Disclaimer: The characters, plotlines, quotes, etc. included here are owned by Baltimore Pictures and Fatima Productions in association with NBC Studios, all rights reserved. Homicide was created by Paul Attanasio and based upon David Simon's book Homicide: A Year on the Killing Streets. The following script is in no way a substitute for the show Homicide: Life on the Street, it's for educational purposes only. This script is not authorized or endorsed by Baltimore Pictures, Fatima Productions, or NBC. It was typed out by Laurel Krahn and made available for your downloading enjoyment by Laurel Krahn at http://www.windowseat.org/homicide/scripts/.

Homicide: Life On The Street
Season 2, Episode Two:
"Black and Blue"

Teleplay by
James Yoshimura

Story by
Tom Fontana

Barry Levinson
Tom Fontana

Jim Finnerty

Gail Mutrux

Chris Menaul

Prod. #202
August 3, 1993

Rev. 8/16 blue
Rev. 8/20 pink
Rev. 8/23 yellow
Rev. 8/23 green
Rev. 8/24 goldenrod
Rev. 8/25 lilac
Rev. 9/1 white







STEVE CROSETTI guides ELLEN HILDEBRANDT, age indeterminable, festooned with jewelry, the Auntie Mame of real estate.

ELLEN: It's a buyer's market.

CROSETTI: I've lived here all my life.

Ellen: Don't get me wrong. It's a terrific house but it's a buyer's market.

Crosetti: The ten years I was married, I lived with my wife and my daughter Beatrice. After the divorce, I moved back here temporarily with my parents. Since they died, I've been living here alone.

Ellen: Mm-huh.

Crosetti: This house has been in the family for over a hundred years. There's a lot of memories here. Good and bad.

Ellen: It's a buyer's market.

They enter living room.


Ellen stops, runs her hand over the fireplace.

Ellen: My lord, look't this.

Crosetti: That came over from the old country. From my mother's side of the family, from Brescia. It's Italian black walnut.

Ellen: It's Victorian Oak. Gorgeous. Twenty-five years ago you'd've had buyers knocking each other over trying to get at these fluted columns and brass firescreen. Today, everyone wants a wet bar.

Crosett: It's oak, huh? I always thought it was black walnut.

Ellen: (re: overhead lighting fixture) A Tiffany Globe? My, my, my.

Crosetti: My great grandfather, he cut out each one of those pieces to fit. Took him six years to finish.

Ellen: Now, it's Kovacs or FLOS. Chandeliers don't speak to the new young home buyers.

Crosetti: They don't, huh?

Ellen: Low lighting is for romantics. We are living in a post-modern world. Besides, who wants to get up on a ladder and clean each piece by hand? Who has the time? (looks at windows) These windows are sealed closed? There's no way to vent this room?

Crosetti: How 'bout you run a fan? That's what we did. It worked.

Ellen: More than anything I wish you'd've installed central air. You could have been singing the happy song of the quick sale at this very moment. The way these Balto summers are shaping up, central air is taking precedence over safe sex.

Ellen walks to door of bathroom off kitchen.



Recently updated with a new shower stall, sink and toilet. Ellen and Crosetti peek inside.

Ellen: My Lord.

Crosetti: What? This is brand new. Less than a year old.

Ellen: Tell me there wasn't a pedestal sink here, a bathtub with lion claw feet, a toilet with an overhead chain flusher.

Crosetti: Yeah . . .

Ellen: This bathroom was worth its weight in diamonds. You ripped out whatever charm the house had.

Crosetti: This upsets you?

Ellen: I'm so disappointed my teeth hurt. The first offer we get, no matter what the amount, we grab.

On Crosetti, in silent agony,






A frenzy of REPORTERS crowd the main entrance. GRANT BESSER and his TV NEWS CREW start a remote feed.

Besser: Who killed Charles Courtland Cox? Baltimore Homicide detectives have asked that question hundreds of times since Cox, twenty-two, was shot in the back while being pursuied on foot by police.

On Besser, broadcasting live, CUT TO:


GIARDELLO stares down at the scene. He turns to face FIRE ARMS CLERK, who sits at desk. TIM BAYLISS and FRANK PEMBLETON stand nearby.

BESSER (v.o., cont.): Many in the Fayette STreet area say the police themselves shot the yong man in cold blood . . .

GIARDELLO faces Officer JERRY RYAN, who hands in his revolver, angrily.

BESSER (v.o., cont.): According to an informed source, investigators have asked the fifteen officers who were at the scene of the shooting--

FIRE ARMS CLERK rips document off the page, hadns it to Ryan. Ryan looks at Giardello, Pembleton and Bayliss with disgust, exits. Beat.

Besser (v.o., cont.): To hand over their weapons for inspection . . .

Another officer enters as Giardello exits.

[Skipping ahead -- haven't finished these scenes yet. - Laurel]


PEMBLETON sits, frustrated. GIARDELLO enters.

Pembleton: Were you watching? Most of them are having trouble keeping their stories straight. It's one thing having civilians lie to you. It's another to have cops do it. Being cops, I kinda hoped they'd be better liars.

Giardello: Frank, you know my feelings about this. You're hurting the whole department by making every cop suspect. These are not street punks you can roll over. They have dignity, they're family. La familia.

Giardello exits. On Pembleton, alone, CUT TO:


A middle-class suburban enclave. Crosetti and Meldrick Lewis pull up to the curb in Cavalier, exit. A shiny black Olds is parked in the driveway of a townhouse.

Lewis: This is it?

Crosetti: This is it. A pretty place, huh?

Lewis: (scanning the area) Compared to what? They're all the same house. I can see you coming home from a New Year's Eve party, running around trying to find the right front door.

Crosetti: This is not the type of neighborhood you come home drunk to.

Lewis: Oh right-- a little white wine and a petite finger sandwich, that's as wild as it gets out here. This is about your speed, Crosetti.

Crosetti glares at Lewis, heads up walkway. Lewis points to pink flamingo on a neighbor's front lawn.

Lewis (cont.) Take stock of the local fauna and flora.

An old man, MR. OBENREDER, stands at the house next door.

Crosetti: Hey, how are ya?

Obenreder glares at them, turns and exits into his house. Beatrice Crosetti, sixteen, pallid complexion, massive unruly hair and the sad eyes of virgin martyrs, comes flying out of townhouse, bounding down steps, to hug Crosetti.

Beatrice: Daddy.

Crosetti: Hiya, kiddo.

Beatrice: Whaddya say, Meldrick?

Lewis: How ya been, Beatrice?

Beatrice: I'm okay. I'm stilll cool. You know that.

Ellen steps out, offers hand to Lewis, which he shakes.

Ellen: I'm Ellen Hildebrandt, Detective Crosetti's real estate representative. I'm here to smooth the way for father and daughter to move into a little better piece of the American dream.

Lewis: Oooh. You make it sound so sexy.

Crosetti nudges Lewis. They enter.


Ellen leads Crosetti, Beatrice, and Lewis through.

Ellen: These floors are number one, red oak, nine hundred square feet, twelve dollars a square foot, all newly installed.

They follow her out.


Ellen leads them through.

Ellen: Climate-controlled ventilation. (taps a control panel) A computer monitors the temperature and humidity. The air is reconstructed and purified every six minutes.

They follow her out.


Ellen leads them through.

Ellen: Pressurized hardwood and hardwood veneers to resist warping from heat and moisture. All these appliances are environmentally friendly.

Crosetti: Very Nice.

Beatrice: I love this house.

Ellen: It is a wonderful space, a unique opportunity. I've been in this business for fifteen and a half years and I haven't come across such a total package in all my days. This home is going to sell in a heartbeat.

Crosetti: You told me it's a buyer's market, that nothing was selling.

Ellen: What's that rule about exceptions?

Beatrice: Show my dad the upstairs. (to Crosetti) You gotta see the skylights.

Beatrice and Ellen go upstairs. Crosetti begins to follow. Lewis grabs Crosetti by the elbow.

Lewis: Lemme ask you something, pilgrim. Why is it you're considering living all this ways out from the city?

Crosetti: My Beatrice is excited about this area. That's all that counts.

Lewis: And I'm saying to you, with all due respect, that this is a place where they believe that spaghetti was invented in a can, y'dig?

Crosetti: I've lived too many years by myself. I want my daughter back with me. I need a familiy, a home.

Lewis: You have a home. In the city.

Crosetti: I need something new. I gotta get out of the old neighborhood. I'm suoffocating there. And I got a chance to have my daughter back with me. Iv'e prayed for this.

Ellen: (calls from to pof stairs) Yoo-hoo. Detective Crosetti.

Crosetti starts up stairs. Lewis grabs him again.

Lewis: You go up those stairs and you'll never make it back down. Not as we have all known and loved ya. The pods are upstairs, Steve. They're waiting to bodysnatch you.

Crosetti: That's my daughter you're talking about? Is that nice, calling her a "pod"?

Lewis: that's not your daughter. It used to be. They're too friendly, Steve.

Crosetti: You're embarassing me. And yourself.

Lewis: They're way too friendly. You've been warned.

On Crosetti, ascending the stairs, CUT TO:


Regular boat traffic on the Bay. In f.g., PICK UP a MALE, early twenties, sitting in front seat of Landcruiser, head tilted backward at an awkward angle. Wounds from an automatic weapon cover him from head to toe. The MEDICAL EXAMINER makes initial observations, speaking into a microcassette recorder.

Medical Examiner: Body is that of a well-nourished black male appearing to be appxoximately twenty-two years of age. He's sitting in the front seat of a car, his head tilted back at an awkward angle.

CAMERA PANS interior of the vehicle, dotted with bullet holes and covered with a film of cocaine dust.

Medical Examiner: Victim is clad in blue jeans and a white t-shirt and is cool to the touch. There are numerous defects to the clothign which appear to be consistent with a large caliber weapon. Upon external exam, there is evidence of an entrance wound at the right upper jaw area. Other bullet wounds are also noted around the neck and head areas. There is no pronounced stippling. Rigor is present and fixed in equal degrees in all extremities.

PICK UP STANLEY BOLANDER and JOHN MUNCH approaching Landcruiser. 9mm shell casings litter the crime scene.

Munch: Congratulate me.

Bolander: For what?

Munch: Me and Felicia, we've decided: We're in love.

Bolander: You've "decided" it's love? What if it wasn't? What would it have been, a decision that it's insanity?

Munch: Congratulate me.

Munch extends his hand to Bolander, who waves Munch off.

Bolander: I'm not shaking that hand. I don't know where that hand's been. Or what it's been touching on you. I have enough problems already.

Medical Examiner: Another drug dealer. Collect all thirteen in the series, win a set of dishes.

Boladner: Live stupid, die young. (looks into back seat) What do we got here?

Bolander lifts plastic bag from back seat.

CU on BAG -- A small FISH, dark brownish-grey covered with iridescent blue spots, is swimming in water.

Bolander (cont.): What, a tropical fish?

Munch: It's still alive?

Bolander: (holds bag up close to Munch's face) Is it floating on the top?

Munch: You're such a bitter person. I'm in love, it drives you crazy. Can't you be happy for me?

Bolander: I'm head over heels. I'm ecstatic. I'm beside myself.

Munch: Jealous. You're riddled with jealousy, Big Man. You're bitter. You're cranky. You don't have any juice left. You've run out of oil. Anyone can erad your dipstick. You're jealous and you have no redemptive qualities what-so-ever so you need to strike out. You need to belittle and ridicule. You're gonna end up one of those old guys sitting all by himself on a park bench, feeding the pigeons.

Bolander hands Munch bag, goes. On Munch, holding bag, CUT TO:



Pembleton enters. He sees Beau Felton and Kay Howard eating with a MAN whose back is to the door. Pembleton approaches table.

Howard: Hey, Frank. Gee said we're working on the Cox case.

Pembleton: Yeah, I need you to canvas the Fayette Street area with Bayliss --

MAN turns, revealing himself to be TYRON, in street clothes.

Tyron: Hello, Frank.

Pembleton: Hiya . . . (to Howard) You know the Lieutenant?

Howard: Jimmy was my boss over at Southwest, taught me everything I know.

Tyron: Taught alota rookies. Only a few got the message. (pulls out chair) Sit down, Frank. Lemme buy you lunch.

Ryan and Hellriegel cross from bar with mugs of beer.

Ryan: Hey, Detective . . .

Hellriegel: How ya doing, Pembleton?

They sit.

Felton: C'mon, Frank. Sit down.

Pembleton: (beat, as he looks at the MEN he interrogated a few hours ago) I don't think so.

As PEMBLETON crosses to a table and sits alone, FADE OUT.


*[ skip ahead - this part still in progress - Laurel ] *

( Takes place right after Bolander tells Linda (Julianna Marguilles) that he "could eat a small pony" and she says "We're out." )



Crosetti and Felton walking.

Felton: Trust me, you're never gonna live in that house. The moment you put down the first earnest money on that hut, you will be walking down the corridors of hell. Just when you're sitting, comfortable, with a bag of Doritos and a cold beer and reruns of Green Acres, boom, like some funky cartoon, you'll discover that there's lead lurking in the layers of paint, asbestos in the basement, invisible radon gas, formaldehyde, electro-magnetic fields around the color TV, radiation leakage from the microwave and e.coli bacteria in the faucet. So, the wife, she panics. She decides you have to move out immediately. But then you can't sell the place. Go on, Crosetti, break your ass trying to figure out what the house payments are gonna be. I get my mortgage statements from the bank every month. Regular as clockwork, and for teh ilfe of me, I can't remember if I was in that house long enough to tape my kidney.

PICK UP BAYLISS, crossing to water fountain. He sees Dale enter, shy.

Dale: Excuse me, Detective.

Bayliss: Yes, hello.

Dale: I'm Dale.

Bayliss: Dale, yes, I remember, sit down.

Dale: No, no, I can't stay . . . I don't like what's happening in my neighborhood. Everybody so angry. It's only gonna get worse. We gotta do something.

Bayliss: You haev some information on death of C.C. Cox?

Dale: (nods) Well, yes, I guess I do . . .

On BAYLISS, eyes lighting up, FADE OUT.


* [ skip ahead again here, haven't done this part yet - Laurel ] *

Linda: It's not about being a good cellist. It's about having a good time playing the cello, right?

On BOLANDER, considering his suddenly infinite options, CUT TO:


Lewis exits townhouse, looks up into bright beam of MAG light


Lewis' POV - Obenreder holds flashlight beam on him. Obenreder also grips something, shielded inside small paper bag.

Lewis: Oh, hey, hi. Didn't I see you before? You own this next door place, huh?

No response.

Lewis (cont.): Nice area out here. It's peaceful.

Obenreder: We like it that way.

Lewis: So do I.

Obenreder: We like it the way it is.

Lewis: Uh-huh. Well, sure, so do I . . . What, you think I'm buying this place?

No response.

Crosetti comes out. Lewis turns, beckons him to come over.

Lewis (cont.): Steve, I got your new neighbor here. (to Obenreder) This is the new owner. His last name ends in a vowel. Ain't that something? If it's not one of us, it's one of them.

Obenreder: You don't want this house.

Crosetti: What'cha got in the bag? Put the bag down. I'm a cop.

Obenreder: I know. You're a homicide detective.

Obenreder unsheathes the paper bag from his hidden hand, revealing a fistful of Polaroids.

Obenreder (cont.); You wanna see the pictures?

Crosetti: I wanna know how you know I'm a cop.

Obenreder: I have pictures of the man in this house. You should know about him.

Crosetti: What do I need any pictures for? What people do in their house, that's up to them. Nosey son of a bitch --

Obenreder: You don't want to see these pictures? Fine.

Obenreder shoves Polaroids into bag, goes.

Lewis: Maybe he's just having a bad hair day.

On Crosetti, troubled, CUT TO:



TYRON, behind the wheel of a squad car, begins to pull out. HOWARD, in a Cavalier, turns in, HEADLIGHTS FLASHING. They stop alongside each other, door to door.

Howard: We found a witness in the Cox shooting. Or he may be a suspect. Layne Staley. You know anything about him?

* [ Skip ahead, still working on this part -Laurel ] *

Pembleton goes to "The Board", wipes COX off in RED, rewrites it in BLACK, then rushes out. On Giardello, in doorway, watching Pembleton go, the statement in his hands, feeling as if it's the weight of the entire world.






Ellen, seated at table, goes over Crosetti's mortgage worksheets, feeding numbers into calculator, making entries onto separate worksheets. Crosetti peeks over her shoulder.

Crosetti: . . . And I'm still trying to figure out how that old guy next door knows I'm a cop.

Ellen: You've done your homework, Detective. I think the bank is going to look very favorably on your numbers.

Crosetti: Great. How does that old man know I'm a cop? He knew I work Homiicide.

Ellen: Mr. Obenreder's a very unfortunate old man. Everyone in the neighborhood has complaints about him. (turns over worksheet, scans) You're using your police pension as a supplement to your equity guarantee. You're gold.

Crosetti: That old man, what'd he do, scare the other people out of the house?

Ellen collates papers, slides them into folder.

Ellen: I foresee no complications. YOu should be able to close on the new place within, oh, I'd say three weeks. Four, tops.

Crosetti That quick, huh? My Beatrice, she'll flip when she hears . . . .So where'd he go?

Ellen: Who's that?

Crosetti: The guy who owns the house.

Ellen: He lives in Lutherville. A lovely Victorian . . .

Crosetti: Why'd he move?

Ellen: Oh, he never lived there . . . He bought it as an investment.

Crosetti: Then where's the guy who _did_ live there? Maybe I could talk to him. Obenreder had some pictures he wanted to show me. He's strange. My daughter's goinna be there alone a lot.

Ellen: I haven't been handling the house all that long, so I don't know any details. I _do_ know that the previous tenant was renting, with an option to buy.

Crosetti: Couldn't swing the deal, huh?

Ellen: No. He died.

Crosetti: He what?

Ellen: He's dead.

Crosetti: He's dead, the man that was in that house?

Ellen: He died . . . In the house, I think.

Crosetti: The man in that house died in that house and you didn't think it was worth mentioning? How did he die?

Ellen: There were alot of ugly rumors. I don't listen to rumors.

Crosetti: I do.

Ellen: Mmm, I heard hi slungs gave out, that he smoked like a fiend. Someone else told me he overdosed on cocaine. Still another said--

Crosetti: Mrs. Hildebrandt, I'm a detective. I'm paid to know when someone's lying.

Ellen: Okay. There was a mistake made. With the valve to the gas heater. The owner thought the gas company was going to fix the leak.

Crosetti: He died in that house from a gas leak? From carbon monoxide poisoning?

Ellen: It was a mix-up.

Crosetti: A mix-up? Somebody was responsible for this. This was negligence.

Ellen: People die in houses all the time. What's the difference between a heart attack or falling down the basement stairs or a gas leak? People die in houses and you can't stop it.

Crosetti: Somebody didn't fix something and that killed a man. That's murder.

Ellen: The owner is suffering. YOu don't think he's in agony over this?

Crosetti: He's in agony? He's alive, isn't he? And living in Lutherville. He's way ahead on this one. He should have made sure that gas leak was repaired. Did he at least mention to this tenant-with-an-option-to-buy that there'd been a problem? Did he put it on the list of repairs he'd made?

Ellen: No. Property disclosure forms aren't mandatory in Maryland. But I can assure you, Detective Crosetti, that the glitch has been corrected. We can go over there, I'll show you--

Crosetti: If it had been fixed in the first place, I'd've never got a shot at this house 'cause that man would've bought it, don'tcha think? But since he bought the farm instead, got wiped out, it's my good luck.

Elllen: If you don't like what you see with th eheater, I think we could swing something where the owner would come down on the price. He's a very motivated seller, believe me.

Crosetti: Yeah, well, let's see how motivated he is when I bring him before a grand jury for involuntary manslaughter.

On Crosetti, fuming, CUT TO:

* [ a Bolander and Munch scene about Felicia's fish - haven't typed it in yet - Laurel ] *



Felton, Crosetti, and Lewis walk together.

Crosetti: I feel bad. My Beatrice was so excited about moving out to the suburbs.

Lewis: These things happen.

Crosetti: I'm gonna keep looking for a new house.

Lewis: As well you should.

Crosetti: She says, in the meantime, she doesn't mind living in the old house.

Lewis: She's a great kid.

Crosetti: She's lying to me. She hates the old house.

Felton: Y'know, I remember hearing about the guy dying in that place you were gonna buy. A year or so ago.

Crosetti: I can't ever get away from murder. Even the house I wanna buy, it's a murder.

Felton: Maybe you should go back. (off Crosetti's look) Well, you said she came down forty thousand on the price.

They pass Giardello, who stands at "The Board", staring at COX in BLACK. Beat. He erases the name, rewrites it in RED. As Giardello exits, CUT TO:

[ the scene in the holding cell with Gee and Staley. Haven't finished the rest of the episode yet. Will fill in the blanks when I can. For now, I think it's most interesting to see these "missing scenes" that weren't in the episode as we know it. - Laurel ]

Transcription of a script (from Script Shop) by Laurel Krahn.

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