 My name's Regan. I work for Anthony J. Lyon, Detective Bureau. They call me The Lyon's Eye. Wednesday at 9 and CBS brings you Jeff Regan investigator starring Paul Dubov as Regan with Frank Nelson as Anthony J. Lyon. So stand by for mystery and suspense and adventure in tonight's story titled... It all comes back to me now. She was about medium size, brunette, beautiful and bewildered. She couldn't remember where she'd come from or where she was going. Couldn't remember her own name. Just one thing she could remember. She wanted to commit murder. She was in the office of my boss Anthony J. Lyon that Friday morning. Sitting there across the desk from him holding on to her battered purse like it was the last thing in the world she was sure of. But the Lyon or I didn't know, she was right. Oh, Jeffrey, come in, come in. I've been waiting for you. Morning, Fatso. New clients? Well, yes, yes, Jeffrey. I think we could call her that. Jeffrey, this is Miss... Miss... That's a very interesting name, Fatso. My name's Regan. Miss... Miss. How do you do, Mr. Regan? Jeffrey, she has a terrible problem. Somebody does. She can't remember her name. Please. Please, can't you help me? I don't remember anything. You remember how you got here to our office? No. It's not anything. From when? From... from now. Except... there was a door. It said Detective Agency. I... I walked in. Yes. Jeffrey, what are we going to do about Miss... Miss... Smith. Smith? Well, we've got to call her something, haven't we? Right, Smith. Jeffrey, this is a matter for the police. A bureau of missing persons, surely... Oh, no, Mr. Lyon, please. Not the police. What's that? Oh, please, Mr. Regan, please, don't let him call the police. People who can't remember their names usually can't remember they shouldn't go to the police, Miss Smith. But I... Look, lady, if you don't want to go to the cops, there's got to be a reason. Well, then... then... Look at this. It's Jeffrey. 32 caliber revolver, Smith and Wesson. Loaded except for two empty shells. You see, Mr... Mr. Regan... The gun's been fired, Jeffrey. Two bullets missing. Miss Smith? Hey, Jeffrey, that's terrible. Is it? We called the police. Lyon, I think Miss Smith hasn't quite finished her story. The gun and her purse isn't the only reason she doesn't want to go to the police. That right, Miss Smith? Mr. Regan, I... I tried to remember. There was a... a house somewhere. A small house. I was in a room. Go on. Go on. Keep trying, Miss Smith. I was going somewhere. Alone. I wanted to see someone. I... I think I was on my way to kill someone. Fatso, get some water. She's fainted. Water? Jeffrey, don't just stand there. Call an ambulance. Lyon was right. Miss Smith wasn't just a quick faint. Her breath came in short, hushed spurts, and her pulse was a whisper. The battered little purse had fallen open. Inside, $2.17, and a receipt for cab fare. No wallet, no identification. I picked up the receipt. It was dated that morning, Friday, and totaled $3.70. It was a leak. I sent the line with Miss Smith and the ambulance, and then headed for the main office of the cab company. Took me two hours to get what I wanted. The receipt was for cab number 702, one of the new cars the company added. And it was usually driven by one Joseph Rupnik. Another hour passed, and he pulled into the cab stand out front of the main office. Joe Rupnik? Who else? Let's drive. My pleasure, sir. Where to, Mac? Did you drive a medium-sized brunette this morning, Joe? Oh, it would be a pleasure. Think. Fair complexion, good-looking, very good-looking. Carried a little black leather purse. The fare was $3.70. $3.70, huh? You know, that's a nice fare. What'll it buy, $3.70? Well, let's see. $3.70, should ought to take you out to Westwood. You got a record of your stops today. What about Westwood? Yeah, I guess I have. Hey, Mac, what do you know? She was lovely, she was engaged, and she used my cab. Ah, what a dish. The witch bothered him brunette. I seen her, and I'm glad. Never mind the tone poems. Where did you pick her up? In Westwood. Where else? Okay, let's go there. What is it, Mac? Right here on this corner. She was standing here. Naturally, I stopped. Naturally. Thanks. See you around. Oh, you're welcome, but I'm staying. Staying where? Oh, look, right here, Mac. Look. You don't have to be a mind reader to spot you for a private eye. Shamus or gumshoe. This means the jackpot. My cab is at your service. That's your business, Joe. Only keep your flag up. Shouldn't worry about a thing. Besides, what else do I get a chance to check the horses at that far end? Joe Ruppnick pulled a racing form out of his pocket, and I looked at the place he'd pointed out. According to Joe, Miss Smith had been standing in front of a white one-story building with a two-story sign that said, Parker's Service. It was an auto repair shop, a big one. The kind that specializes in foreign cars, custom sedans, and rich customers. Mr. Parker. Telephone call, Mr. Parker. What can I do for you, sir? I'm looking for a girl. She used to work here. Sarah, you're looking for Sarah? About medium-sized, good-looking. Yeah, yeah, that's Sarah. Well, she quit yesterday. She was in here this morning to pick up her check. Me, I'm just taking her place. And it's not a bad job, not bad at all. Mr. Parker, he's a nice guy, a very nice... Oh, pardon me, just a moment, please. Parker's Service. Yeah, just a moment, please. Could you give me Sarah's address? Could you give me Sarah's address? Well, I could check for you. You see, I'm new here. Sure. By the way, what's Sarah's last name? I've forgotten. Sarah Hansen. So you didn't know her very well, did you? Blind date. Oh, yeah, I understand. And she forgot to give you her address. Sure, I'll find out for you, mister. Glad to. The girl behind the counter winked at me and went back into the office. And before I could turn around, there was somebody at my elbow. And I had that feeling you'd get when you know someone's staring down your neck. I turned and I was right. Tall man, neatly dressed, business suit, about 35. Sontan that spelled 18 holes of golf on Sunday, private club, Chamber of Commerce. All right, beg your pardon, sir. Did I overhear you asking for Sarah Hansen? Maybe you did. My name's Parker. Mine's Regan. I wonder if you'd be kind enough to step into my office. Okay. This way, Mr. Regan. You see, I happen to be particularly interested in the girl, Miss Hansen. She's unusually intelligent, a superior worker. I hated to see her leave. Here we are, Mr. Regan. Have a chair. A cigarette? No, thanks. Let's stick to Miss Hansen. Oh, yes, Mr. Regan. I was quite curious at your interest in Sarah Hansen. She's not the sort of girl to have many, shall we say, gentlemen friends. Really? What sort of girl is she? Well, more on the quiet side. Intelligent, as I've said, and not at all emotional. Sarah was a very superior worker. Come on, Parker. I haven't got all day. A girl quit her job and you want to know why. Is that it? Well, I'm curious. There's more to it than that. I saw four secretaries in your front office alone. One named Sarah wasn't that good. Very well, Mr. Regan. I'm going to tell you the truth. Certain malcontents, certain vicious elements in my organization. Irresponsible rumor and mongers have been saying that Miss Benson and I... Well, there isn't a word of truth in it. I'm still listening. I'm a happily married man, Mr. Regan. You understand what rumors of this sort do to a man. Go on. I'm going to put a stop to what you understand once and for all. Okay, okay. Take it easy, Parker. I'm sorry I lost my temper, Mr. Regan. This thing has been gnawing at me for months. That's why I finally discharged, Mr. Hanson. That's what you've been trying to say. You fired Sarah Hanson. You think that's why I'm here? Well, yes, I... It's just a job, Mr. Parker. We all got to make a living. Somewhere in it, a story was beginning to take shape. Parker apologized again and I left his private office. Out front, the receptionist had Sarah Hanson's address and I took it. When I got to the street, Joe Ruppnick's cab was still sitting there. Up in Mac, I'm available. Did you find the gun? No, but I've got an address. Great. I got them all lined up for tomorrow at time for an... Let's go. It was past Pico on Bentley. Took us five minutes to pull up in front of a bungalow converted into a duplex. I left Joe with his racing form and newspaper and went up to the door that belonged to Sarah Hanson. I rang the doorbell. No answer. By not, same results. The sun was sinking somewhere in the distance and the early mist, the prelude to fog, was settling in fast. I tried the doorknob. No results. And then something told me to get inside that apartment, to get in with or without a permit, with or without a key. I walked around back until I found a window unlocked. The screen was easy and I climbed up. My stomach scraped across the windowsill and I was inside. Dark, dank, stale, smelling air. Something foul and disagreeable, I wanted to turn and leave and get out of the stinking apartment. But I didn't. Instead, I moved slowly along the wall of the darkness and fumbled until I hit the light switch. The lights didn't change the smell. But it told the story. Chairs upside down. Picture frames smashed to the floor. Two dishes broken in a thousand pieces and the sofa cushions on top of each other in a corner. The whole place turned upside down, looking like a clapboard shack after a hurricane. I moved into the living room, picking up pieces, searching for anything. And I found something. In front of the imitation fireplace on the carpet. A pool of blood. You okay? Yeah, Joe. Look, Max, I think I got something important. Be there in a minute. Never mind. I'll find through the window. Why don't you take a look at this? I was reading what I was waiting for you. Early edition of the afternoon paper. Yeah, yeah. Look on page two. Did you find it, Max? Yeah, I found it. I found it. Story on page two. The body of a girl found washed up on Will Rogers State Beach, tenetedly identified as Sarah Hansen. This is CBS and you were listening to tonight's adventure with Jeff Regan, investigator entitled, It All Comes Back to Me Now. CBS brings you many of the most exciting programs on the air. For example, Sundays at 5.30. A face in the shadows of Bloodstain Bernus, a beautiful dancing girl may set Rocky Jordan on an exciting adventure in ancient Cairo. Follow Rocky Jordan as he moves through the dangerous streets of the capital of Egypt. Meet Rocky Jordan this Sunday at 5.30 on CBS. And now back to tonight's story titled, It All Comes Back to Me Now and Jeff Regan, investigator. Joe the cab driver stepped on the gas and we headed for the police. I sat in the back seat, the folded newspaper in my lap and tried to make sense out of a story so twisted even the principal characters no longer made sense. A girl with amnesia hires the lion and me to help her find herself. She says she remembered wanting to kill someone. She collapses and I follow a lead to a cab driver, to a repair shop in Westwood, to the home of one Sarah Benson. That was when I read the early afternoon paper which said a girl had been found washed up on Will Rogers State Beach. Her name? Sarah Hansen. It was getting late. Street lights turned on, traffic jamming and honking its way up sunset. But that didn't stop Joe Rupnik from hitting 40 between the cars. We made the police station at 6.45. Okay, thanks, Joe. That does it. What do you think I'm leaving? Me, a sucker for a mystery? I gotta know how this comes out. It took me 15 minutes to get to Lieutenant Candid. Candid, I got a couple of questions. Yeah. Regan, I am tired to the very bottom of my large, flat feet. Let's make it tomorrow. It can't wait. All right, Regan. What's her name? Listen, Candid, all I want to know is where you got your identification for Sarah Hansen. Sarah Hansen aged 27, height 5'4, weight by 117, hair blonde, eyes brown. Blonde. That's what I said, wasn't it? You fished her up off Santa Monica? You know, on Will Rogers State Beach. We didn't find her. Some swimmers did. They called. You weren't looking for her? Lookin'. We didn't know Sarah Hansen from my friend Irma. What's eatin', you Regan? Candid, just tell me something else. Who identified the girl for you? Her mother and father and brother and sister, that's all. Okay, Candid, sorry I bothered you. We can't find the murder weapon. We haven't got a lead on the killer and I got to talk to you yet. She was shot? Two slugs in her chest. 32s. Maybe Smith and Wesson. Guns missing. That part of it wasn't in the papers. Don't we look bad enough already without makin' it worse? All we got on this case is a body. Even if it is, a nice one. When was she killed, Candid? This morning, somewhere between 1 and 2 a.m., the coroner says. That is north. What else? Well, from the tire marks they found up the beach. There was another idea. We think maybe she was shot somewhere else and then driven down to the beach. This is Sarah Hansen. She worked. Yeah, a place out in Westwood. Called Parker's Service. We'll check everyone out there. It takes time. Where did she live? Well, a parent says she moved out of their place a couple of months ago. Seems they had a fight. She and the parents. She wouldn't tell them where she was moving. They tell you anything else? Sarah Hansen was afraid of something they said. Had them worried. That's when the fight started. She used to get phone calls from a woman. A woman? Every time this woman called, Sarah would leave the phone crying. Only happened a couple of times. Did they ever see this woman? Nope. They were wondering if it might be another girl who worked with Sarah. You know, few... Only you haven't checked the employees yet. Like I said, Regan, it takes time. The shop opens up first thing in the morning. My men will be there. Thanks, Candid. Thanks a lot. Hey, Regan, where do you fit in this? Plyon, Candid. You know how it is. Maybe I don't, Regan. If you know, sir... I don't know anything, Candid. You wouldn't lie to me, would you? Sarah Hansen was a good-looking dame. A real good-looking dame. I never met her. You sure, Regan? I'm sure. Okay, I'll take your word. There's a real nice-looking dame, like I said. The times you hate to see turn up dead. You want to see her, Regan? All right, Candid. We'll see her. Candid and I went to the morgue. We saw her. Sarah Hansen. Medium-sized, good-looking blonde. She looked nothing like the girl who'd come to the lion's office without a memory. Yet somewhere Sarah Hansen and Miss Smith fit together. Somewhere their lives became crossed and tangled up and then went separately again. Miss Smith to a blank memory. Sarah Hansen's to death. Somewhere something made both things happen. That gave me an idea. I went upstairs to missing persons and checked every record I could find that even faintly resembled our client Miss Smith. Nothing did. I headed outside. Joe Rubnick was still sitting in the taxi. He turned it around and we headed for the L.A. County Hospital. Trouble, Fatso? Trouble? I've been sitting here all day wasting time and money. How's she doing, Fatso? Miss Smith, fine. She's doing fine. Doctor says she was merely weak from too much tension brought on by the amnesia. Good, Lion. I think we may have something. We may have something. You're done, right? We have something. Hospital bills, doctors, nurses bills. Every time the door opens to that girl's room I add another $5. Jeffrey, this is ridiculous. We're not Fort Knox. How do you think the lion detective agency can pay for this bill? Take it easy, Fatso. Remember, it was your idea to bring Miss Smith here. So what if it was my idea? Well, that's the ambulance. Well, that's no reason why we have to pay. Lion, Mr. Lion, I'll have to ask you not to raise your voice. Yes, Miss Wilton. Yes. Thank you, Mr. Lion. Yes. Sitting here all day wasting your time. Oh, now Jeffrey, after all, a man has to do something. Sure, Fatso. You keep an eye on those nurses' bills. I'm going in to see our client. Miss Smith was lying there. Pale face made paler by the whiteness of the sheets, the white hospital walls, the clinical smell of the room. You don't have to be sick to look sick in a hospital bed. Hello, Mr. Regan. You remember me? You helped me, Mr. Regan. I won't forget that. What does the doctor say? Oh, I'll be all right. Really, I will. It's just my mind. I can't think straight. But you remember about the guns, the two bullets missing? Yes. Yes, I remember about them. Do you remember anything more? I don't think so. About wanting to kill someone. Oh, Mr. Regan. You don't remember that part of it? The doctor says it's... he says it's shock. Something happened to me. Something I wanted to forget, made me forget. Everything. Murder might do that. Yes, I... I suppose it might. Does the name Parker mean anything to you? No. Parker's service, Westwood? No, Mr. Regan. How about Sarah Hansen? No, Mr. Regan, I don't know that name. Sarah Hansen, a blonde, pretty blonde. No, no, no, I don't remember. She worked for Parker's service in Westwood. You were in Westwood today. Maybe in a small apartment on Bentley just past Pico. That mean anything to you, Miss Smith? Let me alone, let me alone, let me alone. Okay, thanks. Thanks anyway. Please, let me alone. Mr. Regan, let me alone. Somewhere the paths of Sarah Hansen and Miss Smith crossed. Somewhere their lives were woven in and out of each other until it was so mixed up. Then it made sense. Simple, quick, easy sense. I left the hospital in a hurry. The cab was there and I got in and we drove and drove fast. First for a drug store and a phone book. Then for Westwood. Now that we're here, what are we doing here? Visiting Joe. Yeah, don't sound friendly somehow. You sit tight, I'm going in. Look, that house is dark. Nobody's home, man. Maybe, maybe not. If I'm not out in ten minutes, get to a phone and call the police. You got that? Yeah, call the cops. It was fifty feet back from the street. Not a mansion, not a little house. Grounds well kept, lawn neat and trimmed. I moved slowly up the walk toward the front door. The fog had settled on Westwood Village and the soft dampness sifted under your clothes made your skin turn cold. Up ahead the dark house, waiting. I changed my mind, moved along the side of the house, tore the fireplace. That might mean den and the den might mean proof. Around back a patio in French doors next to the red brick. Still no sounds from the dark house. I tried the French doors. It was the den. Books, heavy leather chair and desk. On the desk of photograph, too dark to see. I picked up the metal frame and lit a match. It fit. The final nail in a murderous coffin. You like the photograph? Get your hands off your gun, Mr. Regan. That's better. Only one of us needs a gun just now. Just you, Parker. The photograph is almost a perfect likeness, isn't it? A beautiful woman. But not beautiful enough for you, was that it? Beautiful but possessive. She didn't understand me. And Sarah Hansen did. Jane killed her. So that's her name, Jane Parker. Too bad you've never met her, Mr. Regan. I've met her, Parker. In fact, I just left her less than 30 minutes ago. It's a lie you've never met my wife. Your wife, Jane Parker, she asked for help. Regan, you're lying. You tell me a better story. Where is your wife? I... I don't know. But you'd like to, wouldn't you? You'd like to know so you could see her once more, so you could see her and shut her up. She told you. Did you kill Sarah Hansen? She was lying. She'd kill Sarah. It was a fight. Jane killed her in a jealous rage. Then you're going to try to tell me Jane carried Sarah Hansen into her car, then took her to the beach, and then threw her body in the... I left. I don't know what happened. It was Jane. Jane carried a woman her size down to the ocean. Who do you think you can make believe that? You're lying. I'll tell you what really happened. Jane found out you were running around with another woman, Sarah Hansen. She phoned Sarah, tried to reason with her. Your wife was dumb enough to want to keep you when Sarah wouldn't listen to reason. Your wife went to see her. You don't know what you're talking about. She found you at Sarah Hansen's apartment on Bentley. There was a fight. You lost your temper, Parker. Hey, man, your size could have wrecked the place the way it is now. No. You shot and killed Sarah, and the shock was too much for your wife. No. Her mind went blank when completely blank, rather than remember the nightmare she'd seen. How do you know? How? Because I know where your wife, Jane Parker, is right now. She didn't tell you that. She wouldn't... Your wife disappeared after the shooting earlier this morning, didn't she, Parker? You didn't know where she'd gone. That's what you really wanted to find out from me when I was at your shop this afternoon. You're making that up. You were afraid then, and you're afraid now. Yet you didn't report to the police that your wife was missing. I checked that. You didn't want them to find her either. She could tell the real story. There is Jane, Mr. Reagan. You're wasting time. And they should tell me where my wife is, Mr. Reagan. I'll put every bullet in this gun through your body. And that still wouldn't stop your wife from talking, would it, Parker? That still wouldn't give you the answer to where she is now. Tell me, Reagan. Go ahead. Go ahead. Shoot, Parker. Shoot and read the morning papers tomorrow. The headlines will tell how every cop on the West Coast is waiting to shoot you on sight. Reagan! So you won't need that gun! I... I... I... I... You pulled the trigger on yourself, Parker. Too bad your aim wasn't better. After Stephen Dana checked with the 6-4... $16 a day for room, private nurse... Hiya, Fatso. No, don't bother me, Jeffrey. I'm very busy. A room at $16 a day... How's our client, Lyon? Is she doing okay? $16 a day, Jeffrey. What's that, Jeffrey? Miss Smith, our client. No, you mean Jane Parker. Why didn't you say so, Jeffrey? She's much better. The doctor says it'll take time, though. Let me see now. Hey, if you take $16... He thinks you'll get her memory back, Lyon. What? Oh, yes, yes. He thinks it's just a matter of time. Metal block, that sort of thing. Very complicated, you understand? Oh, hey, Jeffrey. It's been a long day. You must be tired. I am a little. Come on, Fatso. I'll drive you home. Me? Home? No, you just run on, Jeffrey. I really couldn't leave just yet. You see, I've got it figured so the city will have to pay part of the hospital. Oh, you'll have to figure that out at home, Fatso. You look tired. Well, no, no, you see, Jeffrey, I'd better stay right here where I can get the course firsthand. That way I'll have it accurate when I charge the city. You know me, Jeffrey. Business before pleasure. Oh, yes, business before pleasure. Yes, I'm not satisfied until I've completely finished the case. Hey, you look peaking, boy. You run along, get some sleep. Me? Well, I'll just sit here and work. Finish my job. I'm already, Mr. Lyon, if you are. The night supervisor said it would be all right if I left early. Isn't that just grand? Well, good night, Jeffrey. Good night, Fatso. Jeff Regan, investigator, was written tonight by William Frug, and directed by Sterling Tracy, and stars Paul Dubov as Regan, with Frank Nelson as Anthony J. Lyon. Original music is by Dick Aron. Jeff Regan investigator has heard each week at the same time over CBS, the Columbia Broadcasting System.