SEVEN



					  by Andrew Kevin Walker












										    8/8/94











	INT.  OLD HOUSE -- DAY

	Sunlight comes through the soot on the windows, more brown than
	bright.  SOMERSET, 45, stands in one corner of this small,
	second-story room.  He looks over the ceiling, looks down at the
	worn wooden floors, looks at the peeling wallpaper.

	He walks to the center of the room, continues his study, taking
	his time.  He halts, turns to one wall where the current
	wallpaper is torn away to reveal flowery wallpaper underneath.

	Somerset goes to this wall and runs his finger across one of the
	pale, red roses which decorates the older paper.  He pushes the
	grime away, brings the rose out more clearly.

	He reaches into his suit pocket and takes out a switchblade.  He
	flips the thin, lethal blade free.  Working deliberately,
	delicately, Somerset cuts a square around the rose, then peels
	the square of dry wallpaper away from the wall.  He studies it in
	his hand.

	EXT.  OLD HOUSE -- DAY

	Somerset stands in front of the old home.  He looks out at the
	surrounding farms and forests.  He ponders something.  Birds
	sing.

						    MAN (O.S.)
			    Is something wrong?

	Somerset does not respond, just stares off.  The MAN, 34, wears a
	real-estate broker's jacket and stands beside a FOR SALE sign in
	the muddy lawn.

						    MAN
			    Is there something the matter?

	Somerset turns to face the man, then looks back at the house.

						    SOMERSET
			    No.  No... it's just that everything here
			    seems... so strange.

						    MAN
			    Strange?  There's nothing strange about
			    this place.  The house'll need a little
			    fixing up, that's for sure...

						    SOMERSET
			    No.  I like the house, and this place.

						    MAN
			    I was about to say.  Cause this place is
			    about as normal as places get.

	Somerset nods, taking a deep breath.  He smiles.

						    SOMERSET
			    That's what I mean.  Strange.

	Somerset looks back to the beautiful landscape.  The man does not
	understand.

	INT.  AMTRACK TRAIN -- LATER DAY

	Somerset is in the window seat, looking out the window of the
	speeding train, smoking a cigarette.  He is near the back of the
	car, away from the few other passengers.

	Outside, farms, fields, small homes and lawns rush by.  The
	panorama is dappled by the rays of the soon to be setting sun.

	INT.  AMTRACK TRAIN -- LATER DAY

	The train is almost full, moving slower.  Somerset has his
	suitcase on the aisle seat beside him.  He holds a hardcover book
	unopened on his lap.  He still stares out the window, but his
	face is tense.  The train is passing an ugly, swampy field.  The
	sun has gone under.

	Though it seems impossible it ever could have gotten there, a
	car's burnt-out skeleton sits rusting in the bracken.

	Ahead, the city waits.  The sky is full of smokestacks and huge
	industrial cranes.

	INT.  AMTRACK TRAIN -- LATER DAY

	The train is passing urban streets below.  Slums and smashed
	cars.  People stand in groups in the corners.  Bleak.

	Somerset's suitcase is now on the window seat.  Somerset has
	moved to the aisle.  He is reading his book.  He looks up from
	the book and rubs his eyes, then looks back to continue reading,
	not once looking out the window.

	EXT.  CITY STREET -- NIGHT

	Somerset carries his suitcase outside the train station.  The
	city demands attention: cars screeching, people yelling, sirens
	blaring.

	Somerset passes a family of bewildered tourists.  A WEIRD MAN has
	a hand on the tourist-father's suitcase.

	It has become a tugging match with the Weird Man shouting, "I'll
	take you to a taxi... I'll take you."  Ahead, a group is gathered
	on the sidewalk near two ambulances.  People clamor to get a look
	at a BLOODY BODY which lies on the street.

	Policeman try to hold the crowd off.  Ambulance attendants
	administer aid to the victim, who convulses.  Somerset moves by,
	ignoring it all.  He motions for a cab.  One pulls up from the
	street's stream of vehicles.

	INT.  CAB -- NIGHT

	Somerset throws his suitcase in and shuts the door behind him.

						    CAB DRIVER
					  (about the crowd)
			    What's the big fuss?

	Somerset looks out at the crowd, looks at the driver.

						    SOMERSET
			    Why do you care?

						    CAB DRIVER
					  (under his breath)
			    Well, excuse me all to hell.

	The driver leans forward, checking it out.  The circle of
	spectators shifts suddenly.  A man has shoved another man and
	they're really going at it now.  The swing at each other and tear
	at each other's clothing.  One man's flailing fist connects and
	the other man's face is instantly bloodied.  The fight grows even
	more spastic.  Policemen try to stop it.

						    CAB DRIVER
			    Crazy fucks.

	The driver pulls away and the cab rages down the street.
	Somerset watches the parade of neon passing on the avenue.  He
	slumps back in the seat and closes his eyes.

						    CAB DRIVER
			    Where you headed?

	Somerset opens his eyes.

						    SOMERSET
			    Far away from here.

	INT.  SOMERSET'S APARTMENT -- NIGHT

	The curtains are closed.  The SOUNDS of the CITY are here as they
	will be everywhere in this story.  A CAR ALARM is SOUNDING,
	shrill and clear.  Somerset's life is packed into moving boxes,
	except for some clothing in a closet and hundreds and hundreds of
	books on the shelves of one wall.  Somerset is lying on the bed,
	dressed only in his underwear.

	He reaches to the nightstand, to a wooden, pyramidical metronome.
	He frees the metronome's weighted swingarm so it moves back and
	forth.  Swings to the left -- TICK, swings to the right -- TICK.
	Tick... tick... tick... measured and steady.

	Somerset situates on the bed, closes his eyes.  Tick... tick...
	tick.  The metronome's sound competes with the sound of the car
	alarm.  Somerset's face tightens as he concentrates on the
	metronome.  His eyes close tighter.  Tick... tick... tick.  The
	swingarm moves evenly.  Somerset's breathing deepens.

	Tick... tick... tick.  The car alarm seems quieter.

	Tick... tick... tick.  Somerset continues his concentration.  The
	metronome's sound seems louder.

	Tick... tick... tick.  The sound of the car alarm fades, and is
	GONE.  The metronome is the only sound.

	Somerset's face relaxes as he begins to fall asleep.  Tick...
	tick... tick...

	INSERT -- TITLE CARD

	SUNDAY

	INT.  SOMERSET'S APARTMENT -- MORNING

	Somerset picks items off a moving box: his keys, wallet,
	switchblade, gold homicide badge.  Finally, he opens the
	hardcover book he had with him on the train.  From the pages, he
	takes the pale, paper rose.

	INT.  TENEMENT APARTMENT -- DAY

	Somerset stands before a wall which is stained by a star-burst of
	blood.  A body lies on the floor under a sheet.  A sawed-off
	shotgun lies not far from the body.  The apartment is gloomy.

	DETECTIVE TAYLOR, 52, stands on the other side of the room, looks
	through a notepad.

						    TAYLOR
			    Neighbors heard them screaming at each
			    other for like two hours.  It was nothing
			    new.  But, then they heard the gun go off.
			    Both barrels.

						    SOMERSET
			    Did the wife confess?

						    TAYLOR
			    When the patrolman came she was trying
			    put his head back together.  She was crying
			    too hard to say anything.

	Somerset beings walking around the apartment.

						    SOMERSET
			    Why always like this?  Only after the
			    fact... this sudden realization, that if
			    you shoot someone, or stick a knife in
			    them, that person will cease to exist.

						    TAYLOR
			    Crime of passion.

						    SOMERSET
			    Yes.  Look at all the passion splattered up
			    on the wall here.

						    TAYLOR
			    This is a done deal.  All but the
			    paperwork.

	Taylor shifts his weight, impatient.  Somerset looks at a
	coloring book open on the coffee table.  There are crayons beside
	it.  Somerset picks the book up, flips through the pages.

						    SOMERSET
			    Did their son see it happen?

						    TAYLOR
			    I don't know.

	Taylor closes his notebook, perturbed.  Somerset looks at the
	pictures of cute, crudely colored animals.

						    TAYLOR
			    What kind of fucking question is that
			    anyway?

	Taylor walks over and grabs the coloring book to get his
	attention.

						    TAYLOR
			    You know, we're all real glad we're getting
			    rid of you, Somerset.  You know that?  I
			    mean, it's always these questions with
			    you... "Did the kid see it?"  Well, who
			    gives a fuck?  Huh?
					  (points)
			    He's dead.  His wife killed him.

	Taylor throws the coloring book back to Somerset and walks.

						    TAYLOR
			    Anything else has nothing to do with us.

	Taylor leaves, pushing past DETECTIVE DAVID MILLS, 31, who is
	just entering.  Mills is muscular and handsome.  He looks back at
	Taylor, then around the apartment, a bit disoriented.

	Somerset puts down the coloring book.  He stares at the floor,
	showing no reaction to Taylor's tantrum.

						    MILLS
			    Uh, Lieutenant Somerset?

	Somerset turns to see Mills.

	EXT.  CITY STREET -- DAY

	A body bag is carried through a crowd of people outside the
	tenement building.

	Somerset follows the body bag out and Mills follows Somerset.
	They walk towards the end of the filthy block, past a man
	urinating on a car.

						    MILLS
			    I'm a little thrown.  I just got in town
			    like twenty minutes ago and they dumped me
			    here.

						    SOMERSET
			    Since we're just starting out, I thought we
			    could go to a bar... sit and talk for
			    awhile.  After that, we'll...

						    MILLS
					  (interrupting)
			    Actually, if it's all the same, I'd like to
			    get to the precinct house a.s.a.p.  Seeing
			    how we don't have much time for this whole
			    transition thing.

	Somerset keeps walking, says nothing.

						    MILLS
			    I need to start getting the feel of it all,
			    right?  Meet the people.

						    SOMERSET
			    I meant to ask you something, Mills, when
			    we spoke on the phone.  I can't help
			    wondering... why here?

						    MILLS
			    I... I don't follow.

						    SOMERSET
			    All this effort you've made to get
			    transferred, it's the first question that
			    pops into my head.

						    MILLS
			    I'm here for the same reasons as you, I
			    guess.  Or, at least, the same reasons you
			    used to have for being here before...
			    before you decided to... quit.

	Somerset stops and faces Mills.

						    SOMERSET
			    You just met me.

						    MILLS
			    Maybe I'm not understanding the question.

						    SOMERSET
			    It's very simple.  You worked a nice, quiet
			    town, but you fought to get here as if your
			    life depended on it.  I've just never seen
			    it done that way before, Detective.

						    MILLS
			    Maybe I thought I could do more good here
			    than there.  I don't know.  Look, it'd be
			    great by me if we didn't start right off
			    kicking each other in the balls.  But,
			    you're calling the shots, Lieutenant, so...
			    however you want it to go.

						    SOMERSET
			    Let me tell you how I want this to go.  I
			    want you to look, and I want you to listen.

						    MILLS
			    I wasn't standing around guarding the local
			    Taco Bell.  I've worked homicide for five
			    and a half years.

						    SOMERSET
			    Not here.

						    MILLS
			    I realize that.

						    SOMERSET
			    Well, over the next seven days, do me the
			    favor of remembering it.

	Somerset turns and walks away.  Mills stands a moment, pissed.
	He follows after Somerset.

	INSERT -- TITLE CARD

	MONDAY

	INT.  SOMERSET'S APARTMENT -- EARLY MORNING

	Somerset lies asleep in bed.  It is still dark outside.  The
	PHONE beside the inactive metronome RINGS.  Somerset awakens
	suddenly, startled.  He looks towards the phone.

	INT.  MILLS' APARTMENT, BEDROOM -- EARLY MORNING

	It is just barely becoming light outside.  Mills is wide awake in
	bed beside the sleeping form of his wife, TRACY, 30.  Mills looks
	tired.  He listens to passing traffic.  He covers his eyes with
	his forearm.

	He takes his arm away and sits up, frustrated, sits on the edge
	of the bed.  The room is a shambles, filled with moving boxes.

	Light coming through the window glows upon a football trophy
	sticking from one box.

	Large and noble, a golden player stands in frozen motion at the
	trophy's pinnacle.

	Mills looks at the trophy and a fond smile forms on his face.
	The PHONE RINGS.  Mills looks towards it.  Tracy awakens.  She
	looks up with half-opened eyes, a beautiful woman.

						    TRACY
			    What is it?

	Phone rings.  Mills reaches to touch Tracy's shoulder.

						    MILLS
			    It's okay.

	Mills leans to get the phone.  Tracy seems frightened.

						    TRACY
			    Honey... where are we?

	EXT.  APARTMENT BUILDING, ALLEYWAY -- EARLY MORNING

	Somerset and Mills, both wearing badges, walk with OFFICER DAVIS,
	a beefy, uniformed cop.  They pass police cars and head into a
	trash strewn alleyway.  Davis hands Somerset two flashlights.

						    DAVIS
			    Everything's like I found it.  I didn't
			    touch anything.

						    SOMERSET
			    What time did you confirm the death?

						    DAVIS
			    Like I said, I didn't touch him, but he's
			    had his face in a plate of spaghetti for
			    about forty-five minutes now.

	They reach a rusty, side door, which Davis pulls open.

	INT.  APARTMENT BUILDING, STAIRWELL -- EARLY MORNING

	They enter a dark, ugly stairwell.

						    MILLS
					  (to Davis) 
			    Hold on... you mean you didn't check for
			    vital signs?

						    DAVIS
			    Did I stutter?  Believe me, he ain't
			    breathing, unless he's started breathing
			    spaghetti sauce.

						    MILLS
			    The point is, whenever you find...

						    DAVIS
			    Begging your pardon, but the guy's sitting
			    in pile of his own shit and piss.  If he
			    ain't dead, he would've stood up by now.

	Mills is angry, about to speak, but Somerset heads him off.

						    SOMERSET
					  (to Davis)
			    Thank you, officer.  We'll need to talk to
			    you again, after we've looked around.

						    DAVIS
			    Yes, sir.

	Davis walks out, eyeing Mills.  Mills watches him go.  The rusty
	door slams shut behind Davis.  It's very dark.  Somerset turns on
	his flashlight, hands the other to Mills and starts upstairs.

						    SOMERSET
			    I wonder what exactly was the point of the
			    conversation you were about to get into?

						    MILLS
			    And I wonder how many times Officer Davis
			    there has found a dead man who wasn't
			    really dead until Davis was in the car
			    calling it in and eating a donut.

						    SOMERSET
			    Drop it.

						    MILLS
			    For now.

	INT.  APARTMENT BUILDING, HALLWAY -- EARLY MORNING

	Somerset comes from the stairwell, looking down the dark hall.
	At the end of the hall, a door is open.  The light of a CAMERA
	FLASH spills out from that room every few seconds.

	Mills and Somerset move on.  Somerset takes out rubber gloves and
	slips them on, looking at something on the floor ahead.  A yellow
	RECYCLING BIN sits just outside the door.  It contains many neat,
	string-bound stacks of issues of READER'S DIGEST.

	INT.  APARTMENT, LIVING ROOM -- EARLY MORNING

	There are lights on in this room.  Lamps with dusty shades.  A
	few porn mags on a table.  Somerset and Mills cross.  A couch
	against one wall is piled with yellowed, once white pillows.  It
	faces two small televisions, both on with no sound.

	INT.  APARTMENT, KITCHEN -- EARLY MORNING

	Somerset and Mills enter, using their flashlights in the dark.
	Mills takes out a handkerchief, covering his nose.  ERIC is
	crouched on the floor, putting camera equipment away.

	He's wearing a medical mask over his face.  He hoists his bag and
	moves past the detectives.

						    ERIC
			    Enjoy.

	Eric leaves.  Somerset sweeps the room with his flashlight...

	At the stove, each burner has a used pot or pan on it.  Food has
	been slopped there and on the adjoining counter-top and sink.
	Used utensils are everywhere, along with empty tin cans and jars.
	Cockroaches swarm.

	The flashlight beam follows a trail of dripped sauces, soups and
	crumbs of food across the floor from the stove to a kitchen
	table.  The kitchen table is covered in soiled paper plates which
	hold bits of half-eaten sandwiches, potatoes, beef stew, donuts
	and many other junk foods.

	The kitchen is tiny; barely enough room for three people.  The
	kitchen table is at the center of the room.  An OBESE MAN is
	slumped forward in a kitchen chair.  He is face down dead in a 
	plate of spaghetti.

						    MILLS
			    Christ... somebody phone Guiness.  I think
			    we've got a World's Record here.

	Mills walks to the dead man, leaning to study, without touching.

						    MILLS
			    Who said this was murder?

						    SOMERSET
			    No one yet.

						    MILLS
			    Then, why are we wasting our time?  This
			    guy's heart's got to be roughly the size of
			    a canned ham.  If this isn't a coronary, I
			    don't know what is.

	Somerset moves his flashlight beam down the obese corpse, stops
	at the man's feet.  Somerset kneels.

	At the obese man's pants cuff, there's a tiny bit of rope
	sticking out.  Somerset uses a pen to lift the pants leg.  Rope
	is tied around the swollen, purple ankle.

						    MILLS
			    Or not.

	Somerset stands and steps back.  Mills bends to take his place,
	looking under the table and shining his flashlight into the
	corpse's lap.  The obese man's bloated hands are folded there,
	bound tightly with rope.

						    MILLS
			    Still... he could have tied himself up, to
			    make it look like murder.  I saw a guy
			    once... committed suicide, but wanted to
			    make sure his family could collect the life
			    insurance, right?

	Somerset does not listen.  He is focused on the corpse, studies
	the back of the man's head and neck.  He runs his pen against the
	back of the corpse's neck, combing the hair upwards.

	There are small circular and semi-circular BRUISES on the back of
	the obese man's head and neck, some hidden under the hair.

						    MILLS
			    When we found him, he was lying there with
			    a knife in his back, so what else could it
			    be but homicide?  Except, I finally figured
			    out... he held the knife behind him... put
			    the tip of it in his own back and got real
			    close to the wall... then he shoved his
			    body backwards...

						    SOMERSET
					  (irritated)
			    Please be quiet for a while, would you?

	Mills looks up at Somerset from below.  Somerset remains focused
	on the bruises.

						    MILLS
					  (sarcastic)
			    Oh, yes, sir.  Forgive me.

	Mills stands and walks around to the other side of the table,
	where he gets down again.

						    MILLS
			    There's a bucket here.

						    SOMERSET
			    What?

						    MILLS
			    There's a bucket.  Under the table.

	Somerset crouches, pulls up the cheap tablecloth on his side of
	the table.  A METAL BUCKET sits under the table.

						    SOMERSET
			    What is it?

	Mills slides under with his flashlight, angling in the confined
	space to look.  He is repulsed and pulls back.

						    MILLS
			    It's vomit.

	Mills stands and backs away, near the refrigerator, not wanting
	to be anywhere near that bucket.

						    MILLS
			    It's a bucket of vomit.

						    SOMERSET
			    Is there any blood in it?

						    MILLS
			    I don't know.  Feel free to look for
			    yourself, okay?

	Somerset stands, stares at the obese man.  He shakes his head,
	perplexed.  There is a KNOCK at the door.  The detectives look to
	see DOCTOR THOMAS O'NEILL, 52, the medical examiner, in the
	doorway.  O'Neill is looking at the ceiling.  He flicks the lighs
	switch.  No light, so he flicks the switch up and down.

						    O'NEILL
			    Wonderful.

	O'Neill seems a bit gone.  He drops his black bag onto the floor
	beside the corpse.  he begins to sort through the bag, surgical
	tools clinking together.

	Mills turns to open the refrigerator.  It's nearly empty.

						    MILLS
					  (to Somerset)
			    You think it was poison?

						    SOMERSET
			    Guessing at this point is useless.

	The trash can beside the refrigerator is filled to the brim with
	empty food containers.  Mills begins to poke around with a pen.

						    O'NEILL
			    You girls have got forensics waiting
			    outside.  I don't know if we'll all fit
			    though.

						    MILLS
			    There's room.  Light's the problem.

	Somerset looks at Mills, then at the space limitations.

						    SOMERSET
			    Still... two is company here.  And, three
			    is certainly a crowd.
					  (pause)
			    Detective Mills, go help the officers
			    question the neighbors.

	Mills looks up, not pleased.

						    MILLS
			    I'd rather stay on this.

	Somerset is looking at the corpse.

						    SOMERSET
			    Send one of the forensics in on your way
			    out.

	Mills does not move.  He lifts his flashlight to shine the light
	on the side of Somerset's face.  A moment.  Somerset looks at
	Mills, the light shining directly in Somerset's eyes.  A longer
	moment.  Mills switches off the light and leaves.

	O'Neill places both hands on the dead man's head and lifts the
	swollen visage from the spaghetti.

						    O'NEILL
			    He is dead.

						    SOMERSET
			    Thank you, Doctor.

	INT.  SOMERSET'S CAR -- DAY

	Somerset drives with Mills as the passenger.  Heavy city traffic.
	Both stare ahead in silence.  Mills is a bundle of nerves.

						    MILLS
			    You've seen my files, right?  Seen the
			    things I've done?

						    SOMERSET
			    No.

						    MILLS
					  (looking out window)
			    Anyway... I did my time on door-to-doors,
			    and walking a beat.  I did all that shit
			    for a long time.

						    SOMERSET
			    Good.

						    MILLS
			    The badge in my pocket says "detective,"
			    same as yours.

						    SOMERSET
			    I made a decision, because I have to
			    consider the integrity of the scene.  I
			    can't worry whether you think you're
			    getting enough time on the playing field.

						    MILLS
			    Yeah, well, all I want is...
					  (pause)
			    Just, just don't be jerking me off.  That's
			    all I ask.  Don't jerk me off.

	Mills looks at Somerset.  Somerset keeps his eyes on the road,
	but nods slightly.  That said, Mills slumps low into his seat.

						    SOMERSET
			    We'll be spending every waking hour
			    together till I leave.  I'll show you who
			    your friends are, and your enemies.  I'll
			    help you cut through the red tape and I
			    will help you "integrate," as the captain
			    puts it.  However...
					  (pauses, clears throat)
			    No matter how much you beg or plead...
			    jerking off is something you'll have to do
			    for yourself.

	This throws Mills.  Somerset has a sense of humour?

						    SOMERSET
			    Is that clear?

						    MILLS
			    Okay... sure...  It's just that, with my
			    old partner, you know...

						    SOMERSET
			    I just don't think we should have that sort
			    of relationship.  We'd start quarreling
			    over insignificant things.

	Mills lets out a nervous laugh, feels a bit of weight off his
	shoulders.

						    MILLS
			    Whatever you say, Detective.  Beautiful.

	INT.  AUTOPSY ROOM -- DAY

	The room is large, cold and clean.  Stainless steel and white
	tile.  Many pathologists work at slabs.  A bone saw screams.
	Mills and Somerset are with DOCTOR SANTIAGO, who stands over the
	obese corpse which is pretty well dissected already.

						    SANTIAGO
			    He's been dead for a long time, and I can
			    tell you it was not a poison.

	Santiago moves to make room for Mills to stand beside him.  Mills
	moves up a little, but not much, looking on in disgust.  Santiago
	reaches into the man's belly.  We do not see.

						    MILLS
			    Ah, man... how does somebody let himself go
			    like that?  Look at the blubber.

	Santiago moves something and there is a squashy sound.

						    SANTIAGO
			    It took four orderlies and me all together
			    just to put this body on the table.

						    MILLS
			    How did the fat fuck ever fit out the door
			    of his apartment?

						    SOMERSET
			    Yes, it's obvious he was a shut-in.  Not an
			    enviable life, but, maybe he still deserves
			    a modicum of respect in spite of that.

						    SANTIAGO
			    Are you looking here?  First... see how big
			    this stomach is.  And, see the strange
			    thing.  Stretches.  And, here it is
			    distended.  Look at the size of that,
			    because of all the foods.

						    MILLS
			    I can see what you're pointing at, but...

						    SANTIAGO
			    Lines of distention across the stomach, and
			    parts have ripped open.

						    SOMERSET
					  (disbelief)
			    Doctor, are you saying... this man ate till
			    he burst?

						    SANTIAGO
			    Well, he didn't really burst.  Not all the
			    way.  But, he was bleeding inside himself,
			    and there is a hematoma on the outside, on
			    the belly.  Very large.

						    MILLS
			    He died by eating?

						    SANTIAGO
			    Yes.  And, there's something else here you
			    have to look at and see.

	Santiago goes to root through many jars on a table.  Somerset
	walks around the slab, looking down at the obese man's propped
	up, partially shaved head.

						    SOMERSET
			    These bruises on the victim's head...

	More round and semi-circular bruises have been revealed, all
	about the same diameter as a dime.

						    SANTIAGO
			    I don't kow what they are yet.  They...

						    SOMERSET
			    They could have been caused by a gun.  The
			    barrel of a gun... pressed against the back
			    of his head.

	Santiago picks up the jar he was looking for, comes to lean and
	look at the obese man's head, nodding again.

						    SANTIAGO
			    If it was jammed against him hard enough,
			    sure.  It's possible.  Here...

	Santiago gives the jar to Somerset.

						    SANTIAGO
			    Most of the stomach's food contents are in
			    the lab now.... but, these... I found these
			    in his stomach too.

	Somerset holds the jar up.  Inside are many little pieces of blue
	plastic.  They are curled slightly, as if they are scrapings.
	Somerset hands the jar to Mills.  Mills shakes it, studying.

						    MILLS
			    Plastic?

						    SANTIAGO
			    Why these are in a fat man's stomach, I
			    don't know.

	INT.  APARTMENT, KITCHEN -- DAY

	The room where the obese corpse was found is now lit by
	fluorescent light.  Two forensics, a MALE and FEMALE, are dusting
	for prints.  Somerset and Mills are on their hands and knees.
	Somerset holds the jar and touches the linoleum floor.

						    SOMERSET
			    Same color and texture.

						    MILLS
					  (to forensics)
			    Have you found any plastic scrapings near
			    the stove or sink?  Near the food?

						    MALE FORENSIC
			    What do you mean?

	Mills and Somerset continue looking around the floor.

						    MILLS
					  (to Somerset)
			    This doesn't make any sense.

						    SOMERSET
			    You always have to find one singular thing
			    to focus on.  There's always one thing, and
			    it may be as small as a speck of dust, but
			    you find it and focus... till it's an
			    exhausted possibility.

	The forensics watch, curious.  Somerset is near the refrigerator.

						    MILLS
			    It could be nothing.

						    SOMERSET
			    But, why would there be so many pieces in
			    his stomach if it were nothing?  It must
			    have been intentional.

	Somerset stops.  There are deep scratches here in the linoleum.
	He fingers the grooves, then takes a piece of the plastic from
	the jar.  He holds the piece to the floor, fiddles... fits it
	into one of the scratches.

	Somerset gets off the floor and looks down.  These scratches are
	in front of the refrigerator.  it looks like they were caused by
	the refrigerator having been pulled away from the wall and pushed
	back into place at some time.

						    SOMERSET
					  (to Mills)
			    Come here.

	INT.  APARTMENT, KITCHEN -- LATER DAY

	Mills and Somerset pull the refrigerator, rocking it back and
	forth away from the wall to get a clear view behind it.  They
	strain, pull it a few more feet, and release.

	Mills leans to look at the wall behind.  Shock.

						    MILLS
			    Holy shit.

	Somerset comes to look.  Behind the refrigerator, there is a
	space on the wall where the dust has been wiped away.  In that
	space, the words: ONE IS GLUTTONY.  The letters have been
	smeared on in grease.  A NOTE is pinned beside them.

	INT.  PRECINCT HOUSE, CAPTAIN'S OFFICE -- EARLY EVENING

	The captain's office is filled with pictures, books and
	mugsheets.  Piles of paperwork abound, yet the office is
	meticulously well kept.  The CAPTAIN, 50, sits at his tidy desk.
	He wears a white shirt and conservative tie.

	He's a calm man, but whenever he is not speaking, without fail,
	he clenches his jaw over and over, causing the muscles in his
	neck and jaw to pulse.  Somerset and Mills sit before him.

						    SOMERSET
			    The bruises were caused by the muzzle of a
			    forty-five.  So, there was a gun against
			    his head and he was given a choice.  Eat,
			    or get your brains blown out.

	Somerset gets up to pace.

						    SOMERSET
			    He ate his fill, and was forced to continue
			    eating... till his body rejected the food.
			    the killer held a bucket under him, and
			    then kept serving.  He took his time.  The
			    coroner says this might have gone on for
			    more than twelve hours.  The victim's
			    throat was swollen from the effort, and
			    there was probably a point where he passed
			    out.  That's when killer kicked him in the
			    stomach.  Popped him.

						    MILLS
			    This was one sadistic motherfucker.

						    CAPTAIN
			    That seems obvious.

	Somerset picks up a photocopy of the NOTE from behind the fridge.

						    SOMERSET
					  (reads)
			    "Dear Detectives, Long is the way, and
			    hard, that out of hell leads up to light."
			    It's the murderer's way of announcing
			    himself.

						    CAPTAIN
			    Announcing what?

						    SOMERSET
			    There are seven deadly sins.  Gluttony,
			    wrath, greed...

						    CAPTAIN
			    So what?  This victim...

						    SOMERSET
			    ... envy, sloth, pride and lust.  Seven.

						    CAPTAIN
			    Hey, so gluttony is one of the seven deadly
			    sins.  But, this was a fat guy.  The killer
			    may have felt this was the just best way to
			    torture him.
			    And, writing on the walls happens all the
			    time.  It's like the fashionable thing to
			    do.

						    SOMERSET
			    One is gluttony.

	The captain is disgruntled, clenching his jaw, looks at Mills.

						    MILLS
			    This is his stuff.  I've been out in the
			    cold all day.

						    SOMERSET
			    This is a premeditated puzzle, and it's
			    only the beginning.

						    CAPTAIN
			    Always working up there, huh, Somerset?
			    Big brain's always cooking.

	Somerset sits.

						    SOMERSET
			    I'm declining this case.  I want us
			    reassigned.

						    MILLS
			    Whoa, whoa... what?!

						    CAPTAIN
			    What's this: "I'm declining this case?"  It
			    don't work that way.

						    SOMERSET
			    This can't be my last duty here.  It will
			    go on and on.

						    CAPTAIN
			    I know what you're thinking, okay?  You
			    don't want to get in bed with this every
			    night, but it's different now.  You're
			    retiring.  In six days you're all the way
			    gone.

	Somerset shakes his head.

						    CAPTAIN
			    You've left unfinished business before.

						    SOMERSET
			    Everything else was taken as close to
			    conclusion as humanly possible.  Also...
			    this shouldn't be his first assignment.

						    MILLS
			    This isn't my first assignment, dickhead.
			    What the hell?

	Mills stands, furious.

						    CAPTAIN
			    I don't have anyone else to give this to,
			    Somerset, you know that.  And nobody's
			    going to swap with you.

						    MILLS
			    Give it to me.

						    CAPTAIN
			    How's that?

						    MILLS
			    There's nothing that says I have to work
			    with him.  If Somerset wants out,
			    "goodbye."  Give it to me.

	The captain considers this.

						    SOMERSET
			    It's too soon for him.

						    MILLS
					  (to the captain)
			    Can we talk about this in private?

	The captain looks at Somerset, then at Mills.

						    CAPTAIN
			    That's not necessary.  You're in.

						    MILLS
			    Thank you.

						    CAPTAIN
			    Go start picking up the pieces.  We'll
			    shuffle some paper and try to get you a new
			    partner.

	Mills looks at Somerset, then leaves, closing the door.  Somerset
	seems deflated, staring at the floor.  He looks at the captain.

						    CAPTAIN
			    You win, Somerset.  You're out.

	INSERT -- TITLE CARD

	TUESDAY

	EXT.  CITY STREET -- DAY

	A newspaper vendor lays out a pile of tabloid newspapers at the
	front of his busy newsstand.

	The papers' headline is: BIZARRE MURDER!, in huge, black print.

	The vendor lays out another tabloid pile.  Headline: "EAT OR DIE"
	SAYS GLUTTONY KILLER!!, in big, red letters.

	The vendor throws down a third tabloid stack.  SICKENING
	MURDER -- EXCLUSIVE DETAILS INSIDE!, it reads.

	INT.  PRECINCT HOUSE, SOMERSET'S OFFICE -- DAY

	The office is old, with a single window which faces a billboard.
	TRAFFIC is HEARD from outside.  There are moving boxes on the
	floor.  Somerset is at his desk with paperwork in two sloppy
	piles.  He uses a manual typewriter, filling in a yellow form.
	He types hunt-and-peck, slowly.  He finsihes the form and pulls
	it out.  There is a knock at the door.

						    SOMERSET
			    Come in.

	The captain pushes the door and stands in the doorway with a
	PAINTER/WORKMAN at his side.

						    CAPTAIN
			    Excuse us.  We have some business to take
			    care of.

	As always, the neatly groomed captain clenches his jaw.

	Somerset lines a new form in the typewriter, starts typing.

	The captain strolls in.  Two boxes sit on the floor with
	DETECTIVE MILLS written across them.  He picks up one of the
	boxes and sets it on top of the other.

	At the open door, the workman takes a razor blade from his kit.
	He brings it against the writing on the glass of the door:
	DETECTIVE SOMERSET.  The workman pushes the razor to start
	scraping the name away, and the razor on glass sounds like
	fingernails on a blackboard.

	Somerset looks up.

						    WORKMAN
			    Sorry.

	Somerset turns back to the typing, hunt-and-peck.  The captain
	watches.  The workman continues.

						    CAPTAIN
			    Have you heard?

						    SOMERSET
					  (not looking up)
			    No, I haven't heard.

						    CAPTAIN
			    There was a second.

	Somerset stops, looks at the captain.

						    SOMERSET
			    Already.

						    CAPTAIN
			    Greed.  It was written in blood.

	Somerset thinks about this, then turns to type.

						    SOMERSET
			    It's none of my business anymore.

						    CAPTAIN
			    I thought you might want to be filled in.

						    SOMERSET
			    I'm sure everyone's doing their best.

						    CAPTAIN
			    Yeah.

						    SOMERSET
			    Good.

	Hunt-and-peck.  The captain's jowls clamp.  He steps up to
	Somerset's desk, begins to straighten the two piles of forms.

						    CAPTAIN
			    Come on.  What are you going to do with
			    yourself out there?

						    SOMERSET
			    I'll get a job, maybe on a farm.  I'll work
			    on the house.

						    CAPTAIN
			    Can't you feel it yet?  Can't you feel that
			    feeling... ?  You're not going to be a cop
			    anymore.

						    SOMERSET
			    What are you talking about?

						    CAPTAIN
			    You know.

	Somerset reclines, facing the captain.

						    SOMERSET
			    Did you read in the paper today, about the
			    man who was walking his dog?  he was
			    attacked, and his wallet and his watch
			    were taken.  And then, while he was still
			    lying unconscious, his attacker stabbed him
			    with a knife in both eyes.  It happened
			    four blocks from here.

						    CAPTAIN
			    I heard.

						    SOMERSET
			    I have no understanding of this place
			    anymore.

						    CAPTAIN
			    It's always been like this.

						    SOMERSET
			    Really?

	Somerset saddles up to the typewriter.

						    SOMERSET
			    Maybe you're right.

	The captain lays the paperwork down.  Both piles are now neat.

						    CAPTAIN
			    You do this work.  You were made for it,
			    and I don't think you can deny that.  I
			    certainly can't believe you're trading it
			    in for a tool belt and a fishing rod.
					  (pause, walks to leave)
			    Maybe I'm wrong.

	The captain leaves.  Somerset looks up.  He grabs the paperwork
	piles and ruffles them back to their disheveled state.  He looks
	up at the workman.

	The workman is looking at Somerset, has a rag in his hand to
	remove the last remnants of Somerset's name.

						    SOMERSET
					  (angrily)
			    Try putting a little elbow grease into it.

	The workman is startled, continues his work.

	INT.  SOMERSET'S APARTMENT, LIVING ROOM -- LATE NIGHT

	There is a dart board on one wall.  THWACK -- Somerset's
	switchblade hits the board and embeds.

	Somerset crosses the nearly empty living room and takes the blade
	from the dart board.  He walks back to stand in front of the only
	chair in the room.  He throws the switchblade.

	It embeds in the dart board.  Somerset sits.

	He picks a book off the floor and holds it in his lap.  KIDS can
	be HEARD CURSING and playing LOUD MUSIC from outside the
	shuttered window.  Somerset stares at the ceiling.  He opens the
	book and looks at the pages... stares at the pages...

	He puts the book back down on the floor.

	EXT.  CITY STREET -- LATE NIGHT

	Somerset gets out of his car.  He walks down the sidewalk with a
	notebook in hand.  THUNDER is HEARD.  He takes a cigarette out of
	a full pack and lights it.

	He walks along the avenue.  Cars race by in the street.  People
	walk briskly past.  At a public phone, a man shouts curses
	angrily into the phone, then starts pounding the phone box with
	the receiver.  A fire engine passes in the street, sirens, horn
	and lights going full blast.

	Somerset starts up a flight of massive stone stairs, past several
	sleeping vagrants.  One VAGRANT sits up and looks to Somerset.

						    VAGRANT
			    Spare me a cigarette?  Spare a cigarette?

						    SOMERSET
			    Sorry, last one.

	Ahead of Somerset, the library looms, a solid, powerful
	structure.

	INT.  PUBLIC LIBRARY, MAIN LIBRARY -- LATE NIGHT

	Somerset and GEORGE, 62, the night guard, enter the vast space of
	the deserted main library.

	The lamps hanging from the ceiling give off a warm, pleasant glow
	over mahogany tables and chairs.  To each side of this center
	area are tall bookshelves.  Balconies surround the room on all
	four sides; three levels which overlook the center.

	Somerset is happy.  This is his element, this peaceful, elegant
	place.  George motions to the long, empty tables.

						    GEORGE
			    Sit where you'd like.

						    SOMERSET
			    Thanks, George.

						    MAN'S VOICE (O.S.)
			    Hey there, Smilely.

	Somerset looks up to the top balcony where TWO OTHER SECURITY
	GUARDS and one JANITOR look over the banister.

						    SOMERSET
			    Evening, gentlemen.

	They all say their hellos.

						    FIRST GUARD
			    Come on, George.  Cards are getting cold.

						    GEORGE
					  (to Somerset)
			    Duty calls.

	George pumps Somerset's hand, then moves to a stairwell leading
	to the balconies.  Somerset walks down the main aisle, looks
	around at the shelves and shelves of books.

	George reaches the top balcony and the others sit at a card table
	where a poker game is in progress.

	Somerset puts his notebook down on one table and switches on a
	green banker's lamp.  THUNDER SOUNDS.  Somerset looks up.

	Rain is beginning to fall on the windows of the high ceiling.

						    SOMERSET
					  (shouts up)
			    All these books, gentlemen... a world of
			    knowledge at your disposal, and you play
			    poker all night.

	UP ON THE BALCONY

	George has taken a huge BOOM-BOX from a broom closet.

						    JANITOR
			    We got culture.

						    SECOND GUARD
					  (dealing cards)
			    Yeah, we got culture coming out our asses.

	They laugh.  George sets the boom-box against the railing of the
	balcony so the speakers face towards Somerset.

	DOWN ON THE MAIN FLOOR

	Somerset has gone into one bookshelf aisle.  Poker table
	conversation echoes from above.  Somerset searches books, reading
	spines.  He finds one book and pulls it, continues searching.

	UP ON THE BALCONY

	George hits play on the boom-box and turns the volume way up.

						    GEORGE
			    How's this for culture?

	DOWN ON THE MAIN FLOOR

	Somerset keeps looking for books.  From far away come the strains
	of MOZART MUSIC filling the air.  High, drifting music, such as
	AIR (On the G string.)  Somerset stops, listens.

	He closes his eyes and soaks it in.

	UP ON THE BALCONY

	George sits at the card table, takes out a cigar and lights up.
	He looks to the ground floor.

						    GEORGE
			    Where'd you get to, Smilely?

	Below, Somerset comes out from the aisle.

	DOWN ON THE MAIN FLOOR

	Somerset looks up at George.

						    SOMERSET
				Thank you.

	INT.  PUBLIC LIBRARY, MAIN LIBRARY -- LATER NIGHT

	MUSIC CONTINUES, spinning through the air like a slow, cool
	breeze.

	Somerset walks, surrounded by books, carrying several.  He pulls
	another off a shelf and adds it to his pile.

	UP ON THE BALCONY

	George lays down a winning hand.  The others toss in their cards
	in disgust.  George laughs, spouting cigar smoke.

	Cigar smoke floats up in the air, thinning gracefully.  Above,
	rain continues dancing on the ceiling windows.

	DOWN ON THE MAIN FLOOR

	Somerset sits, opens a book on the table and reads.

	INT.  MILLS' APARTMENT, BEDROOM/LIVING ROOM -- NIGHT

	MUSIC CONTINUES, uninterupted over this scene.  Music so pretty
	it is almost sad.  Tracy, in a nightgown, sits up in bed, tense,
	She throws off the covers and goes to the door.

	She stands looking into the living room where Mills is at a desk.

	Mills sorts through paperwork and photos with his back to Tracy.
	A basketball game is on the television, but he pays it no mind.
	He sits forward, obviously frustrated, drinks coffee.  He does
	not know Tracy is there.

	Tracy watches her husband, concerned.

	INT.  PUBLIC LIBRARY, MAIN LIBRARY -- NIGHT

	MUSIC CONTINUES.  Somerset has two books open.  He opens his
	notebook and brings a pen to bear.  Writes:

	SEVEN DEADLY SINS

	GLUTTONY	GREED	WRATH    LUST	PRIDE	ENVY    SLOTH

	He crosses out GLUTTONY and GREED.  Somerset picks up one book:
	DANTE'S PURGATORY.  Volume II of the DIVINE COMEDY.  Somerset
	opens it:

	  -------------------------------------------------------------
	 |							  THE EARTHLY PARADISE    |
	 |-------------------------------------------------------- /\  |
	 |											 /  \ |
	 |						 VII The Lustful	    /____\|
	 |										    /	 |
	 |						  VI The Gluttonous    /_______|
	 |	  7 TERRACES OF						  /	   |
	 |						   V The Avaricious  /	    |
	 |							and Prodigal   /__________|
	 |	    PURGATION						 /		 |
	 |									   /		  |
	 |									  /		   |
	 |					    IV The Slothful  /______________|
	 |									/			|
	 |								    /			 |
	 |								   /			  |
	 |				 III The Wrathful	/__________________|
	 |								 /			    |
	 |				  II The Envious    /____________________|
	 |							    /				 |
	 |				   I The Proud    /______________________|
	 |							  /				   |
	 |							 /				    |
	 |							/	  THE ISLAND	   |
	 |						    /					 |
	 |						   /	   OF PURGATORY	  |
	 |						  /					   |
	 |_______________________________/_____________________________|


	UP ON THE BALCONY

	George and the guys finish another hand.  George looks down at
	Somerset, who is writing in the notebook.  George takes up the
	cards and starts shuffling.

						    GEORGE
					  (down to Somerset)
			    You know, Smilely... you're really going to
			    miss us.

	George shuffles again, but they flip wrong and a few go off the
	table, over the balcony.

	DOWN ON THE MAIN FLOOR

	Somerset looks up at George, then looks around.

						    SOMERSET
			    I just might.

	ABOVE

	The cards George dropped are fluttering, flipping downwards.

	INT.  PRECINCT HOUSE, SOMERSET'S OFFICE -- EARLY EVENING

	The office is dark.  Somerset is at his desk, writing:

	DETECTIVE MILLS,  YOU MAY WANT TO LOOK AT THE FOLLOWING BOOKS,
	RELATING TO THE SEVEN DEADLY SINS:

	DANTE'S PURGATORY
	THE CANTERBURY TALES -- THE PARSON'S TALE
	DICTIONARY OF CATHOLICISM

	INT.  PRECINCT HOUSE, SOMERSET'S OFFICE -- LATER EVENING

	Somerset lays an envelope on top of the two boxes which have
	Detective Mills' name on them.  The envelope reads: MILLS.

	INSERT -- TITLE CARD

	WEDNESDAY

	INT.  PRECINCT HOUSE, SOMERSET'S OFFICE -- MORNING

	Somerset pushes the door open and notices "DETECTIVE MILLS"
	painted on the glass.  Rain falls outside.  Somerset goes to his
	desk, but stops.  All his belongings have been moved to a small,
	temporary desk in the corner.

	Somerset moves to open the top left drawer of the big desk.
	Empty.  He goes to the temporary desk and urgently searches
	through the boxes of papers and files...  finds what he was
	looking for.  He holds a small frame which fits in his palm.

	Inside the frame is a PHOTO of an attractive WOMAN.  Somerset
	pops the frame open, looks at the picture, then puts the picture
	in his wallet.

	Somerset sits at the temporary desk.  He begins to sort through
	his papers.  After a moment, he glances over his shoulder.  The
	envelope he left for Mills is gone.

	EXT.  UPSCALE CITY BLOCK -- MORNING

	It's raining.  At one high-rent office building, many business
	men and women are coming and going in a lunch-hour hurry.  Just
	to one side of the building, the CORONER'S WAGON drives out from
	the mouth of the parking garage into the rain.  People on the
	sidewalk have to stop to let it cross to the street.  At the same
	time, a large Lincoln Towncar turns off the street, heads into
	the bowels of the garage.

	EXT.  UPSCALE BUILDING, UNDERGROUND GARAGE -- MORNING

	Many police cars and news vans here, and police men and reporters
	and photographers everywhere.  Mills, looking haggard, finishes a
	conversation with a TALL COP by the service elevator.

						    MILLS
			    ... good.  Do it.  I'm going back up.

	Tall Cop hurries away as Mills pushes repeatedly on the service
	elevator button.  The elevator doors open and Mills steps in.  As
	the door are shutting, a COMMOTION is HEARD.  Mills stops the
	door and looks out.

	Across the garage, the Towncar is pulling to a stop and reporters
	are rushing to it.  FLASHBULBS are FLASHING.

	MARTIN TALBOT, 47, impressive and well dressed, steps out of the
	car and faces the reporters as they start shouting questions.

	In the service elevator, Mills lets the doors slide shut.

	INT.  UPSCALE BUILDING, SERVICE AREA -- MORNING

	The service elevator opens to a dark physical plant room.  Mills
	exits the elevator and crosses past humming air-conditioning
	vents, dripping pipes and janitor's lockers.  To a door...

	INT.  UPSCALE BUILDING, OFFICE CORRIDOR -- MORNING

	Mills comes out the service area door into a bright, ritzy
	hallway.  This hall and the doors along it reek of money.  A few
	cops are standing around.  Ahead there's a police line, which
	Mills ducks under on his way to stately mahogany doors.

	INT.  LAW OFFICE -- MORNING

	A huge law office.  A television is on in one corner, showing the
	news.  Windows overlook the rain wet city.  Two FORENSICS dust
	for prints, whispering to each other when Mills enters.

						    FORENSIC ONE
					  (to other forensic)
			    ... going to screw it up.  I swear... I've
			    seen...

	The other forensic clears his throat, getting back to work.
	Forensic One shuts up.  Mills notices this, weary.

						    MILLS
			    How's it coming?

						    FORENSIC ONE
			    Nothing yet.

	Mills watches them a moment, then turns his attention to another
	part of the office.  A leather chair sits in an open area.

	The chair and the carpet under it are covered in a goodly portion
	of brown, dried blood.

	There is a trail of dripped blood from the chair to a large desk.
	On a cleared off section of the desk, a two-armed, counter
	balance SCALE sits, also blood stained.  The desk has been
	dusted.  Behind the desk, GREED is written on the wall in blood,
	near a modern art painting.

	Mills stands staring at this area.  The TELEVISION is HEARD:

						    ANCHOR (v.o.)
					  (from television)
			    ... going cut in live downtown right now,
			    where Defense Attorney Eli Gould was found
			    murdered in his office late last night.
			    District Attorney Martin Talbot is taking
			    questions from reporters...

	ON T.V., Talbot comes on screen, a powerful presence, with a gold
	tooth in the front of his mouth.  It's from down in the garage.

						    A REPORTER (v.o.)
					  (from television)
			    ... a small conflict of interest here?  I
			    mean, your prosecutors have lost more than
			    a few very high profile cases to Mister
			    Gould and his defense team...

						    TALBOT (v.o.)
					  (from television)
			    Now, that's ridiculous to the point of
			    almost being offensive.  There's no
			    conflict of interest whatsoever, and any
			    claim that there would be, or could be, is
			    irresponsible.

	Other reporters begin to shout questions, but Talbot's not done.

						    TALBOT (v.o.)
			    Now, hold on... I want to address that.
			    I've just come from a meeting with law
			    enforcement officials, and they've assured
			    me they put their best people on this
			    thing.

	Mills turns to looks at Talbot on the screen.

						    TALBOT (v.o.)
			    You just wait and see how quickly we get a
			    handle on it.  This will be the very
			    definition of swift justice.

	Mills walks to turn the t.v. off.

						    MILLS
					  (quietly to t.v.)
			    Shut the fuck up.

	He turns and looks to see the forensics looking at him.  The
	forensics look away.

	Mills walks away from the t.v., to a picture frame on the floor.
	The frame has been placed specifically in the center of the room,
	facing the doors.

	It is a photo if a falsely pretty, middle-aged woman, smiling and
	wearing pearls.  On the glass of the frame, two circles have been
	drawn with blood around the woman's eyes.

	Mills sits on the floor, stares at the photo.

	INT.  MILLS' CAR -- MORNING

	Mills gets in and slams the door.  He is alone with the sound of
	the rain.  He wipes water from his face and looks at his tired
	eyes in the rear view mirror.  He leans over to the glove
	compartment and takes out two newly purchased paperbacks: The
	Canterbury Tales and Dante's Purgatory.

	Mills makes a face and opens Dante's Purgatory to a bookmark.  He
	rests the book on the steering wheel.  He reads.

	He bites his lip, leaning close to the words.

	He is really concentrating, mouths some of the words to himself.
	He finally shakes his head and closes the book, not understanding
	a word of it.  Pause.  He starts pounding the book against the
	steering wheel with all his might.

						    MILLS
			    Fucking, Dante, goddamn, poetry-writing,
			    faggot motherfucker...

	Mills throws the book against the windshield, then puts his head
	back and closes his eyes, trying to calm.  A long moment.  Quiet.
	BANG, BANG, BANG -- there's a loud BANGING on the window and
	Mills looks up, startled...

	Tall Cop is at the window in rain gear.  Mills rolls it rown.
	Tall Cop hands a wet paper bag through.

						    MILLS
			    Good work, Officer.  Good work.

	Mills rolls the window up, rips the bag open.  Inside: Cliff
	Notes for Dante's Purgatory and for The Canterbury Tales.

						    MILLS
			    Thank God.

	INT.  PRECINCT HOUSE, SOMERSET'S OFFICE -- DAY

	It still rains outside.  Somerset sits at the big desk which is
	now Mills'.  He fills out form by hand as Mills enters with a ton
	of his own paperwork.  Somerset looks up.

						    SOMERSET
					  (gathers his things)
			    Let me get out of your way.

	Mills sets his paperwork on the desk.  He is beat.  Somerset
	moves to the temporary desk.  They both sit and settle in,
	organizing, not looking at each other.

	Both attend to their work.  Here are two men, about five feet
	apart, each trying not to acknowledge the other's presence.
	Mills takes his Cliff Notes out, looks to see Somerset is
	occupied, and hides them in a desk drawer.

	Somerset finishes one form, flips it and looks at Mills.  Mills
	sorts through photos from the greed murder.  Somerset continues
	writing.  PHONE RINGS.  Both men look at it.  Phone rings again.

						    SOMERSET
			    It's a package deal.  You get the phone
			    with the office.

						    MILLS
					  (picks up, into phone)
			    Detective Mills here.
					  (listens, lowers voice)
			    Honey... I asked you not to call me here.
			    I'll call you back...
					  (listens)
			    What?  Why?

	Mills is very confused.

						    MILLS
					  (into phone)
			    Why?  Okay... okay, hold on.

	Mills clears his throat and holds out the phone to Somerset.

						    MILLS
			    It's my wife.

						    SOMERSET
			    What?

	Mills shrugs.  Somerset stands, takes the phone.

						    SOMERSET
					  (into phone)
			    Hello?
					  (listens)
			    Yes, well... it's nice to speak to you.
					  (listens)
			    Well, I appreciate the thought... but...
					  (listens)
			    Then, I guess I'd be delighted.  Thank you
			    very much.  Yes... goodbye.

	Somerset hangs up, shakes his head.

						    MILLS
			    Well?

						    SOMERSET
			    I'm invited to have a late supper at your
			    house.  And, I accept.

						    MILLS
			    How's that?

						    SOMERSET
			    Tonight.

	Mills is lost.  Somerset goes to sit back down.

						    MILLS
			    I don't even know if I'm having dinner
			    there tonight.

	INT.  MILLS' APARTMENT, LIVING ROOM/KITCHENETTE -- NIGHT

	Food is cooking on the stove.  Tracy is in the living room area
	carefully setting the table with good silver and china.

	The door the the apartment is HEARD OPENING and CLOSING.  Mills
	and Somerset come down a short hallway.  Mills carries a brand
	new briefcase.

						    TRACY
			    Hello, men.  You made it.

						    MILLS
			    Hi, honey.

	Mills gives Tracy a kiss, then presents Somerset.

						    MILLS
			    I'd like you to meet Somerset.

						    SOMERSET
			    Hello.

	Somerset shakes Tracy's hand lightly.

						    TRACY
			    It's nice to meet you.  My husband has told
			    me a lot about you... except your first
			    name.

						    SOMERSET
			    Oh... um, William.

						    TRACY
			    It's a nice name.  William, I'd like you to
			    meet David.
					  (to Mills)
			    David... William.

	Mills smiles and nods this off, heading across the room.

						    MILLS
			    Great... I'm, uh, just going to put these
			    things away.

	Mills moves to the adjoining bedroom.  Somerset stands with his
	hands folded in front of him.

						    SOMERSET
			    It smells good.

						    TRACY
			    What?  Oh, yes.  I mean, thank you.
					  (motions to the table)
			    Please, sit down.

	Somerset takes off his jacket.  Tracy goes to check on the food.

						    TRACY
			    You can put that over on the couch.  You'll
			    have to excuse all the mess.  We're still
			    unpacking.

	Somerset notices something on Mills' desk.  It's a medal, in a
	small, clear case amongst the papers and pens.

						    SOMERSET
			    I hear you and Mills were high school
			    sweethearts.

						    TRACY
			    High school and college, yes.  Pretty
			    hokey, huh?  I knew on our first date this
			    was the man I was going to marry.  God...
			    he was the funniest man I'd ever met.

						    SOMERSET
			    Really?

	Somerset has to think about that one for a second.  He picks the
	medal up: a medal for valor from the Police Department.

						    SOMERSET
			    Well, it's rare these days... that kind of
			    commitment.

	He puts the medal down.  Tracy is looking at the gun strapped
	under Somerset's arm as Somerset starts to unstrap it.

						    SOMERSET
					  (about the gun)
			    Don't worry.  I don't wear it at the dinner
			    table.

						    TRACY
			    No matter how often I see guns, I still
			    can't get used to them.

	Somerset lays the gun with his jacket.

						    SOMERSET
			    Same here.

	Tracy smiles.  Somerset goes to the table and transfers a small
	notebook from his breast pocket to his pants pocket.  A piece of
	paper falls to the floor, closer to Tracy.

						    TRACY
			    Anyway... what girl wouldn't want the
			    captain of the football team as their
			    lifetime mate?  Here... you dropped
			    something...

	Tracy picks it up.  It is the pale, paper rose.  She looks at it
	as she hands it back to Somerset, who is self-conscious.

						    TRACY
			    What is that?

	Somerset looks at the rose, then puts it away.

						    SOMERSET
			    My future.

	Tracy tilts her head, looking at Somerset.

						    TRACY
			    You have a strange way about you... I mean
			    interesting.  I'm sorry.  It's really none
			    of my business.  It's just nice to meet a
			    man who talks like that.
					  (goes back to stove)
			    If David saw that paper, he'd say you're a
			    fag.  That's how he is.

						    SOMERSET
					  (smiles)
			    I guess I won't be showing it to him then.

	INT.  MILLS' APARTMENT, LIVING ROOM -- LATER NIGHT

	A record player on a moving box PLAYS QUIET MUSIC.  Tracy, Mills
	and Somerset are eating.  Mills has a beeper beside his plate and
	occasionally fingers it absently.

						    TRACY
			    Why aren't you married, William?

						    MILLS
			    Tracy... what the hell?

	Somerset pokes at the napkin, thinking.

						    SOMERSET
			    I was close once.  It just didn't happen.

						    TRACY
			    It surprises me.  It really does.

						    SOMERSET
			    Any person who spends a significant amount
			    of time with me finds me... disagreeable.
			    Just ask your husband.

						    MILLS
			    Very true.

	Mills grins, but he means it.

						    TRACY
					  (to Somerset)
			    How long have you lived here?

						    SOMERSET
			    Too long.
					  (drinks)
			    What do you think so far?

	Tracy glances immediately to Mills.

						    MILLS
			    It takes time to settle in.

	Somerset can see it is a sore subject.

						    SOMERSET
			    Well, you can get numb to it pretty quickly.
			    There are things in any city...

	A LOW RUMBLING is HEARD.  Plates on the table begin to clatter.

						    MILLS
			    Subway train.

	The dishes clatter more.  Coffee cups clink against their
	saucers.  Tracy holds her coffee cup to stop it and smiles at
	Somerset to act like it's nothing, but she is clearly bothered.

						    TRACY
			    It'll go away in a minute.

	They wait.  The rumbling grows louder, knocks something over in
	the sink.  Somerset continues eating, fiddles with his food.  The
	record player skips, then plays on.  The clattering dies down.
	Mills seems uncomfortable.

						    MILLS
			    This real estate guy... this miserable
			    fuck, he brought us to see this place a few
			    times.  And, first I'm thinking he's good,
			    really efficient.  But then, I started
			    wondering, why does he keep hurrying us
			    along?  Why will he only show us this place
			    for like five minutes at a time?

	Mills laughs lamely.

						    TRACY
			    We found out the first night.

	Somerset tries to stay straight, but he can't help laughing.

						    SOMERSET
			    The soothing, relaxing, vibrating home.
			    Sorry...

	He laughs harder, covering his mouth.  Tracy and Mills laugh.

						    MILLS
			    Oh, fuck.

	INT.  MILLS' APARTMENT, LIVING ROOM -- LATER NIGHT

	The record player plays another album.  Tracy brings over a pot
	of coffee and pours.  Mills and Somerset have beers.

						    TRACY
			    I don't think I've ever met anyone who
			    doesn't have a television before.
			    That's... weird.

						    MILLS
			    It's un-American is what it is.

						    SOMERSET
			    All television does is teach children that
			    it's really cool to be stupid and eat candy
			    bars all day.

						    MILLS
			    What about sports?

						    SOMERSET
			    What about them?

	Tracy brings over a plate of cookies and puts it on the table.

						    MILLS
			    You go to movies at least?

						    SOMERSET
			    I read.  Remember reading?

						    MILLS
			    I just have to say, I can't respect any man
			    who's never seen "Green Acres."

	Somerset gives a blank stare.  Tracy walks across the room.

						    MILLS
			    You've never seen "The Odd Couple?"  This
			    is sick.  "The Honeymooners?!"

						    SOMERSET
			    I vaguely recall a large, angry man, and
			    someone called Norton.

	Tracy turns the record player down further, then goes into the
	bedroom and shuts the door behind her.

	Somerset and Mills look a the closed door.  A long moment.  They
	look at each other, then sit for a time.  Somerset puts down his
	beer, sighs.  He looks around.

	INT.  MILLS' APARTMENT, LIVING ROOM

	The only sounds are from the city outside.  The living room table
	has been cleared and its surface is now covered with various
	forms, reports and 8" by 10" photographs.  Mills and Somerset are
	both standing.  Mills guides Somerset through the photos.

						    MILLS
			    Our guy got into office, probably before
			    the building closed and security tightened
			    up.  Gould must have been working late.

						    SOMERSET
			    I'm certain.  He was the biggest defense
			    lawyer around.  Infamous, actually.

						    MILLS
			    Well, his body was found Monday night,
			    okay?  But, get this... the office was
			    closed all day Monday.  Which means, as
			    long as the gluttony killing was done
			    before the weekend, our killer could've
			    gotten in here on Friday.  He could've
			    spent all day Saturday with Gould, and all
			    day Sunday.

	Mills picks up one photo and shows it to Somerset.  Long shot: it
	shows the greed murder scene.  Gould sits dead in the leather
	chair, near the desk where the counter-balance scale sits.

						    MILLS
			    Gould was tied down, nude.  The killer left
			    his arms free and handed him a big, sharp
			    butcher's knife.  See... the scale here.

	Mills pulls another photo.  Close up: the two-armed scale.  In
	one suspended plate is a one pound weight.  In the other is a
	hunk of flesh.

						    SOMERSET
			    A pound of flesh.

	Mills digs, comes up with a photocopy of a hand-scrawled note.

						    SOMERSET
					  (reading note)
			    "One pound of flesh, no more no less.  No
			    cartilage, no bone, but only flesh.  This
			    task done... and he would go free."

	Mills takes out one photo showing the note pinned to the wall
	beside where "greed" is written in blood.

						    MILLS
			    The leather chair was soaked through with
			    sweat.

						    SOMERSET
					  (nods, grim)
			    All day Saturday, and all day Sunday.
					  (pause)
			    The murderer would want Gould to take his
			    time.  To have to sit there and decide.
			    Where do you make the first cut?  There's a
			    gun in your face... but, what part of your
			    body is expendable?

						    MILLS
			    He cut along the side of his stomach.  The
			    love handle.

	Somerset's still studying the photos.

						    SOMERSET
			    He must have left another puzzle piece.

						    MILLS
			    Look, I appreciate being able to talk this
			    out, but, uh...

						    SOMERSET
			    This is just to satisfy my curiosity.  I'm
			    still leaving town Saturday.

	Mills is very tired.  He rubs his eyes, then walks to take one
	more photo from his briefcase.  It is the photo of the framed
	picture of the falsely pretty woman with her eyes circled in
	blood.

						    MILLS
			    Gould's wife.  She was away on business.
			    If this means she saw anything, I don't
			    know what.  We've questioned her at least
			    five times.

						    SOMERSET
			    And, if it's a threat.

						    MILLS
			    We put her in a safe house.

	Somerset nods.  He puts down the photos he's holding.  He begins
	spreading all the pictures out.

						    SOMERSET
			    Look at these with fresh eyes.  Don't see
			    what the killer wants you to.  Don't let
			    guide you...

	While he speaks, Somerset keeps shifting the photos, for example:
	covering the corpse in one with the edge of another.

						    SOMERSET
			    Even if the corpse is right there... it's
			    almost like looking through it.  Editing
			    out the initial shock.  Look at the room.

	In the photos, there's the scale.  The note on the wall.  Shelves
	of books.  The Modern Art painting.

	GREED written in blood.

						    SOMERSET
			    He's preaching.

						    MILLS
			    Punishing.

						    SOMERSET
			    The sins were used in medieval sermons.
			    There were seven cardinal virtues, and then
			    seven deadly sins, created as a learning
			    tool, because they distract from true
			    worship.

						    MILLS
			    Like in the Parson's Tale, and Dante.

						    SOMERSET
			    Did you read them?

						    MILLS
			    Yeah.  Parts of them.  Anyway, in
			    Purgatory, Dante and his buddy are climbing
			    up that big mountain... seeing all these
			    other guys who sinned...

						    SOMERSET
			    Seven Terraces of Purgation.

						    MILLS
			    Right.  But there, pride comes first, not
			    gluttony.  The sins are in a different
			    order.

						    SOMERSET
			    For now, let's just consider the books as the
			    murderer's inspiration.
			    The books and sermons are about atonement
			    for sin.  And, these murders have been like
			    forced attrition.

						    MILLS
			    Forced what?

						    SOMERSET
			    Attrition.  When you regret your sins, but
			    not because you love God.

						    MILLS
			    Like, because someone's holding a gun on
			    you.

	Mills runs his hands across his face, walks to the fridge to get
	beer.  Somerset keeps looking at photos and papers.

						    SOMERSET
			    No fingerprints?

						    MILLS
			    Nothing.

						    SOMERSET
			    Totally unrelated victims.

	Mills nods, drinking from a beer.

						    SOMERSET
			    No witnesses of any kind?

						    MILLS
			    None.  Which I don't understand.  He had to
			    get back out.

	Somerset sits in a chair, picks up the photo of the wife.  Runs
	his fingers over the eyes circled in blood.

						    SOMERSET
			    In any major city, minding your own
			    business is a perfected science.  There's a
			    public crime prevention course offered at
			    the precinct house once a month.  The first
			    thing they teach is that you should never
			    cry "help."  Always scream "fire," because
			    people don't want to get caught up in
			    anything.  But a fire... that's an
			    evening's entertainment.  They come
			    running.

	Looking at the wife's photo.

						    SOMERSET
			    This is the one thing.

						    MILLS
			    I know.

						    SOMERSET
					  (holds photo up)
			    What if it's not that she's seen
			    something?  What if she's supposed to see
			    something, but she just hasn't been given a
			    chance to see it yet?

						    MILLS
			    Okay.  But, what?

	INT.  SAFE HOUSE -- NIGHT

	The room is like a hotel room.  Mills stands beside the woman
	from the picture, MRS. GOULD.  Mills shows her photos from the
	murder scene.  The photos have been covered in sections to hide
	the Mr. Gould's corpse.  Mrs. Gould is crying.  Somerset is on
	the other side of the room, holding more photos.

						    MILLS
			    I'm sorry about this, Mrs. Gould.  I really
			    am.

						    MRS GOULD
			    I... I don't understand.

	Mills helps her flip through the photos.  He isn't too keen to
	put her through this.

						    MILLS
			    I need you to look at each one carefully...
			    very carefully.  Look for anything that
			    seems strange or out of place.  Anything at
			    all.

						    MRS GOULD
			    I don't know why... why now?

						    MILLS
			    Please, I need you to help me if we're
			    going to get who did this.

	Mrs. Gould sobs quietly, wipes her tears.

						    MILLS
			    Anything... anything missing or different.

						    MRS GOULD
			    I don't see anything.

						    MILLS
			    Are you absolutely certain?

						    MRS GOULD
			    I can't do this now... please.

	Mills looks to Somerset, looks at the photos Somerset holds.

						    MILLS
			    Maybe we better wait.

	Somerset looks at the photos in his hand.  These show Mr. Gould's
	corpse in the chair, not covered in any way.

						    SOMERSET
			    It should be now.  There may be something
			    we're not seeing.

						    MRS GOULD
			    Wait.  Here...

						    MILLS
			    What is it?

	Mrs. Gould points at the modern art painting on the wall in one
	photo.  The painting is just splattered paint, abstract.

						    MRS GOULD
			    This painting...

						    MILLS
			    What?

						    MRS GOULD
			    Why is this painting hanging upside-down?

	Mills turns to look at Somerset.

	INT.  LAW OFFICE -- NIGHT

	Where the greed murder took place.  Somerset, wearing gloves,
	reaches to take the modern art painting off the wall.  Mills
	near, watching.

						    SOMERSET
			    You're sure your men didn't move this?

						    MILLS
			    Even if they did, those photos were taken
			    before forensics.

	Nothing on the wall behind the painting.  Blank space.

						    MILLS
			    Nothing.

						    SOMERSET
			    It's got to be.

	Somerset puts the painting down, resting it on its bottom edge.
	The painting is backed by a thick sheet of brown papers stapled
	into the wooden frame.  Somerset points to where the wire's eye
	screws used to be screwed into the frame, and to where it has
	been rescrewed.

						    SOMERSET
			    He changed the wire to rehang it.

	Somerset takes out his switchblade.  Mills is surprised.

						    MILLS
			    What the fuck is that?

						    SOMERSET
			    A switchblade.

	Somerset cuts along the edge of the brown paper to get to the
	hollow space between it and the back of the canvas.  He cuts out
	the entire sheet.  Mills helps pull it away.  Nothing.  Empty.
	Mills looks at both sides of the paper, then tosses it away.

						    MILLS
			    Nothing.  Damn it!

	Somerset lays the painting face up on the floor.  He pokes his
	finger on the painted surface.  He brings the flat of his blade
	against the painting, tries to peel some of the paint.

						    MILLS
			    The killer didn't paint the fucking thing.
			    Give it up.

	Somerset pushes the painting away, frustrated.

						    SOMERSET
			    There must be something.

						    MILLS
			    We're screwed.  He's fucking with us.

	Somerset backs away from the wall, staring at the space where the
	painting hung.  There is only a nail.  He turns, looking around
	the office, then crosses.

	Mills puts his hands to his temple, furious, picks up a lamp and
	throws it to the floor, venting.

						    MILLS
			    Motherfucker!

	Across the room, Somerset falls to his knees and pulls open a
	forensics kit.  He takes out a fingerprint brush, examining the
	bristles.  Mills sees this.

						    MILLS
			    What?

						    SOMERSET
			    Bear with me.

	Somerset goes back to the wall where the painting was.  He pulls
	over a chair, gets on it and starts brushing near the nail.

						    MILLS
			    Oh, yeah, sure.  You got to be kidding?!

						    SOMERSET
			    Just wait!

	Somerset brushes with a few wider strokes.  He leans close,
	studies the powder residue.  Leans closer still.  Pause.

						    SOMERSET
			    Call the print lab.

	INT.  MILLS' APARTMENT, BEDROOM -- NIGHT

	Tracy is asleep, dressed, with the lights still on.  She stirs,
	then awakens and sits up slowly.  She squints from the light,
	sweaty and uncomfortable.  She looks around and listens.  All she
	hears is traffic.

	EXT.  MILLS' APARTMENT, LIVING ROOM -- NIGHT

	FROM OUTSIDE, looking into the apartment, we see Tracy come in
	from the bedroom.  She sees Mills and Somerset are gone.  She
	comes to open a window, then goes to the kitchen area.

	We're still LOOKING IN at her as she starts the dishes in the
	sink.  The RUMBLING of the SUBWAY TRAIN is HEARD starting.  The
	room begins to rattle, as before.

	Tracy looks out into the living room, ill at ease.

	INT.  LAW OFFICE -- NIGHT

	The male forensic from the gluttony murder scene is here.  He has
	a magnifying glass which he's using to study a very clear
	fingerprint in black powder on the wall.

						    MALE FORENSIC
			    Oh, man...

						    MILLS (o.s.)
			    Talk to me.

	The male forensic bites his lip, still studying.

	Mills and Somerset are watching the forensic who works O.S.

						    MILLS
					  (to Somerset)
			    Just, honestly... have you ever seen
			    anything like this... been involved in
			    anything like this?

						    SOMERSET
			    No.

						    MALE FORENSIC (o.s.)
			    Well, I can tell you, boys...

	The forensic steps down from a stool.  Behind him, where the
	painting once was, are fingerprints, clear and distinct.  The
	prints have been left, one after the other, to form letters which
	form words:  HELP ME.

						    MALE FORENSIC
			    ... just by looking at the shape of the
			    underloop on these, they are not the
			    victim's fingerprints.

	INT.  PRECINCT HOUSE, PRINT LAB -- NIGHT

	Dark.  A TECHNICIAN sits before an old computer.  The computer's
	green screen shows enlarged fingerprint patterns being aligned,
	compares, and then rejected: whir - click - whir - click - whir -
	click.  Mills and Somerset watch, bathed in a green glow.

						    MILLS
			    He just may be nuts enough.

						    SOMERSET
			    It doesn't fit.  He doesn't want us to help
			    him stop.

						    MILLS
			    Who the hell knows?  There's plenty of
			    freaks out there doing dirty deeds they
			    don't want to do.  You know... little
			    voices tell them bad things.

	Somerset doesn't buy it.  The technician adjusts a knob, then
	turns to the detectives.

						    TECHNICIAN
			    I've seen this baby take as long as three
			    days to make a match, so you guys can go
			    cross your fingers somewhere else.

	INT.  PRECINCT HOUSE, HALLWAY -- NIGHT

	Somerset and Mills come out from the Print Lab.  A janitor is
	mopping the hall.  The computer is HEARD WHIRing AND CLICKing
	onwards.  Somerset sits with a groan on a couch outside the lab
	door.  Mills flops beside him.

						    SOMERSET
			    You meant what you said to Mrs. Gould,
			    didn't you?  About catching this guy.  You
			    really want to believe that, don't you?

						    MILLS
			    And you don't?

						    SOMERSET
					  (laughs, very tired)
			    I wish I still thought like you.

						    MILLS
			    Then, you tell me what you think we're
			    doing.

						    SOMERSET
			    All we do is pick up the pieces.  We take
			    all the evidence, and all the pictures and
			    samples.  We write everything down and note
			    what time things happened...

						    MILLS
			    Oh, that's all.

						    SOMERSET
			    We put it in a nice neat pile and file it
			    away, on the slim chance it's ever needed
			    in a courtroom.
					  (pause)
			    It's like collecting diamonds on a desert
			    island.  You keep them just in case you
			    ever get rescued, but it's a pretty big
			    ocean out there.

						    MILLS
			    Bullshit.

						    SOMERSET
			    I'm, sorry, but even the most promising
			    clues usually lead only to other clues.
			    I've seen so many corpses rolled away...
			    unrevenged.

						    MILLS
			    I've seen the same.  I'm not the country
			    hick you seem to think I am.

						    SOMERSET
			    In this city, if all the skeletons came out
			    of all the closets... if ever hidden body
			    were to suddenly rise again, there'd be no
			    more room for the living.

	Somerset slumps back, takes out a cigarette and lights it.

						    MILLS
			    Don't tell me you didn't get that rush
			    tonight... that adrenalin, like we were
			    getting somewhere.

	Mills sits back on the couch, closes his eyes.

						    MILLS
			    And, don't try to tell me it was because
			    you found something that would play well in
			    a courtroom.

	Somerset looks at Mills, who crosses his arms to sleep.  Somerset
	puffs the cigarette.

	The computer is heard: whir - click - whir - click...

	INSERT -- TITLE CARD

	THURSDAY

	INT.  PRECINCT HOUSE, HALLWAY -- EARLY MORNING

	Mills and Somerset are fast asleep on the couch, leaning against
	each other.  People pass and look at them strangely.  A man steps
	in front of the couch.  He reaches with both hands to slap their
	faces simultaneously.

	It's the captain leaning over them.

						    CAPTAIN
			    Wake up, Glimmer Twins.  We have a winner.

	INT.  PRECINCT HOUSE, READY ROOM -- EARLY MORNING

	A windowless classroom.  The captain stands at a podium in front
	with a white screen at his side.  A mug-shot of a man, VICTOR,
	25, is projected onto the screen from a slide projector.

						    CAPTAIN
			    He goes by the name Victor, as many of you
			    know, and his prints were found on scene by
			    Detectives Mills and Somerset.

	FIVE hardened POLICE OFFICERS, four men and one woman, sit in
	chairs facing the captain.  The all wear bullet-proof vests with
	the word POLICE spray-painted across them.

	Somerset and Mills sit in back, drinking coffee, still asleep.

						    CAPTAIN
			    Now, this guy's a real beauty.  He has a
			    long, long history of serious mental
			    illness.  According the head-shrinkers, it
			    seems his parents gave him a very strict,
			    Southern Baptist upbringing, but somewhere
			    along the line he dropped his marbles.

	Two of the cops in the front row are talking.

						    CAPTAIN
			    Hey, you two can shut-up now!

	The two cops separate like huge, embarassed school children.

						    CAPTAIN
			    Thank you, fuckheads.  Now, Victor spent a
			    couple of months in prison for the
			    attempted rape of an eight year old boy,
			    but his lawyer made sure he didn't stay
			    long.  Before that, he dabbled in drugs,
			    armed robbery and assault.
			    We've been doing our best to keep an eye on
			    him, but he's been out of circulation for a
			    while.

						    FEMALE COP
			    If he disappeared, what do you want from
			    us?

						    CAPTAIN
			    His last place of residence is still in his
			    name.  A search warrant is being pushed
			    through the courts as we speak.

	A red-headed cop, CALIFORNIA, raises his hand.

						    CALIFORNIA
			    So, have the housing cops walk up and ring
			    the doorbell.

	The cops laugh.  The captain is clenching his jaw, angry.

						    CAPTAIN
			    Listen, California.  When you go in, if
			    Victor isn't home, one of his buddies might
			    be house-sitting, so you go in guns first.
			    Besides using, Victor deals, and we know
			    what kind of crowd he runs with.

	There is some chatter amongst the cops.

						    CAPTAIN
			    This is what the D.A. has a hard-on for
			    right now, Ladies and Germs, so we do not
			    question why.

	Mills leans to Somerset while the captain continues the briefing.
	They whisper.

						    MILLS
			    Does this make it with you?

						    SOMERSET
			    Doesn't seem like our man, does it?

						    MILLS
			    You tell me.  I'm new in town.

						    SOMERSET
			    He doesn't have the desire somehow.  Our
			    killer seems to have more purpose.  More
			    purpose than Victor could ever conceive of.

						    MILLS
			    The fingerprints.

						    SOMERSET
			    Yes.  They were there... so, it must be.

						    MILLS
			    We'll tag along.

	Somerset wants no part of that.

						    SOMERSET
			    Why would we?

						    MILLS
					  (smiles)
			    Satisfy our curiosity?

	INT.  MILLS' CAR -- MORNING

	Mills drives, follows a police van.  Somerset rides shotgun.
	Mills seems pumped and ready.  Somerset takes two Rolaids off a
	fresh roll and chews them.

						    MILLS
			    You ever take one?

	Somerset takes out his gun, opens it to check the load.

						    SOMERSET
			    Never in my twenty-four years, knock on
			    wood.  I've only ever taken my gun out five
			    times with the actual intention of using
			    it.  Never fired it though.  Not once.
					  (closes his gun)
			    You?

						    MILLS
			    Never took a bullet.  I pulled my gun once.
			    fired it once.

						    SOMERSET
			    And?

						    MILLS
			    It was my first one of these.  We were a
			    secondary unit, and I was pretty shaky
			    going in.  I was still considered a rookie.

	Mills takes a corner, tires screeching.

						    MILLS
			    We busted the door, looking for this
			    junkie, right?  The geek just opened fire.
			    Another cop was hit in the arm and he went
			    flying... like in slow motion.
					  (pause)
			    I remember riding in the ambulance.  His
			    arm was like Jello.  A piece of meat.  He
			    bled to death right there.

	A pause.

						    SOMERSET
			    How did the fire fight end?

						    MILLS
			    I got him.  I got the son-of-a-bitch.
			    See, I was doing really good up till then.
			    Lots of street busts.  I've always had this
			    weird luck... everything always went my
			    way, but this was wild.
					  (pause)
			    I got him with one shot... right between
			    the eyes.  Next thing I know, the mayor's
			    pinning a medal on me.  Picture in the
			    paper, whole nine yards.

	Somerset unrolls the window, feels the air across his face.

						    SOMERSET
			    How was it?

						    MILLS
			    I expected it to be bad, you know.  I took
			    a human life... but I slept like a baby
			    that night.  I never gave it a second
			    thought.

						    SOMERSET
			    I think Hemingway wrote somewhere... I
			    can't remember where, but he wrote that in
			    order to live in a place like this, you
			    have to have the ability to kill.  I think
			    he meant you truly must be able to do it,
			    not just faking it, too survive.

						    MILLS
			    Sounds like he knew what he was talking
			    about.

	INT.  SLUM BUILDING, STAIRWELL -- MORNING

	The five cops from the briefing, fully geared up and ready,
	rifles and handguns out, move quickly up the stairs in single
	file.  Somerset and Mills follow, guns out.  Somerset is sweating
	bullets.  Mills is wild eyed, juiced.

	Crack viles and hypodermic needles on the stairs crunch under the
	cops' heavy boots.

	INT.  SLUM HALLWAY -- MORNING

	The cops enter the dank hall.  The move cautiously.  A man is
	lying on the floor, looking up, helpless, with dead eyes.

	A door opens and a woman peeks out.  The female cop points her
	gun and the door slams.  California, leading the group, steps up
	to apartment 303.  He has a search warrant scotch-taped to the
	front of his bullet-proof vest.

						    CALIFORNIA
					  (to black cop)
			    This is it.  Give it up.

	The black cop hoists a heavy battering ram to California.  The
	other cops get on both sides of the door.  Somerset and Mills
	hang back a few feet, watching their backs.

						    BLACK COP
					  (points to Mills)
			    Cops go before Dicks.

	Many people are sticking their heads out of doors in the hall.

						    CALIFORNIA
			    Police!  Open the door!!

	California brings the ram forward with a splintering THUD -- once
	-- twice -- the door flies open.  The cops storm in.

	INT.  SLUM APARTMENT, MAIN ROOM -- MORNING

	The apartment is incredibly dusty.  The cops charge down the
	short hall into this room where a bed sits against the far wall.
	California moves up to the bed.  Someone lies under the sheets.
	Three other cops move, all training their weapon on the bed.

						    CALIFORNIA
			    Good morning, sweetheart!

	A blond cop goes into another room.  California moves closer to
	the bed, gun up.

						    CALIFORNIA
			    Get up, now, motherfucker!  NOW!

	INT.  SLUM APARTMENT, ADJOINING ROOM -- MORNING

	The blond cop enters, gun trained, looks around in confusion.

	The room's tables, chairs and floor are covered with hundreds of
	colorful, plastic air fresheners.

	INT.  SLUM APARTMENT, MAIN ROOM -- MORNING

	Mills and Somerset enter.  Somerset looks at the cops around the
	bed, then looks at a nearby wall.  His mouth drops in horror.  On
	the wall, written in excrement: SLOTH.

						    SOMERSET
			    Jesus...

	California kicks the bed, enraged.

						    CALIFORNIA
			    I said get up, Sleepyhead!

	He pulls the sheets off the bed and reveals the shriveled,
	sore-covered form of a man who is blindfolded and tied to the bed
	with a thin wire which has been wrapped time and time again
	around the mattress and bed frame.  Tubes runs out from a stained
	loincloth around the man's waist and snake under the bed.

						    CALIFORNIA
			    Fuck me!

	Mills pushes past the other cops.

						    MILLS
			    Holy shit.

	The cops recoil from the stench.  Somerset steps up, putting his
	gun away.

						    SOMERSET
			    Victor?

						    BLACK COP
			    What the hell... ?

						    CALIFORNIA
					  (to Somerset)
			    Check this out, Dick...

	California points with his gun to the end of the man's right arm.
	The hand is gone, severed at the wrist long ago.

						    MILLS
			    It is Victor.

						    SOMERSET
					  (points to a cop)
			    Call an ambulance.

	The blond cop enters from the other room.

						    BLOND COP
			    What the fuck is this?

						    CALIFORNIA
			    Somebody call a hearse, more like.

	The female cop has gone to one wall where a sheet is pinned up.
	She pulls the sheet down.  Pinned behind the sheet are fifty-two
	Polaroid pictures; all pictures of Victor tied to the bed, with a
	date written at the bottom of each picture.  It is a visual
	history of Victor's physical decay.

						    BLOND COP
			    What is going on?

	Mills sees the female cop looking at the pictures.

						    MILLS
			    Hey, California, get your people out.

	Somerset takes out rubber gloves and puts them on.

						    CALIFORNIA
			    You heard him.  Hit the hall, and don't
			    touch anything.

	Somerset replaces the sheet over Victor, but not over his head.

	The cops file out and Mills goes to examine the pictures.
	California stays by the bed with Somerset.

						    CALIFORNIA
			    It looks like he's some kind of friggin'
			    sculpture or something.

	Somerset places his finger along Victor's throat.

						    MILLS
			    Somerset, you... you better look here.

	Mills looks at the photos in awe.  Somerset joins him.

						    MILLS
			    All pictures of Victor tied to the bed.
					  (crouches, points)
			    The last one is dated three days ago.

	Somerset looks at the first photo.  In it, Victor is bound and
	gagged, but he is healthy.

						    SOMERSET
			    The first one... it's dated one year ago.
			    To the day.

	Somerset wipes his pale face.

	Californian stands by the corpse, behind Somerset and Mills.  He
	lifts the sheet on the bed to look under it.

						    CALIFORNIA
			    Mother...

	Mills kneels and lifts the sheet which had covered the pictures
	off the floor.  There is an open shoebox underneath.

						    MILLS
			    What...?

	On the side of the box: TO THE DETECTIVES, FROM ME.

	California leans close to Victor's gaunt, blindfolded face,
	examining with morbid curiosity.

						    CALIFORNIA
			    You got what you deserved, Victor.

	Somerset leans down beside Mills.  Mills looks through the
	shoebox.  Inside are plastic, zip-lock bags.

	One contains small clumps of hair.  One contains a yellow
	liquid...

						    MILLS
					  (looking at bags)
			    A urine sample, hair sample... stool
			    sample.  Finger nails...
					  (looks to Somerset)
			    He laughing at us.

	California is still close to Victor's face, when suddenly
	Victor's lips twist open and Victor lets out a loud, guttural
	bark.

	California jerks back, shouting in fear, falling over a chair to
	to the floor.

	Mills and Somerset reel.  They see California on the ground,
	scared out of his mind, pointing.

						    CALIFORNIA
			    He's alive!

	Somerset and Mills look towards the bed.

	Victor's lips move feebly as he lets out a sick, gurgling moan.

						    CALIFORNIA
			    He's still alive!!

	EXT.  SLUM APARTMENT BUILDING -- MORNING

	A crowd has gathered at the entrance.  Mills' car, the police van
	and two ambulances are parked on the sidewalk.

	INT.  SLUM HALLWAY -- MORNING

	The cops are in the hall holding neighbors at bay.

	INT.  SLUM APARTMENT, MAIN ROOM -- MORNING

	Three ambulance attendants are at the bed, working on Victor.
	One attendant uses wire cutters to clip Victor's bonds.

	INT.  SLUM STAIRWELL -- MORNING

	Mills and Somerset are standing in the middle of one flight of
	stairs.  Both are highly agitated.

						    SOMERSET
			    The way this has gone till now, I wouldn't
			    have thought it was possible, but we may
			    have underestimated this guy.

						    MILLS
			    I want him bad.  I don't just want to catch
			    him anymore.  I want to hurt him.

						    SOMERSET
			    Listen to me.  He's all about playing
			    games.

						    MILLS
			    No kidding!  No fucking kidding!

						    SOMERSET
			    We have to divorce ourselves from emotions
			    here.  No matter how hard it is, we have to
			    stay focused on the details.

						    MILLS
			    I don't know about you, but I feed off my
			    emotions.

						    SOMERSET
			    He'll string us along all the way if we're
			    not careful.

	Mills is looking at the floor, still burning.  Somerset grabs him
	by the jacket.

						    SOMERSET
			    Are you listening to me?

	Mills pushes Somerset's hand off.

						    MILLS
			    I hear you.

	There is a sudden, brilliant FLASH OF LIGHT and the SOUND of a
	CAMERA ADVANCING.  Mills and Somerset look.

	Down the stairs, a REPORTER has his camera up, pointed at them.

						    REPORTER
			    Say cheese.

	He take another picture, flashbulb flashing.

	Mills goes down the stairs, grabs the reporter, a balding, almost
	silly looking man with thick glasses and wrinkled clothing.

						    MILLS
			    What the fuck are you doing here?

	The reporter squirms, holds up a laminated press pass on a cord
	around his neck.

						    REPORTER
			    I have a right, Officer.  I...

	Mills shoves him, and the reporter stumbles a few steps, then
	falls to the landing below with a thud.

						    MILLS
			    That doesn't mean anything!  This is a
			    closed crime scene!

	Somerset comes to pull Mills back.  The shaken reporter stands
	uneasily.

						    REPORTER
			    You can't do this!  You can't...

						    MILLS
			    Get the fuck out of here!

	The reporter scrambles down the nest flight, out of sight.

						    REPORTER (o.s.)
			    The public has a right to know!

	Somerset yanks Mills back harder, till Mills sits on the stairs.

						    MILLS
			    How do those cockroaches get here so quick?

						    SOMERSET
			    They pay cops for the inside scoop, and
			    they pay well.

						    MILLS
					  (calming)
			    Sorry about that... I just...

						    SOMERSET
					  (sarcastic)
			    Oh, it's alright.

	Somerset starts back up the stairs.

						    SOMERSET
			    It's always impressive to see a man feeding
			    off his emotions.

	INT.  HOSPITAL ROOM -- DAY

	Somerset and Mills are with DOCTOR BEARDSLEY.  Victor lies inside
	an oxygen tent with tubes running into him.  The room is dim.

						    DOCTOR
			    A year of immobility seems about right,
			    judging by the deterioration of the muscles
			    and the spine.  Blood tests show a whole
			    smorgasbord of drugs in his systems; from
			    crack to heroin... even an antibiotic which
			    must have been administered to keep the bed
			    sores from infecting.

	Mills looks into the oxygen tent.

						    MILLS
			    He hasn't said anything, or tried to
			    express himself in any way?

						    DOCTOR
			    Even if his brain were not mush, which it
			    is... he chewed off his own tongue long
			    ago.

	Mills winces, moves away from the bed.

						    SOMERSET
			    There's no way he'll survive?

						    DOCTOR
			    Detective, he'd die right how of shock if
			    you were to shine a flashlight in his eyes.

	Silence for a moment, the the doctor lets out a chuckle.

						    DOCTOR
			    It's funny to think... he's experienced
			    about as much pain and suffering as anyone
			    I've encountered... give or take... and he
			    still has hell to look forward to.

	He chuckles again, engrossed in some information on a clipboard.
	Mills looks to Somerset like, "this guy's nuts."

	INT.  PRECINCT HOUSE, SOMERSET'S OFFICE -- DAY

	A blackboard is nailed to the wall.  Written in chalk:

	1 gluttony (x)    5 wrath
	2 greed (x)	  6 pride
	3 sloth (x)	  7 lust
	4 envy

	Somerset and Mills are at their paperwork covered desks.

						    SOMERSET
					  ((reading one sheet)
			    Victor's landlord says an envelope of cash
			    was in the office mailbox each month.  He
			    says, quote, "I never heard a single
			    complaint from the tenant in apartment
			    three-o-one, and nobody ever complained
			    about him.  He's the best tenant I've ever
			    had.

						    MILLS
			    A landlord's dream tenant: a paralyzed man
			    with no tongue.

						    SOMERSET
			    Who pays the rent on time.

	Somerset turns to the typewriter, types.  Mills fills out a form
	by hand.  He make an error and tries to erase, but the paper
	rips.  He curses, crumples the paper and throws it.

						    MILLS
			    I'm sick of sitting around, waiting for him
			    to kill again.

						    SOMERSET
			    This is the job.  It's not an Easter egg
			    hunt.

						    MILLS
			    There must be something in this pile of
			    garbage we can follow.  I mean, Christ...
			    do we have to let this lunatic make all the
			    moves.

						    SOMERSET
			    It's too dismissive to call him a lunatic.
			    We can't make that mistake.

						    MILLS
			    Oh, blah, blah, blah.  The guy's insane.

						    SOMERSET
			    It's a fine line between insane and
			    inspired.

						    MILLS
			    Hey, Freud, what brand of bullshit are you
			    shoveling, huh?  Right now he's probably
			    dancing around his room in a pair of his
			    mommy's panties, singing show tunes and
			    rubbing himself with peanut butter...

						    SOMERSET
				No.

						    MILLS
			    Sooner or later his luck's goning to run
			    out.

						    SOMERSET
			    No.  He's not depending on luck.  You've
			    seen that.  We walked into that apartment
			    exactly one year after he first tied Victor
			    to the bed, to the day.  To the day!
			    Because he wanted us to.

						    MILLS
			    We don't know for sure...

						    SOMERSET
			    Yes we do.  Here...

	Somerset picks up the photocopy of the first note.

						    SOMERSET
			    This quote... his first words to us.  I
			    looked it up.  It's from Milton's Paradise
			    Lost.  "Long is the way, and hard, that out
			    of hell leads up to light... "

						    MILLS
			    And so what?

						    SOMERSET
			    Well, he's been right so far, hasn't he?

						    MILLS
			    Just because the bastard has a library
			    card, it doesn't make him Einstein.

						    SOMERSET
			    Just, realize... this is not some common
			    lunatic.  The type of intestinal fortitude
			    it must take... to keep a man bound for a
			    full year.  To connect tubes to his
			    genitals.  To sever his hand and use it to
			    plant fingerprints.  He's methodical and
			    exacting, and worst of all, he's patient.

						    MILLS
			    What does all that matter anyway?  It's not
			    our job to figure him out, is it?  All we
			    have to do is catching him.

	Something clicks for Somerset.  He looks away, thinking.

	Mills watches him.

						    MILLS
			    What?

	Somerset sits.  Ponders, staring off into space.

						    MILLS
			    What is it?

	Somerset stands back up, takes money out of his pockets.

						    SOMERSET
			    How much money do you have?

						    MILLS
			    I don't know... like fifty.

	Somerset picks up the phone and dials, still sifting through his
	own money.  Mills doesn't know what's going on.

						    SOMERSET
					  (to Mills)
			    I propose a field trip.

	INT.  PUBLIC LIBRARY -- DAY

	Somerset walks through the busy main library, goes to a group of
	computer terminals.  Mills follows, wound up.  Somerset sits at
	one computer and works the keyboard, hunt-and-peck.

						    MILLS
			    Somerset... what the fuck?

	Several people turn to shush him.  Somerset takes out a notepad.

						    SOMERSET
			    At the top of the list, we'll put
			    Purgatory, Canterbury Tales... anything
			    relating to the seven deadly sins.  Now,
			    what the killer might research.  What would
			    he need to study to do the things he's
			    done?  What are his other interests?  For
			    example...

	INSERT -- COMPUTER SCREEN

	Somerset types.  On the screen:    SEARCH: JACK THE RIPPER.

	EXT.  HOT DOG WORLD -- DAY

	The restaurant's sign reads: HOT DOG WORLD, HOME OF THE WORLD'S
	BIGGEST DOGS.  A MAN is trying to give out paper advertisements.
	People walk out of their way to avoid him.

						    MAN
					  (to people)
			    Take one, you stupid fucks!  Here... take
			    one!  It's a fucking coupon!  Take it!

	INT.  HOT DOG WORLD -- DAY

	Mills and Somerset are in a booth, both on the same seat on the
	same side of the table.  They look over their list of books.
	Mills goes to eat a hot dog, but Somerset stops him.

						    SOMERSET
			    They had about fifty health violations
			    during the last inspection.

	Mills throws the dog down, looks at his watch.

						    MILLS
			    Could you at least sit across from me?  I
			    don't want people to thing we're dating.

	Somerset watches a GREASY MAN, wearing a black suit, enter.  The
	man's hair is slicked back.

						    SOMERSET
			    Give me your money.

	Mills hands his money to Somerset.

						    MILLS
			    I'm handing you this, and for some strange
			    reason, I have the idea I should know what
			    the fuck we're doing.

	Somerset folds the money with his own into the list of books.  He
	holds the list in his lap, under the table.  Greasy Man comes to
	sit at the table.

						    GREASY MAN
			    Hey, Somerset.  How are you?  I didn't know
			    this was going to be a menage-a-trois.

						    SOMERSET
			    It's not a problem.

						    GREASY MAN
			    Only for you do I do this.  Big risk
			    here... so I figure we'll be even-up.  All
			    fair and square.

	Greasy Man has his hands under the table.  he gets up to leave
	with his hand in his pocket.  He picks up Mills' dog.

						    GREASY MAN
			    About an hour.

	Greasy Man leaves, eating the hot dog.

						    MILLS
			    Well, that was money well spent.

						    SOMERSET
			    Let's go.

	INT.  PIZZA PARLOR -- DAY

	Mills and Somerset sit with a pizza before them.

						    SOMERSET
			    By telling you this, I'm trusting you more
			    than I trust most people.

						    MILLS
			    It's be best if you got to the point, cause
			    I'm about ready to punch you in the face.

	Somerset leans closer to Mills, speaks quietly.

						    SOMERSET
			    It's probably nothing, but even if it is,
			    it's no skin off our teeth.  The man at Hot
			    Dog World is a friend, in the Bureau.

						    MILLS
			    Him?

						    SOMERSET
			    For a long time, the F.B.I.'s been hooked
			    into the library system, keeping accurate
			    records.

						    MILLS
			    What?  Assessing fines?

						    SOMERSET
			    They monitor reading habits.  Not every
			    book, but certain ones are flagged.  Books
			    about... let's say, how to build a nuclear
			    bomb, or maybe Mein Kampf.  Whoever takes
			    out a flagged book has their library
			    records fed to the F.B.I. from then on.

						    MILLS
			    You got to be kidding.

						    SOMERSET
			    Flagged books cover every topic the Bureau
			    deems questionable... communism to violent
			    crime.

						    MILLS
			    How is this legal?

						    SOMERSET
			    Legal... illegal.  These terms don't apply.
			    I don't applaud it.

	Somerset takes a bite of pizza.

						    SOMERSET
			    They can't use the information directly,
			    but it's a useful guide.  It might sound
			    silly, but you can't get a library card
			    without i.d. and a current phone bill.

	Mills is starting to warm to it.

						    MILLS
			    So they ran our list.

						    SOMERSET
			    If you want to know who's been reading
			    Paradise Lost, Purgatory, and say... The
			    Life and Time of Charlie Manson, the
			    Bureau's computer will tell you.  It might
			    give us a name.

						    MILLS
			    Yeah.  Some college student who's taking
			    English 101 and just happens to be writing
			    a paper on Twentieth Century Crime.

						    SOMERSET
			    Yeah, well... at least we're out of the
			    office.  We've got pizza.

						    MILLS
			    How do you know all about this?

						    SOMERSET
			    I don't.  Neither do you.

	Somerset looks up.  Greasy Man is entering the pizza parlor.

	INT.  SOMERSET'S CAR -- DAY

	The car is parked with Somerset at the wheel and Mills beside.
	They're looking through pages of connected computer paper.

						    MILLS
			    This is a waste of time.

						    SOMERSET
			    We're focusing.

						    MILLS
			    I know, I know... focusing on one little
			    thing.

						    SOMERSET
					  (reading aloud)
			    The Divine Comedy.  A History of
			    Catholicism.  A book called Murderers and
			    Madmen.

	He hands the sheets to Mills.  Mills looks them over.

						    MILLS
					  (reading)
			    Modern Homicide Investigation.  In Cold
			    Blood.  Of Human Bondage.  Human Bondage?

						    SOMERSET
			    It's not what you think it is.

						    MILLS
					  (reads)
			    The Marquis de Sade and Origins of Sadism.

						    SOMERSET
			    That is.

						    MILLS
					  (reads)
			    The Writings of Saint Thomas Aqu...
			    Aquin...

						    SOMERSET
			    Saint Thomas Aquinas.
					  (starts the car)
			    He wrote about the seven deadly sins.

	INT.  TENEMENT BUILDING, STAIRWELL/HALLWAY -- DAY

	Somerset and Mills walk up the stairs and turn a corner into this
	long hall.  Somerset is looking at the computer sheets.

						    MILLS
			    You're sure you're reading that right?
			    John Doe?

						    SOMERSET
			    That's what it says.  Jonathan Doe.

						    MILLS
			    This is stupid.  It'd be just too easy.

						    SOMERSET
			    We'll take a look at him.  Talk to him.

						    MILLS
			    Sure.  Uh, excuse me... are you by any
			    chance a serial killer?  Oh, you are?
			    Well, come with us then, if it's okay.

	They reach a door, apartment 6A.  Somerset knocks.

						    MILLS
			    What are you going to say?

						    SOMERSET
			    You do the talking.  Put that old silver
			    tongue of yours to work.

						    MILLS
			    Who told you about my silver tongue?  You
			    been talking to my wife?

	Mills knocks on the door, hard.

						    MILLS
			    This is really lame.

	A CREAK is HEARD O.S.  Somerset turns to look towards it...

	A male figure, JOHN DOE, is standing at the stairwell, wearing a
	hat and standing in shadow, looking towards them.  Stark still.

	Somerset furrows his brow.

	The John Doe reaches into his coat, lifts his arm, pointing...

						    SOMERSET
			    Mills... !

	BLAM -- GUNFIRE SOUNDS, deafening, as a bullet slams into door
	6A, just missing Somerset as he and Mills hit the floor.

	John Doe fires again...

	The bullet blows a huge hole in the wall, throwing plaster.  A
	third bullet follows, just above Mills and Somerset, and John Doe
	is heard running back down the stairs.

	The gunfire's still echoing, ringing, as Mills gets up and
	unholsters his gun.

						    MILLS
			    Jesus Christ...

	Mills scrambles down the stairwell...

	IN THE STARWELL

	Mills bounds down stairs, turns a corner and leaps down another
	flight.  He halts on the landing, listening.  John Doe can be
	HEARD still RUNNING, below.

	IN THE HALL ABOVE

	Somerset rolls and takes out his gun.  He stands, dazed.

						    MILLS (o.s.)
					  (from in stairwell)
			    What kind of gun was it?

	IN THE STAIRWELL

	Somerset comes into the stairwell.

						    MILLS (o.s.)
					  (from below)
			    Damn it, Somerset... what kind of gun?!
			    How many bullets?

	BELOW, IN THE STAIRWELL

	Mills hurries down more stairs.

						    SOMERSET (o.s.)
					  (from above)
			    I don't know.  Might've been a revolver.

	Voices echo.  Mills loses his footing, falls...

	Mills hits the next landing hard, dropping his gun.

						    MILLS
			    Fuck!

	Mills gets back up and picks up his gun and keeps going.

	ABOVE IN THE STAIRWELL

				    the stairs, breathing hard.

						    MILLS (o.s.)
					  (from below)
			    What's he look like?

						    SOMERSET
			    Brown hat.  Tan raincoat... like a... like
			    a trench coat.

	BELOW IN THE STAIRWELL

				  ready, moves to peer over the railing, down into
				  stairwell's center...

				    in shadow, aiming his gun straight up...

				   s SHOT is FIRED from below and the bullet is

	ABOVE

				  Somerset splinters into a million pieces, sends
	Somerset ducking for cover.

				far below -- the bullet is HEARD RICOCHETING

	BELOW

				    waiting as the gunshot echoes.

						    MILLS
					  (to himself)
			    Five... that's five...

				 continues down the stairs.

	INT.  TENEMENT BUILDING, LOWER HALLWAY -- DAY

				  stairs and into a hallway, falling to one knee,
				  ing his gun one direction -- empty hallway.

					direction, gun hand shaking, catches a
	glimpse of John Doe just as he disappears around a corner far
				 Mills gets up, looking back to the number 2 by
				   ooks, shouting back towards the stairwell...

						    MILLS
			    Second floor!  Second floor!

				 FOLLOW him, tearing ass...



				   rn, full speed ahead, bringing his gun up...

			 John Doe's running...

	Mills takes aim...

	Ahead, between John Doe and Mills, a tenant in t-shirt and
	underwear comes out an apartment, looking towards John Doe,
	blocking the line of fire...

						    MILLS
			    Get down!  Move... !

	The tenant turns to Mills, confused.  Mills pushes angrily
	past...

	Ahead, John Doe makes an abrupt halt.  A woman tenant is looking
	out her door and John Doe grabs her and throws her into the hall.
	She falls as John Doe shoves his way into her apartment.

	BACK AT THE STAIRWELL

	Somerset comes down the stairs, tired.  He runs.

	AROUND THE CORNER, IN THE OTHER HALLWAY SECTION

	Mills reaches the apartment Doe entered, bursting in...

	INT.  TENEMENT APARTMENT -- DAY

	Mills enters, gun up.  It's a railroad apartment, with all the
	rooms adjoining in a row.  At the far end of the apartment, John
	Doe can be seen moving out one room's window onto a fire escape
	just as that room's door is swinging shut.

	Mills charges through the apartment, full on...

	He bashes through the closed door...

	EXT.  TENEMENT BUILDING, FIRE ESCAPE -- DAY

	Mills leans out the window over an alleyway.  BLAM -- GUNSHOT.
	The window above Mills' shatters and Mills pulls back.

	Mills leans back out, fanning with his gun, searching.

	Below, John Doe runs out the alleyway's mouth and rounds a
	corner, gone.

	Mills curses, scrambling out onto the fire escape, running a few
	steps and then vaulting the rail... crashes down on the roof of a
	car parked below.  The windshield cracks.  Mills jumps off and
	continues the pursuit...

						    MILLS
					  (to himself)
			    That's six...

	EXT.  CITY STREET -- DAY

	Mills rounds the alleyway corner into people packed streets.

	Several people are running, heading several different directions.

	Mills comes to a halt, his focus confused, searching desperately.
	Others run upon seeing his gun.  Woman scream and grab up their
	children.  Mills can't see far down the sidewalk because of all
	the people.  He moves forward...

	He jumps atop a fire hydrant, gripping a street sign for balance,
	trying to see further down the street.

	MILLS' P.O.V. -- There he is!  John Doe can be seen, far off,
	moving across the street, through traffic, to the opposite
	sidewalk.

	ON THE STREET, Mills runs, into traffic, avoiding cars, down the
	center line.  Angry drivers scream at him.

	Ahead, John Doe glances back, ducking into an alley.

	Mills gets to the other sidewalk, yelling for people to get out
	of the way...

	EXT.  CITY ALLEYWAY -- DAY

	Mills comes to this tight alleyway.  It's dark, with a long,
	tall, vertical sliver of daylight far ahead.  Mills runs...

	Charging hard onwards...

	A two-by-four swings out from a hidden nook along the side of the
	alleyway -- slamming Mills in the face with a THWACK!!

	Mills' gun hits the alley wall and clatters into a puddle.

	Mills hits the dirt, on his back, nose broken and split, face
	bloodied.  He cries out, rolling to his side, clutching his face.

	The two-by-four is dropped.  John Doe's feet cross a short
	distance.  Doe's hand reaches to pick up Mills' gun.  (We never
	see John Doe's face.)

	Mills still lies on his side, stunned, spitting blood and
	cursing, when he feels the barrel of his gun against the side of
	his face.  Mills freezes.

	John Doe moves the gun slowly across Mills' face, till the barrel
	reaches Mills' mouth.  The barrel is inserted between his lips.

	The gun's hammer is pulled back.

	Mills quakes, tries to open his eyes, but he's blinded by the
	blood from his broken nose.  For an instant, there is a sudden,
	BRIGHT FLASH of LIGHT.

	After a long moment, the gun withdrawals.  From O.S., the bullets
	fall out of Mills gun onto his chest.

	The gun is dropped.  John Doe runs towards the sliver of light.
	He's gone.

	Mills lies for a long moment, gasping.  At the alleyway's entrance,
	Somerset appears.

						    SOMERSET
			    Mills...

	Mills rolls, shaken, feeling to pick up the bullets and trying to
	rub the blood out of his eyes with his shirt sleeve.  Somerset
	arrives.

						    SOMERSET
			    Are you alright?

						    MILLS
			    I'm fine.

						    SOMERSET
			    What happened?

	Mills gets up, collects his gun and pockets it, then walks past
	Somerset, heading back.

						    SOMERSET
			    Mills... ?

	Mills starts running.  Somerset runs to follow.

	INT.  TENEMENT BUILDING, STAIRWELL/HALLWAY -- DAY

	Mills moves from the stairwell, driven, his nose still bleeding,
	heading for apartment 6A.  Somerset takes Mills arm, but Mills
	pulls away and keeps going.

						    SOMERSET
			    Wait... just wait.

						    MILLS
			    It was him.

						    SOMERSET
			    You can't go in there.

	Somerset grabs Mills again and Mills shoves him off.

						    MILLS
			    The hell I can't!  We get in there and we
			    can stop him.

						    SOMERSET
			    We need a warrant.

						    MILLS
			    We have probable cause now.

	Somerset grabs Mills and shoves him against the wall.

						    SOMERSET
			    Think about it...

						    MILLS
			    What the fuck is wrong with you?

						    SOMERSET
			    Think about how we got here!

	Somerset holds the computer paper, now crumpled in his hand.  He
	waves it in Mills' face as Mills struggles.

						    SOMERSET
			    We can't tell anyone about this.  We can't
			    tell them about the Bureau, so we have no
			    reason for being here.

	Mills stops struggling, breathing hard, seething, trembling.

						    MILLS
			    By the time we clear a warrant someone else
			    is going to be dead.

						    SOMERSET
			    Think it through.  If we leave a hole like
			    this, we'll never prosecute.  He'll walk.
					  (pause)
			    We have to come up with some excuse for
			    knocking on this door.

						    MILLS
			    Okay... okay... get off.

	Somerset releases Mills.  Mills looks around the hall, then goes
	right to door 6A and KICKS IT IN -- the door jam splinters and
	the door swings open to darkness for a moment before swinging
	back, half-shut.

						    SOMERSET
			    You stupid son of a...

						    MILLS
			    No point in arguing anymore...

	Mills strides down the short end of the hall, towards a window.

						    MILLS
					  (pointing back)
			    Unless you can fix that.

	Mills stops, looking out the window.  It overlooks a weedy,
	overgrown courtyard where a THIN VAGRANT lies asleep on the
	concrete.  Mills turns, looking back to Somerset.

						    MILLS
			    How much money do we have left?

	INT.  TENEMENT BUILDING, STAIRWELL -- EARLY EVENING

	On a stairwell landing, Somerset watches the thin vagrant from
	the courtyard talk to a uniformed POLICEMAN who writes on a
	clipboard, taking the statement.

						    THIN VAGRANT
			    So, I... I noticed this guy going out...
			    going out a lot when those murders were
			    happening.  So... so I...

	The vagrant's clinging to the rail, drunk and out of it.  Mills
	is down further on the stairs, high strung, chomping at the bit
	to get this over with.

						    MILLS
			    So, you called Detective Somerset, right?

						    THIN VAGRANT
			    Yeah, I... I called the detective.
			    Because, because this guy seemed... creepy.
			    And... and...

						    MILLS
					  (urging him on)
			    And...

						    THIN VAGRANT
			    And, one of the murders was over there...
			    over... nearby here.  I... I called the
			    cops...

	The vagrant wipes drool from his lips.  Mills comes to grip him
	so he doesn't fall, searching the policemen's face for suspicion.

						    MILLS
			    I told you the rest.  You got it?

						    POLICEMAN
					  (still writing)
			    Yeah, whatever.

						    SOMERSET
			    Have him sign it.

	The policeman holds the clipboard and pen out to the vagrant.
	Mills takes the pen and guides the vagrant's hand, almost signing
	it for him.

						    MILLS
			    Great.  Is that it?

	The policeman nods.  Mills grips the vagrant and leads him down
	the stairs in a hurry, around a bend.  Mills looks up to be sure
	they're out of the policeman's sight, takes out a wad of cash and
	shoves it in the vagrant's pocket.

						    MILLS
			    Go drink yourself happy.

	Mills quickly guides the vagrant on his way, then turns and
	rushes up the stairs, taking them two at a time.

	INT.  JOHN DOE'S APARTMENT, MAIN ROOM -- EARLY EVENING

	Mills pushes door 6A open, putting on rubber gloves.  He steps in
	with Somerset behind.  Somerset turns back to the policeman.

						    SOMERSET
					  (to policeman)
			    Wait outside.

	Somerset closes the door most of the way.  Mills hits a switch on
	the wall and a lamp illuminates a desk.  The desk is in the
	center of the room, facing them.  The room is bizarre, with some
	areas cluttered and others barren.  All the walls are painted
	black.  All the large, curtainless windows are painted over.

	Somerset puts on his gloves.  Mills walks to the desk.

	The desktop is rather tidy.  The only blatantly strange thing is
	a set of notches carved into the wooden surface: three notches.
	A candle has been allowed to burn down at one corner of the desk
	and the wax trail goes all the way to the floor.  Mills opens the
	middle desk drawer.  It's empty except for The Holy Bible.

	Somerset moves along shelves of books, looking at the spines.
	Lots of thick, oversized art volumes.  A HISTORY OF THEOLOGY.
	HANDBOOK OF FIREARMS.  HISTORY OF THE WORLD.  SUMMA THEOLOGICA.
	UNITED STATES CRIMINAL LAW REVIEW.

	At the desk, Mills opens another drawer.  It's filled with at
	least forty empty aspirin bottles.  He opens the next drawer and
	finds a rosary and several boxes of bullets.

	Somerset comes to look at John Doe's "bed."  No mattress. It's
	only a metal frame and springs with a sheet spread across it.
	The sheet is sweat stained and dotted by stains of rust at many
	points where springs have worn through.

	Somerset walks around the bed to a narrow table not far away
	against the wall.  The table contains a strange tableau, like a
	mini stage, hand-made of cardboard and pasted Communion wafers.
	A human hand immersed in a jar of liquid is the centerpiece.

						    SOMERSET
					  (quiet, to himself)
			    Victor.

	Above this, on the wall, there's a clutter of pinned up articles
	about the seven deadly sins, pages from art books, pencil
	drawings of Christ, all tight together and overlapping.

	Mills picks up a small piece of paper from a letter holder.  It's
	a pink receipt from WILD BILL'S LEATHER SHOP.

	Written: CUSTOM JOB. $502.64. PAID IN FULL.  Mills puts the
	receipt back down on the desk.

	Somerset walks to a black door.  Opens it.

	INT.  JOHN DOE'S APARTMEN, ROOM TWO -- EARLY EVENING

	Somerset enters.  A ceiling light is on.  Bare bulb.  There are
	bookshelves on three walls, filled with notebooks.  Thousands and
	thousands of notebooks.

	Somerset takes one notebook down.  It is a thick composition book
	with an unlabeled cover.  Inside, the pages are filled with small
	handwritten sentences, thumb-nail sketches and blurry, glued in
	photographs; small photos, seemingly cut from contact sheets.
	the sketches, pictures and writings takes up ever single inch.

	Somerset takes down another notebook and flips through the pages.
	Same as the first, filled to the brim.

	Somerset crosses to another shelf and pulls another notebook.
	Same deal.  Somerset looks around.

						    SOMERSET
			    Jesus.

	INT.  JOHN DOE'S APARTMENT, MAIN ROOM -- EARLY EVENING

	Mills moves from the desk to a hall.  He tries a light switch,
	but it does nothing.  He walks...

	It's dark.  A rather long hall.  The only light is a red glow
	seeping from under the bottom of the closed door ahead.

	INT.  JOHN DOE'S APARTMENT, ROOM TWO -- EARLY EVENING

	Somerset walks to a 16mm film projector.  It sits facing a
	battered white screen.  Somerset turns the projector on, backing
	away to switch off the bare bulb above.

	INT.  JOHN DOE'S APARTMENT, HALL -- EARLY EVENING

	Mills reaches the door at the end of the hall.  He turns the knob
	and pushes the door open.  He's bathed in red light.

	INT.  JOHN DOE'S APARTMENT, BATHROOM -- EARLY EVENING

	Mills enters.  He looks around, slowly.  Stunned.

	INT.  JOHN DOE'S APARTMENT, ROOM TWO -- EARLY EVENING

	The projector is clattering in the dark, running a piece of film
	through.  The film is spliced to run as a non-stop loop.
	Somerset watches the screen, light strobing across him.

	The screen shows a bright image of clouds drifting, with strange
	superimposed angels in flowing robes floating jerkily.  It's like
	a weird, old Hollywood version of Heaven.

	The images switch abruptly to fire and tormented souls laboring
	around a pit of molten goo, where more tormented humans squirm.
	Like Heaven, it's a scratched piece of film from Hollywood's
	early days.

						    MILLS (o.s.)
			    Somerset!

	Somerset is engrossed in the images.

						    MILLS (o.s.)
			    Somerset... come here!

	Somerset hears him.

	INT.  JOHN DOE'S APARTMENT, HALL/BATHROOM -- EARLY EVENING

	Somerset comes down the hall.

						    MILLS (o.s.)
			    We had him, damn it.

	Somerset reaches the bathroom where Mills stands looking up at
	the wall.  The room has been converted into a dark room lit by
	red bulbs, with strips of film hanging from the ceiling.

						    SOMERSET
			    What are you talking about?

						    MILLS
			    We had him.

	There are hundreds of prints on the walls and hanging from drying
	wires.  Somerset looks around, trying to understand...

	Pictures of John Doe's victims, alive and dead.  Grotesque
	photos, of their pleading faces, and their dead bodies.  Close
	shots of eyes, fingers and mouths.

	Mills sits on the closed toilet, throwing something into the
	nearby sink and resting his head in his hands.

						    MILLS
			    The pass was a fake.

	In the sink -- it's a laminated press pass on a neck cord.

	On the walls, more pictures: of the crime scenes, but from the
	outside looking in.  Long shots.  Police cars.  Ambulances.
	Uniformed officers putting up police barrier ribbons outside
	buildings.  The coroner's wagon.

	Somerset stares at them, taking them in, realizing...

						    MILLS
			    We had him and we let him go.

	In the backgrounds of the pictures: Somerset and Mills.  In
	another: Mills crossing the street.  In another: Somerset and
	Mills getting out of Somerset's car.

	One photo, close shot, shows Mills and Somerset on the stairwell
	of the building where Victor's body was found.  It is the
	picture taken by the balding, almost silly looking reporter.

	INT.  JOHN DOE'S APARTMENT, MAIN ROOM -- NIGHT

	A male forensic uses tongs to remove Victor's hand from the jar
	of liquid.  He places the hand in a clear plastic evidence bag.

	The forensic walks away with the hand, past a FEMALE SKETCH
	ARTIST who puts the finishing touches on an accurate drawing of
	the balding, almost silly looking reporter who wears thick
	glasses, now known as John Doe.

						    SKETCH ARTIST
			    You're sure this is him?

	Mills stands over the sketch artist.  Two deputy detectives, SARA
	and BILLY, are at work along with two other forensics searching,
	photographing and dusting.

						    MILLS
			    Just put it in circulation.

						    SKETCH ARTIST
			    You got it.  Tomorrow morning, this city's
			    good citizens will be on the lookout for
			    Elmer Fudd.

						    SARA
					  (coming to Mills)
			    We can't find anything to hang on to.  No
			    paystubs, no appointment books or
			    calenders.  Not even an address book.  And,
			    you're not going to believe this...

						    MILLS
			    Keep looking.

						    SARA
			    It's just... we haven't found any
			    fingerprints yet.  Not a single one.

						    MILLS
			    You know, you're right, I don't believe
			    you.  Keep looking.

	Mills walks away.

	INT.  JOHN DOE'S APARTMENT, ROOM TWO -- NIGHT

	Somerset and three uniformed officers are looking through the
	notebooks on the shelves.  Somerset squints at the notebook in
	his hand, shaking his head as he reads.  Mills enters.

	Somerset looks up and closes the notebook.

						    SOMERSET
			    We could use about fifty more men here.

						    MILLS
			    I'm trying, alright?  Just tell me what
			    we've got.

	Somerset pauses briefly at Mills' abruptness.

						    SOMERSET
			    Well, there are at least five thousand
			    notebooks in this room, and near as I can
			    tell, each notebook contains two hundred
			    and fifty pages.

						    MILLS
			    Then, he must write about these murders.

						    SOMERSET
					  (opens notebook, reads)
			    "What sick, ridiculous, puppets we are, and
			    what a gross, little stage we dance on.
			    What fun we have, dancing and fucking, not
			    a care in the world.  Not knowing that we
			    are nothing.  We are not what was
			    intended."

	Somerset turns a few pages.

						    SOMERSET
					  (reads)
			    "On the subway today, a man came to me to
			    start a conversation.  He made small talk,
			    this lonely man, talking about the weather
			    and other things.  I tried to be pleasant
			    and accommodating, but my head began to
			    hurt from his banality.  I almost didn't
			    notice it had happened, but I suddenly
			    threw up all over him.  He was not pleased,
			    and I couldn't help laughing."

	Somerset closes the notebook.

						    SOMERSET
			    No dates indicated, placed on the shelves
			    in no discernible order.  It's just his
			    mind poured out on paper.  I don't think
			    it's going to give us any specifics.

						    MILLS
			    Looking around... I've got a bad feeling
			    these murders are his life's work.

	A PHONE is HEARD RINGING in another room.  Mills looks.

	INT.  JOHN DOE'S APARTMENT, MAIN ROOM -- NIGHT

	Everyone's looking around, and at each other, trying to find the
	source of the RINGING.  Mills and Somerset enter, baffled.  Mills
	looks to Sara.  She shrugs and shakes her head.

	Everyone searches.  PHONE RINGS.

	Mills gets on his hands and knees.

						    MILLS
			    Here...

	Mills crawls under John Doe's "bed."  He comes back out with a
	rotary phone.  Someone throws him a micro-cassette recorder.
	Mills turns the recorder on, makes sure it's running, then picks
	up the phone with the recorder to the earpiece.

						    MILLS
					  (into phone)
			    Hello.

						    JOHN DOE (v.o.)
					  (from phone)
			    I admire you.  I don't know how you found
			    me, but imagine my surprise.  I respect you
			    detectives more every day.

						    MILLS
					  (into phone)
			    Okay, John, let's...

						    JOHN DOE (v.o.)
					  (from phone)
			    No, no, no!  You listen.  I'll be back on
			    schedule tomorrow, even with this setback.
			    I just had to call and express my
			    admiration.  I'm sorry I had to hurt you
			    today, but I didn't have a choice.  You
			    will accept my apology, won't you?

	Mills says nothing, containing his anger.

						    JOHN DOE (v.o.)
			    I feel like saying more... but I don't want
			    to ruin the surprise.

	John Doe hangs up.  Mills puts down the phone.

	INT.  JOHN DOE'S APARTMENT, ROOM TWO -- LATER NIGHT

	Mills and Somerset stand in the dark, watching the continuous
	loop projector's strange images of Heaven and Hell.

						    MILLS
			    You were right.

	Somerset looks at Mills.

						    MILLS
			    He's preaching.

						    SOMERSET
					  (nods)
			    These murders are his masterwork.  His
			    sermon to all of us.  To all us sinners.

	The door opens and light bursts in.  The captain stands there,
	looking them over.

						    CAPTAIN
			    It's been a long day, kids.  Go home.  Just
			    make sure you sleep with the phone between
			    your legs.

	INT.  SOMERSET'S APARTMENT, BEDROOM -- NIGHT

	Somerset winds his metronome.  PHONE RINGS.  Somerset does not
	want to answer it, but does.

						    SOMERSET
					  (into phone)
			    Hello.

						    TRACY (v.o.)
					  (from phone)
			    Hello, William?  It's Tracy.

						    SOMERSET
					  (into phone)
			    Tracy, is everything alright?

						    TRACY (v.o.)
			    Yes, yes, everything's fine.

						    SOMERSET
			    Where's David?

						    TRACY (v.o.)
			    He's in the shower, in the other room.  I'm
			    sorry to call like this.

						    SOMERSET
			    It's alright, I guess.

						    TRACY (v.o.)
			    I, um... I need to talk to you.  I need to
			    talk to someone.  Can you meet me
			    somewhere... maybe tomorrow morning?

						    SOMERSET
			    I really don't understand.

						    TRACY (v.o.)
			    I feel stupid, but you're the only person I
			    know here.  There's no one else...

						    SOMERSET
			    I just...

						    TRACY (v.