it.

Thereafter he guards his silence, staunchly goes on
packing, as she comes at the thing from various
sharp angles. 

<b>			BREE 
</b>	Please, I'm a city person. I'm sure
	it's just as good as here but I'm a
	city person, that's all, I am!
		(pause)
	Hell I know what it's like. I was
	in Jersey once: the frogs go bra-a
	p all night!
		(pause)
	What'im I supposed to do? Mend your
	socks and sing in the church choir?
		(pause, choking) )
	Do you not believe I love you? I'm
	honestly, honestly just --

He has almost finished packing -- returns toward
the suitcase with the tin CLOCK and electric FAN,
tries to fit them in as conversation continues.

<b>			BREE (CONT'D)
</b>	Look, why should it be yes or no?
	Can't we keep it going and see? I
	mean we can keep in touch and visit
	each other and see. People do that,
	that's realistic.

<b>			KLUTE 
</b><b>	OK.
</b>
<b>			BREE
</b>		(bitterly)
	You don't believe that either, do
	you? Why can't you see my side?

<b>			KLUTE 
</b>	Can you use these?

He sets the fan beside her, hands her the LOUDLY
TICKING clock. She holds it in her lap, numbly.
He's packed -- closes various drawers, leaving in
good order -- snaps the suitcase shut, lifts it
stiffly down from the table. She remains sitting.

<b>			BREE
</b>	Can I carry something for you, to
	the car?
		(he shakes his head)
	Will you kiss me?

<b>			KLUTE 
</b>	No. I'm sore.

He moves to the door, pauses, half-smiles --

<b>			KLUTE (CONT'D)
</b>	Well --

She smiles back. He goes. We hear the entryway door
opening and closing.

She slips down off the table. We CUT TO --

<b>EXT STREET OUTSIDE BROWNSTONE - DAY
</b>
Klute is, let's say, about seventy feet on his way
when she appears at the front door, calls after
him.

<b>			BREE 
</b>	Hey.

He turns around and stops. He walks slowly back to
her.

<b>CLOSER: BREE, KLUTE
</b>
He arrives in proximity to her. Then the following
events in more or less the following order:

He looks at her inquiringly. She responds by
sitting down, plunk, on the grubby front step of
the Brownstone.

Having stood for some time -- during which she has
offered only twitching motions of her hands -- he
sets down the suitcase.

Having set down the suitcase, but derived no
answer, he reaches out one arm, and leans against
the building front.

She nearly arrives at the level of statement.
Fretfully, indecisively --

<b>			BREE
</b>	Oh heck --
		(pause)
	Oh heck --

Then, as a man not to be dallied with, he picks up
the suitcase again. She looks at him strickenly,
but it doesn't precipitate her into speech.

He puts it down again.

And then -- then, after all, goddamit, he reaches
out, grabs her wrist, and simply hauls her along,
suitcase in one hand, Bree in the other. As she
yanks, shouts, struggles --

<b>			BREE (CONT'D)
</b>	I haven't decided yet!
		(beat)
	I haven't decided yet!
		(beat)
	I haven't decided yet! --

<b>			  THE END
</b>

</pre>
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Who are the obscene letters of Gruneman's linked to?
Who are the obscene letters of Gruneman s linked to ?
Cable
Cable
Bree Daniels
Bree Daniels