Steele of Approval
Original Airdate: May 15 1985
Transcribed by Linda from the Episode Written by:
Brad Kern and Seymour Robbie
Restored Scene in RED
Thanks, Debra!

An elegant, understated lobby. A man enters and rides up the elevator to a suite and a waiting group of four seated men.

"Uh, on time as always, Mr. Dunkirk."

"Good evening, Mr. Earhardt, gentlemen."

Mr. Earhardt, clearly in charge of this meeting, responds, "Would you excuse us, Jack?"

One of the men responds "Certainly. Gentlemen," as he nods, and leaves the room.

"Proceed, Mr. Dunkirk."

"Well I thought you should see some of the poster mock-ups we've been working on for you, Mr. Earhardt," says Dunkirk, as he holds up two posters reading Vote William Westfield for US Senator and William Westfield California's Next Senator. Both display a photo of a youthful, boyishly good-looking Westfield.

"Well, they're coming right along, right along indeed, Mr. Dunkirk."

Another man in the small group speaks for the first time, directing his comment to Earhardt. "Horton, don't you think you're being a bit premature with all this? After all, the election is still two years away."

Chuckling, Earhardt responds, "It'll be here faster than you think, JW."

JW is not amused. "Perhaps so. However I feel we should at LEAST wait until the background check on Mr. Westfield is complete before we go any further," as he gestures to the poster mock-ups. "We wouldn't want to put our collective reputations behind a man who may have some buried bodies lying around."

"From everything I've read so far he's exemplary. Now I say we put our mouth where our money is and get this campaign in full gear now!"

JW addresses the other men in the room. "Gentlemen, I think it would be more prudent to wait until we are absolutely certain there are no chinks in Mr. Westfield's background."

The remaining two men speak for the first time, both voting with JW, saying "Wait."
"Well, Horton old boy," says JW as he rises and pats Earhardt on the shoulder, "I guess you've been outvoted." Earhardt looks very displeased.
JW exits the room, meeting in a bar with the gentleman that Earhardt dismissed earlier.

"I'm getting sick and tired of being dismissed like an errant schoolboy every time a decision has to be made," the man spits out as he nurses a drink.

"Be patient, my boy. You'll be part of the inner circle soon enough," JW tells him.

"When?" the other man asks grimly.

"Have you set everything in motion?" The other man nods. "Then be of good cheer," JW says as he raises his drink to the other man.

A late-model car pulls over on a residential street. The lone occupant of the car unzips a custom carrying case and removes a gun. He raises the gun to his chest, then sits and watches, as Laura Holt emerges from a house across the street. She walks out the door and down the sidewalk with a middle-aged woman.

"Thanks again for your time, Mrs. Tucker, you've been very helpful," Laura says, smiling, carrying her briefcase.

"Oh it was my pleasure, really, believe me," Mrs. Tucker responds warmly. "And, uh, I know I'm prejudiced, but I think Mr. Westfield would make a wonderful senator."

"Well, he appears to have the credentials for it. Unless something suddenly comes up I'd say he has a shot at it."

They shake hands and part amicably as Laura says goodbye. As she walks toward her car, the man in the car across the street raises the gun and sights Laura in the cross hairs. But instead of pulling the trigger, he shifts his sight and shoots out the back window of Laura's Rabbit. At the sound of the shots and shattering glass Laura drops and rolls into the street gutter. As the car peels away from the curb, a very muddy Laura raises herself up to her hands and knees and watches the car and its license plate as it speeds away.

Steele is in his office, hurriedly shrugging on his suit jacket. He picks up the telephone in response to Mildred's buzz. "Yes, Mildred?"

Mildred is at her desk, and Earhardt is standing in front of her.

"Mr. Steele, Mr. Earhardt is here to see you."

Adjusting his cuffs, Steele says hurriedly, "Who's Mr. Earhardt?"

Mildred turns in her chair so Earhardt can't hear her. "Horton Earhardt?!"
"Well, I'm delighted he has a first name, but who the devil is he?"

Mildred whispers into the phone as Earhardt waits impatiently: "The background check on William Westfield."

"Who's William Westfield?"

"Miss Holt's working on it." Mildred is starting to sound desperate.

"Well then sic him on Miss Holt," Steele says, exasperated.

"She's not here."

"Never around when you need her. Eh, well, uh, alright Mildred, ok, send him in thank you."

Mildred ushers Earhardt in to Steele's office as Steele buttons his double-breasted jacket.

Steele turns on the charm. "Mr. Earhardt. How very nice to FINALLY meet you face to face. May I call you Horton?" Earhardt agrees. "Bring in the file will you Miss Krebs?"

"WHAT file?"

"Why the files on William Westfield's background check, of course." Mildred leaves to fetch the file and closes the door behind her. "Uh, that IS why you're here, isn't it Horton?"

Earhardt smiles; he is charmed. "Mr. Steele, I'm impressed. A man as busy as you undoubtedly are making the extra effort to become personally involved in each and every case tells me that we have hired the right agency.'

"Well I wouldn't have it any other way Horton," as he steers Earhardt to his desk. "After all that's why my good name is on that door out there." Mildred reappears and gives a file to Steele. "Ah thank you very much Miss Krebs," Steele says as he peruses the file."

"Now, I really haven't had a chance to uh peruse this case since its final update, but it appears we've turned every page possible on Mr. Westfield and it appears, uh, well it appears he's absolutely clean."

"Then I see no reason why you can't give it your stamp of approval and send me on my way," Earhardt jovially replies.

"Consider it stamped, Horton."

Laura enters the office saying: "Not so fast."
"Ah, working under cover today, Miss Holt? Excellent bag lady look, yes."

Laura looks down at her very soiled clothing. Her face is caked in dirt as well. "Mr. Earhardt, something has come up an I think we should pursue it before we stamp anything."

"What's happened?" Mr. Earhardt asks.

""I was shot at today, twice actually."

"Well I'm sorry to hear that Miss Holt, but what's that got to do with William Westfield?"

"In addition to the fact that we're not working on any other cases at the moment, I was interviewing Mr. Westfield's former secretary when it happened."

"But your superior just finished telling me that Westfield was clean." Earhardt is a bit exasperated.

Steele straightens his tie and smiles.

Laura glances at Steele and continues. "Recently, however, my SUPERIOR and I found a gap in Mr. Westfield's history."

Earhardt: "A GAP what sort of GAP?"

"There's a period in his life that can not adequately be accounted for."

Earhardt turns and appeals to Steele. "Sounds like she's grasping for straws, Mr. Steele."

Steele grimaces. "Mmmmm."

"I hardly think someone would want to shoot me just for grasping at straws, do you Mr. Steele?" Laura gestures at Steele out of Earhardt's view.

Steele shifts his sights from Laura to Earhardt and back again. "Horton I'm gonna get on top of this personally. I know how upset you are about this, and how important it is to you. But I'm not gonna let you down. I'm gonna stake my reputation on this." He ushers Earhardt from the office.

"Consider it staked."

"Rest assured, Horton," Steele says as he closes the door behind Earhardt.

"Laura, I mean really, I really would appreciate it if you'd inform me what cases I'm meant to be working on."
"I did, but you dozed off in the middle of it. It's not my fault legwork makes you drowsy."

"I know you're upset but "

"I get that way when I get shot at."

"Irrespective of that, Laura, I've been looking over this file, and I must say you have done some admirable work here. Really I mean it, I would vote for Mr. Westfield."

"That's the way it appears on the surface, but if you're going to stake MY agency's reputation, we're not closing the books on this until we're sure. We're sure." Laura jabs her index fingers at Steele's chest in emphasis.

"That's what I love about you, Laura, You're so thorough. You're so, so tediously thorough."

"I got a look at the car. Whoever shot at me."

"Ah excellent. What was it?"

A green Thunderbird. Or a Cougar. Or a Buick or an Oldsmobile," Laura says confusedly.

"Well that certainly narrows it down doesn't it? I'll call Detroit first thing in the morning."

"But. There was a bumper sticker with a lightning bolt on it."

"Yes, go on?"

"That's it!"

"That's it?

"I was lying face down in the gutter!"

"Well couldn't you have lifted your head just a LITTLE bit and gotten a look at the license number?"

"Next time I'll try to do better!" Laura says as she turns away from Steele and stalks out of the office. Steele watches her leave.


Laura is driving down a wide boulevard. A Mercedes appears to be following her. She tries some evasive driving, but the car is still on her tail. She pulls into a lumber yard and the car behind her loses control, crashing into a pile of planks. The driver gets out, kicking the planks off his car and holding his forehead.

Laura's car rounds the corner and speeds up to him, pinning him between his car and hers as the car comes to a screeching halt.

"Alright, Mister, I want-----" Laura begins as she gets out of her car. Then she realizes who the man is. "William Westfield?"

"You're not gonna put this on my report, are you?" Westfield says with a grin.


Back at the loft, Westfield is sitting in a chair in the living area while Laura prepares an ice bag at the sink in the kitchen area. "Well," he tells her, beginning his explanation. "As soon as I found out you'd been shot at, I headed straight for your office. I saw you leaving and followed." He gives a slight laugh, then adds, "At least, I tried to."
"How did you find out about the shooting, Mr. Westfield?" Laura asks as she walks over to him and hands him the ice bag.
"William, please," he urges her, holding the bag to his head. "Uh, Mrs. Tucker called me."
Laura makes her way across the living area and sits down in a chair, putting a good deal of distance between them in the process. "Do you have any idea what anybody doesn't want me to find out about you?" she asks.

"Well that's what I wanted to talk to you about. I have nothing to hide."

"Suppose we start with a curious gap in your history, Mr. Westfield."

"William, please."

"You worked for the district attorney 10 years ago. From April through June no one seems to recall seeing hide nor hair of you," Laura interrogates.

Westfield laughs. "Ten years ago? You know I remember that, I was down in Mexico at the time."

"Business or pleasure?"

Rising from his seat, Westfield says "Definitely not pleasure. The case involved a really bad fire, a residential district went up in flames, a lot of people lost their lives. It smelled of arson and there was a suspicion in the office that Senator Jefferson was behind it."

Laura sits up at that. "The late Senator Hartford Jefferson?"

"The same. He owned the land, and there was talk of putting a freeway through. The residents took it to court and it could've dragged on for years."

"But without the houses the suit was academic," Laura filled in.

"Anyway we got a lead that his son Scott had skipped to Mexico because he'd found out about his father and the fire. I traipsed around down there for better than two months looking for that kid. I finally found him in a hospital in Cancun where he'd tried to kill himself."
"Did you talk to him?"

"I was only instructed to find him, and then call Earhardt."

"Earhardt? Horton Earhardt?"

"Yeah, he was DA at the time."

Laura looks intrigued.

"Anyway he flew down to Cancun to take the kid's deposition but before he could get there Jefferson was transferred to a sanitarium in Mexico City and declared legally insane. There were no further leads so the case just fizzled out."

"But why wasn't there any record of all that?"

"We were talking about implicating a United States Senator. That's not the kind of thing you broadcast around until you're pretty sure you can make it stick."

"Your story seems plausible enough."

Westfield chuckles. "It seems plausible. Now what do you thing I did down there, rape and pillage?" Westfield sits on the table edge directly in front of Laura. Laura doesn't answer. "Come on, Miss Holt, I don't even like Mexican food."

"I think I'll have a little talk, with Mr. Earhardt, see what he remembers. Thank you Mr. Westfield," as Laura gets up, moves around Westfield and opens the door for him to leave.

"William, please. Now if a man's gonna melt a woman's ice cubes, they oughta at least be on a first-name basis." Westfield smiles and deposits the ice pack in Laura's hand. They exchange a look, and as Westfield leaves Laura leans against the door with a grin on her face.


Back at the office, Mildred barges in to Steele's office with a man and a woman.

"We've got trouble, Boss."

"Remington Steele?"


"Oscar Bergman, State Bureau of Investigative licensing." The woman accompanying him sits down and begins to type into a stenographic machine.
Steele whispers to Mildred: "You better go get Miss Holt, Mildred, hmm?" Mildred nods and leaves.

"We have run across some irregularities in your case reports, perhaps you would be so kind as to clear them up for us."

"Uh, actually Mr. Bergman I'm rather busy at the moment, uh" Steele looks concerned as the woman transcribes the conversation.

"Well I'm sure this won't take long. Let's start with the Harper case, shall we?"

Steele looks worried. "The uh Harper case, huh?"

"Yes. According to the publicity it garnered, it was one of your more famous cases."

Grasping, Steele says: "Gimme a year, eh?"

"1980, November."

"1980. Uh, you wouldn't perchance have any more recent irregularities, would you? "

"Let's stick with Harper for now."

"Why not, stick with Harper. Ok. To be absolutely candid with you Mr. Bergman, in those early years I never really involved myself in any of the cases. My talent worked best in uh, more advisory capacity. Ah yes, yes, the good old days." Steele is bluffing but Bergman is not buying it. "I'd best just go get the files just in case, you know, to check anything out. And uh, don't go away," as he scurries out of the office.

In the outer office, Mildred is on the phone.

"Miss Holt, what?"

No luck. What's going on in there?"

Steele is agitated. "Oh I wish I knew, Mildred. Mildred, I want you to go through Miss Holt's files and I want you to find everything you can on the Harper case, November, 1980. OK? 1980." He escorts her to Laura's office and closes the door behind her as he returns to the outer office.

As he stands at Mildred's desk waiting with his arms folded, the computer begins to print, catching his attention. Glancing at the closed office doors, he goes to see what is being printed.

It says:



**Motor Vehicle FilesAutomobile Rental Agency**

6700 Comstock Blvd.
Los Angeles, CA 91604

With a glance over his shoulder he rips out the page from the printer and scampers out of the office.


Laura gets off an elevator and strides purposefully down a hall. She is in the suite we first saw earlier. Earhardt is there alone, drinking coffee.

"Well, Miss Holt, since you've arrived empty-handed, I can only assume the report is still incomplete."

"I need just a bit of corroboration, Mr. Earhardt. Then I can issue it."

"Oh." He sits forward and puts down his cup. "What sort of corroboration?"

Laura sits down. "You sent William Westfield to Mexico to find a Scott Jefferson, correct?"

"Good Lord, that was 10 years ago."

"Mr. Westfield called you after he'd found Scott Jefferson in Cancun, but when you got there to take his deposition Jefferson had been moved to a sanitarium in Mexico City."

"Case closed."

Laura has a cup of coffee. "Did you ever suspect there might have been a leak?"

"I'm not sure what you're getting at."

"Well. There you were, trying to incriminate a United States Senator, and suddenly your key witness was labeled legally insane, rendering him useless to your case ."

"Yes, but the only other person who knew we'd found the young man was----
"William Westfield," Laura finishes.

"Are you suggesting that Westfield had Jefferson moved?" Earhardt seems incredulous.

"What if he'd already obtained a deposition from Jefferson before he called you? What if he then arranged it so that Jefferson could not legally give his deposition to anyone else?" Laura is smiling at her reasoning.

"Why would he do something like that?"

"Less than two months after you both returned from Cancun, Mr. Westfield moved from his office to the most prestigious law firm in the country, the same law firm that handled Senator Hartford Jefferson's legal work," Laura concludes.

"Payoff of some kind?"

"Careers have been built on less."

"Well that's food for thought, Miss Holt. But how would you go about finding out whether it's true or not?"

"Well, the only man who could prove it would be Scott Jefferson. I'm going to Mexico City to see if I can have a chat with him."

"But that trail is 10 years old!"

"It's fresher than that, Mr. Earhardt. Remember, I was shot at this morning."

Laura leaves, but runs into JW and the man from the bar this morning. "Ah, Miss Holt, making any progress in the Westfield matter?" asks JW.

"I'll let you know in a few days." She leaves.

The unidentified man says: "Horton doesn't look too happy."

"Oh. What say we cheer him up?" And they go to join Earhardt.

Locale: Lightning Rent-A-Car Agency

"It's the only green thunderbird I got, Mr. uh. . . ."

Steele supplies "Uh Keyes. Norman Keyes. Uh Vigilance Insurance." He is carrying a clipboard, and wearing very nerdy attire, a bow tie, glasses, and a light blue suit with quite a lot of cuff showing. His hair is very slick. He and the man from the rental agency are in the lot looking for a particular car.
"I guarantee you won't find any dents in that baby. I----I checked her out myself."

"Mmm, yes yes yes. Well when my client cries hit-and-run I mean we have to check this out." They stop at the car that Laura saw yesterday, with the lightning bolt on the back bumper. "We're vigilant. Vigilance is our watchword. That's what it is. Vigilance is our" he kicks a tire "watchword. Yes."

The other man is confused. "Hey wait, why are you looking inside?" as Steele opens the passenger door.

"Well you can never be too vigilant, see?" He searches the car, opening the glove compartment?"

"D'you think he hit your client's car with the glove compartment?"

Steele straightens and closes the door. "Eh, well" wiping his brow and going around to the front of the car. He finds a valet ticket from the Hotel Titan stuck in the hood groove, which he pockets. "Well, sir, you've been an absolute brick, an absolute brick, sir, it's people like you who keep the insurance rate down. Good day to you sir, it's been very nice talking to you, good day," Steele says, shaking the bewildered man's hand.


Laura walks into the outer office. File drawers are open. "Mildred? Mildred?" We hear Mildred groaning. Laura enters Steele's office as Mildred rises from the sofa where she was lying down.

"Oh Miss Holt, thank God you're here."

"Mildred what's the matter?"

"He grilled me like an animal!"


"Some jerk from the Bureau of Investigative Licensing! He said he found some discrepancies in your old case reports."

"Where's Mr. Steele?"

"Bailed out on me!"


"I don't know. One minute he's here, the next minute, pfft."

Laura is annoyed. "That's what I love about Mr. Steele. Always here when you need him. Alright Mildred, well I'll handle the Bureau when I get back." She starts for the door.

"Where are you going?"

"Mexico City."

"But what about Mr. Steele?"

"I'll handle him when I get back, too."

Hotel Titan lobby

"Front desk," the desk clerk answers the phone.

Steele, seated in a club chair in the lobby, says "Yes, I'd like to have my car out front in 10 minutes, please. Valet number is 3773."

"One moment, please. Oh, yes, that's the green thunderbird, Mr. Donaldson?"

"Yes, yes, that's the one, thank you very much. Oh, and could I have a newspaper delivered to my room right away?"

"I'd be glad to, Mr. Donaldson."

"Splendid, thank you very much."

Steele follows the bell hop who delivers the paper to Donaldson's room. He picks the lock and enters, searching the rooms. He finds a very professional-looking gun in a custom carrying case.


Laura is seated on an airplane. A flight attendant offers her champagne.

"No, thank you."

"Oh it's compliments of the gentleman." From a few rows back William Westfield lifts his glass of champagne to Laura and smiles.


Laura and Westfield are now seated together.

"How is it we just happened to be on the very same plane to Mexico City?"

"With answers like that I'd never buy a used car from you Mr. Westfield."

"William, please."

"You're avoiding the question."

"You and I share a common interest, Miss Holt, my past. Now who knows, maybe before this is all over we'll finally share even more important things."

"That's a coincidence I wouldn't count on," Laura say as she sips champagne.

"You didn't say, did you ever talk to Earhardt?"

"I didn't say."

He chuckles. "I don't think I quite understand you, Miss Holt. I've been perfectly straight with you, I've told you everything I know, then I find out you're headed for Mexico City, which tells me there's something in my background you're looking for, something to do with Scott Jefferson, I assume. I don't know exactly what you're after but I plan on being there when you find whatever it is you think you're gonna find. I have nothing to hide."

"So you've said, Mr. Westfield."


Back at the Hotel Titan, Steele is waiting when the man who shot Laura returns to his room. The man is accompanied by a young blonde woman.

"Hey, who the hell are you?"

Steele, sunglasses on, has his hand inside his jacket. "I represent a rather disgruntled client of yours, the one connected to the Holt situation."

The man says to the blonde, "Look ,sweetheart, why don't you take off?"

"But what about the coat you bought me? Can I take it with me?"

"Yeah well don't take all day, huh?" She smiles and goes into the bedroom.

"So what do you want?" says the would-be assassin, stepping into the room toward Steele.

Steele pulls a gun from his jacket. "My client is extremely unhappy, you missed your target, he wants his money back, I'm here to collect."

"What?" The man is surprised. "What are you, crazy, that was the deal."

"That's not the way my client sees it."

"I told Prince I didn't like the set-up. I'm not paid to miss, I don't care how much I get. I have a certain reputation to maintain."

Steele removes his glasses. "You honestly expect me to believe that Prince hired you to intentionally miss Laura Holt?"

"That's what he wanted, and that's what he got. And he's not going to weasel out of this now."

"Fascinating story," Steele says as he rises to his feet. "The police will-----"

The blonde comes out of the bedroom shooting. Steele grabs the hit man and pulls him over the sofa with him as the bullets fly. "Get your head up, get your head up," Steele mutters. The blonds is pointing the gun in a very professional manner. Steele points the gun at the man, as the man sits up. "Helen! Helen, don't shoot for God's sake! It's me!"

Steele asks "Who is she? Who is she, come on?"

"My wife."

"Youryour wife?" Steel is incredulous. "HeHelen? Alright Darling, you can do one of two things, it's your move. You can either drop the gun or it's instant divorce. Huh?" Steele is still pointing the gun at the man and holding on to him tightly.

The man says "Helen?! What's taking you so long?"

Steele says "Come on."


The gun drops to the floor with a thud.

Steele gets up. "That's a good girl, that's a good girl. All right, Sunshine, up you get, up you get. Stay there." They both get to their feet while Steele keeps the gun on the man.

"A husband-and-wife hit team?! Oh, yes, the family that slays together stays together, eh? Come on, out this way."

Back at the office, Steele walks in, disheveled.
"Where have you been, Boss? "

"I need you to check out the"

"Now I may be outa line, and if so, I still have an IRS pension coming. But when you left me hung out to dry with that Bureau pip, I felt like a discarded pinata! And he was batting me all over the place!"

Tie in hand, Steele says "Mildred, I apologize but it was for a worthy cause, please."

"Well I should hope so! Because Mr. Bergman called, and insisted you come down and answer some questions at 4:00 sharp, and he wasn't asking either!"

"Where's Miss Holt?"

"Mexico City!"

"What?! What in bloody hell is she doing in Mexico City? "

"Beats me!"

"I mean I'm out there sidestepping bullets, trying to find out who shot at her, trying to save HER agency----"

"HER agency?!"

"Merely a figure of speech, I mean one for all, all for one! Esprit de corps! Semper fidelis!"

Mildred shows him her desk clock. "You better hurry, Boss, cos you don't wanna be late!"

"First I want you to get that computer to spew out everything it's got on Jack Prince."

"But Boss----"

"Don't worry about the licensing board. It's merely a formality. I assure you I shall straighten everything out. OK?"

"OK!" Mildred starts working at the computer while Steele waits, arms folded.

Mexico City Airport

"You've been awfully quiet for some time, Miss Holt. Did you run out of questions for me to avoid?" Westfield inquires as he and Laura disembark.
"Would you excuse me for a moment, please? I have to use the ladies' room."

"By all means."

Once in the ladies' room Laura escapes out of a window.

At the sanitarium, she emerges from a cab. "Gracias, mucho gracias." She pays the cabbie.

Westfield is already there, waiting for her on the steps. "Jefferson's gone."


He was transferred to Los Angeles yesterday."

"You won't be heartbroken if I don't believe you?"

Westfield smiles. "Senora Gomez has the file. How's your Spanish?"

"Better than my German," and she goes into the sanitarium. Westfield follows her in.

"Por favor. Senor Scott Jefferson. Scott Jefferson."

The receptionist reels off a few sentences in rapid Spanish, including the words `Los Angeles', pointing at Westfield. She hands Laura a file, which Laura thumbs through.

"The order was signed by a Dr. Herbert Sanderley. After 10 years Jefferson's suddenly transferred? I'm getting tired of all these coincidences. May I , uh. . . " She gestures at the phone.

"Oh, si."

"Yes may I have the uh aroporto, please?"

Westfield says "Don't tell me. You want to know when the next flight to Los Angeles leaves?" He is amused.


Westfield takes the phone, and speaks in rapid, fluent Spanish. "Not `til morning, I'm afraid."

Laura grabs the phone. "Uh uh uh, hablas ingles, please? Great. Listen you tell me I need to know when the earliest flight back to Los Angeles---- gracias. Mucho gracias." She hangs up the phone.

"Hey you're probably not going to believe this either, but I know a great little Chinese restaurant right around here."

At 4:55 Bergman paces in a nondescript conference room. The stenographer files her nails.

Steele hurriedly enters the room. "I'm so sorry to keep you waiting. That's one thing I dislike about this profession. You never know what's going to come up next. You can scarcely plan things in advance."

Bergman: "Is that a fact?"

"Yes, sometimes it's absolutely intolerable. Now if we can scurry things along a bit, I'm pressed for time."

"Yes well, Mr. Steele, I've got good news for you."

"You do?"

`Yes I do. I'm going to fix it so that you've got all the time in the world."

"You are?"

"I am officially notifying you that as of this moment, the State Board of Investigative Licensing is suspending your agency's license until further notice. Any cases you or your operatives are currently working on, you are ordered to cease and desist or face criminal charges."

Steele swallows hard.

"In other words, Mrs. Steele, you're out of business." Bergman picks up his briefcase and leaves with the stenographer. Steele remains seated at the conference room table.

Laura is on the telephone in a hotel lobby.

"Hello, Mildred?"

Mildred speaks to her from her desk at the agency's office. "Oh, Miss Holt! I'm so glad you called. But I don't think you're gonna be."

"I can't hear, can you speak up, Mildred?"

"It's terrible, Miss Holt, it's just terrible! They've taken our license away!"

"What? Who did?"

"Oh that licensing bum I told you about!" A man is carting files out of Laura's office. "They're confiscating our files right now!"

"Where's Mr. Steele?"

"I don't know, I haven't seen him since he went down to the hearing to straighten everything out!" Bergman walks out of Laura's office with a smug look on his face as files continue to be removed.

"Are you telling me that Mr. Steele-----"

"Oh, I can't talk anymore!" Bergman is standing next to her expectantly.

"Why not?"

"They wanna padlock the office!" The line is abruptly disconnected.

Laura stands with the phone in her hand, a shocked expression on her face.

"Westfield walks up to her. "I got us two rooms!"

Laura slams down the phone and stalks off. "Miss Holt?" Westfield follows her outside, running to keep up with her.

"I leave the office for less than 24 hours and suddenly all hell breaks loose! Oh that man! What could I have possibly been thinking about all this time? Why have I stuck it out for so long? Boy have I been kidding myself!"

"Who are we talking about?"

"That agency means everything to me. How could I let him do this?!"

"Your boss, hm?"


"Are we talking more than just a professional relationship here?"

"Oh, who knows anymore? I mean, one minute there is, the next there isn't. Up and down, up and down, up and down. You need a bloody elevator to keep track of all the ups and downs."

As Laura and Westfield talk they continue to walk briskly down the street.

"I'm sorry about this, William."

"I'm not!"

"Why not?"

"Because that's the first time you've called me William!"

"It's just I shouldn't be laying all of this on you."

"Hey, it's OK. I like to listen." They pause on the street. "You know I've never actually met the man, but everything I've read about him makes me envious. He's naturally dashing, adventurous, outgoing"

"Irresponsible, devious, enigmatic. . . ."

"While I on the other hand have always been described as a nice, successful, slightly introverted guy who happens to believe in the good old-fashioned protestant work ethic."

Laura laughs.

"Hey, what's funny?"

"I don't know, it's. . . it's just that's the way I've always been described."

Westfield reaches out and grips Laura's arm. "A match made in heaven. . . . Hey you're shivering."

"Am I? Hm, guess it is a little chilly."

"Here." Westfield removes his jacket and places it around Laura's shoulders.


Westfield holds on to the jacket lapels as he says "Think nothing of it, Miss Holt."

"Laura." She links her arm in his as they walk back toward the hotel.

Above a swimming pool, Steele and the man who has been in cahoots with JW are running around a track.

"Lovely morning, isn't it?" The man looks Steele up and down. "Nothing like a brisk jog to stimulate the senses."

"Do I know you?"

"I know you. Jack Prince. Self-made millionaire, string of shopping centers, oil wells. How else does one put it? Extraordinary political connections?"

"Yeah? And what business are you in?"

"Me? Oh, I'm retired," Steele says as they continue around the track.

"Retired, huh?"

"For about 14 hours now. Name's Steele, Remington Steele." Prince looks at him.

"Well now, Mr. Steele. Isn't this a coincidence? You're awfully chipper considering your stripes have been taken away."

"I see good news travels fast."

"Let's cut through the bull."

"Colorfully put, Jack. Well, getting to the point, your hired gunman, his enchanting wife, and I had, what shall we say, a little soiree yesterday?"

Prince pulls up. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"You hired them to shoot at Miss Holt, that's what I'm talking about."

"And you're crazy and I'm bored." Prince turns to leave but Steele grabs his jacket.

"Not so fast."

"What do you think you're doing?"

"Making a citizen's arrest." He pushes Prince up against the railing. "You hired someone to shoot at Miss Holt and you hired that someone to miss. Now I wanna know why." Steele has him by the collar.

In a hospital of some kind, Laura is in a nurse's uniform, while Westfield is seated in a wheelchair as Laura ties his wrists to the arms of the chair.


"Believe me. If I could do it alone, I would."

"Uh-uh. I wanna be there when you question Jefferson."
As she musses his hair, Laura says "You might not like the answers."

"Oh, are you still suspicious, Miss Holt?"

"Laura. And yes I am."

"It'll never work!"

"You've got the easy part. All you have to do is growl." Laura wheels Westfield up to the nurses' station. He slumps in the chair.

"What's his problem?" asks the nurse at the desk.

"I don't know, I just deliver `em," Laura says, studying the chart.

"Who's the admitting physician?"

"Dr. Herbert Sanderley. He wants him with the other patient he just had admitted."


"The guy that came in yesterday. From Mexico."

"Yeah, Johnson. But he's in the locked ward. This guy doesn't look like he needs something that severe. "

"Hey ours is not to reason why, he just said stick `em with Johnson."

"I better double-check." She turns to pick up the phone.

Laura punches Westfield's arm and he begins to growl and flail in the chair.

"Obviously the doctor knows what he wants, now will you just please put him where he wants him?"

A burly orderly comes out of a door.

"Take this guy up to the locked ward, room 7."

The orderly shows Laura and Westfield to the room.

At the nurses' station, the nurse makes a telephone call. "Dr. Herbert Sanderley, please. Meadow Wood Sanitarium calling."

Laura wheels Westfield into the room and tells the orderly, "Better get some Thorazine 25 mL. When the straps come off this baby goes wild."
The orderly leaves them alone with the patient. Laura quickly unties Westfield and says "Close the door."


Laura hurries over to a man in a chair, sitting facing a window.

"Mr. Jefferson. Scott. My name is Laura Holt, and I need to ask you some very important questions. It's about what happened 10 years ago, with your father, Senator Jefferson, and that terrible fire. When you were in Mexico, did you tell anyone what you knew about that fire?"

There is a pause. Laura reaches out her hand and touches his shoulder. Jefferson, finally turns to face her, tears in his eyes.

Exterior of the building where Earhardt and his companions met at the beginning of the episode. A doorman holds the door for Laura and she strides in to the bank of elevators. Steele rounds a corner and they meet at the elevator.

"Laura, what are you doing here?"

"Wrapping up our last case."

"Odd. That's what I'm doing."

They get on the elevator together.

Steele can't conceal his excitement. There's a grin on his face as he says "You're gonna be astounded by what I've learned."

Laura is stone-faced. "I doubt that. Nothing you do these days astounds me."

The grin leaves Steele's face.

"How was Mexico?"

"How was the Licensing Board hearing?"

In silence they get off the elevator on Earhardt's floor and meet him and his associates.

"Gentlemen. We're here to present the results of our background check on William Westfield," Laura announces.

Earhardt says "Pardon me, Miss Holt, but I understand that you and Mr. Steele are no longer accredited private investigators." Steele looks pained by this remark.
"We are merely completing the job you hired us to do when we did have our license. You'll be happy to know that Mr. Westfield is as clean as the proverbial whistle."

"Oh that is good news."

You, on the other hand, Mr. Earhardt, are as dirty as they come."

"I beg your pardon!"

Steele whispers to her, "Miss Holt you're accusing the wrong"

"After Mr. Westfield informed you that he had found Scott Jefferson in Cancun, you were the one who had him moved to Mexico City."

Earhardt sputters, "That's a lie, an outrageous lie!"

"Then you went to Mexico City and you took Mr. Jefferson's deposition. You were the one whose career was built on bodies Mr. Earhardt. Then when I started getting close to the truth you sent someone out to kill me!"

During the exchange between Laura and Earhardt Steele had stayed in the background, but at this point he leaps forward. "Excellent work, Miss Holt. Excellent work. There's just one slight adjustment to be made to your otherwise flawless presentation." Steele points at a different man. "Kendall is the one who had you shot at."


Kendall says "What are you talking about?"

"Yes, what ARE you talking about?" Laura echoes.

"Your protégé Jack Prince wanted in on this, this illustrious power circle. So the two of you conspired together to cause Mr. Earhardt's fall from grace."

"That's the most illogical babble I've ever heard-----"

"You proposed, you proposed William Westfield as your candidate for senator knowing full well that a thorough investigation would ultimately lead to Mr. Earhardt's closetful of skeletons!"

Laura grabs Steele's arm and drags him a few feet back, out of hearing of the group.

"That doesn't make any sense. Someone tried to kill me, obviously to stop the investigation."

"Actually the gun man was hired to miss you, another little added incentive to keep you on Jefferson's trail, hmm."

Another man says "Mr. Steele, Miss Holt-----"

Laura responds, "Just a moment. We're caucusing." And to Steele "If that's true, why would Kendall have our license pulled?"

"I'm afraid I haven't figured that one out yet."



Laura returns to address the group. "It was you who had our license suspended, Mr. Earhardt. It's a shrewd way to keep us from being able to find Jefferson."

Steele reacts "Good Lord, they're coming at us from all directions."

Another man says "Well, that's quite a story. Either of you have any proof?"

Laura removes a piece of paper from her handbag. "Scott Jefferson's signed statement implicating you, Mr. Earhardt."

Kendall smirks. "Tough luck, Horton."

But Steele pulls something from his pocket. "This is a signed statement from Jack Prince implicating you, Kendall."

Earhardt smiles. "Tough luck, JW."

Steele pronounces "Good Lord, I've heard of politics making strange bedfellows, but this is the most arcane, byzantine bunch I've ever seen."

"You forgot to mention Machiavellian."

"Purely unintentional."

Back at Steele's apartment, he carries out two cups of tea into the living room. He and Laura sip their teas while sitting on the sofa.

"You know I, uh, took the opportunity to look over some of your old case reports. And I must admit you used quite a bit of creativity in putting them together."

"That was before you were you. I still had to keep alive the illusion that there really was a Remington Steele."

"Yes well, uh, despite all that I don't think we're gonna have any trouble in getting our license restored."

Laura puts her cup down. "Not having it has given me time to think."

"About what?"

"Is that piece of paper the only thing that's keeping us together? Do we really have anything else in common besides this agency?"

Steele tries to smile. "Laura, if you're talking about my allergy to legwork-----"

She stands. "No, it's got nothing to do with that. Don't you see? I mean, losing our license may be the very best thing that ever happened to us. Maybe it'll give us time to think about how we really feel towards each other, outside work. All we've ever done is play trial-and-error with our personal relationship, as we try to squeeze it into our professional one."

"Are you saying it hasn't worked?"

"Are you saying it has?"

"Well perhaps not consistently, but----"

"All I'm suggesting is that maybe we take some time, think about it for awhile. That's all."

Back at the Licensing Board offices. In the conference room, Steele bursts in and grabs hold of Mr. Bergman and drags him down the conference able.

"What are you doing h-----" Bergman sputters.

Steele hauls Bergman up and holds him against the wall. "Earhardt must have awfully big pockets. That's where he keeps you, isn't it? So it won't be too difficult to prove that we had our license suspended. Now perhaps you've noticed I'm not a very patient man these days. I don't want to have to sit through any hearings or petitions or motions. Do you like the movies, Mr. Bergman? I mean the Disney movies for instance. You don't have to say anything, just nod your head, I'll get the message." Bergman nods. "Good. Good. Because you and I are gonna play a little scene from one of those fine family films in which you play the good fairy who's gonna grant me three wishes. One: I want you to confess, in writing, that Horton Earhardt paid you to pull our license. Two: I'm gonna make damn sure I get that license before I leave. And three: you're gonna allow me to escort you to the police station so you can turn yourself in. What do you think of it so far, huh?"

LA airport, aboard an airplane. Westfield and Laura are sitting together.

"William, I don't know how to tell you this. But you were only chosen to run for senator because someone wanted me to sink Horton Earhardt's ship. They knew that checking into your background would ultimately lead to Scott Jefferson."

"Hm. Well. Look on the bright side, if it hadn't been for all that we might never have met."

They smile at one another

"You really are someone very special," Laura says.

"So are you. Laura?" She stands up. "Where are you going?"

"I'm sorry, William, but I can't go through with it. I'm sorry." She picks up her travel bag.

"Well, what happened? Is it me?"

"No, no, of course not. You're the reason I've come this far. But, well, I care very much for someone who, I think, cares very much for me. And even though we can't figure out a way to make it work, I can't really leave until I'm sure there's no reason to stay. Do you understand?"

"No, not really."

"That's ok, as long as I do." She kisses him. "Thanks." She leaves the airplane.

Steele is at a mailbox, holding the agency's license in his hand, along with an envelope addressed to Laura at the agency. He looks at the license and stuffs it into the envelope, mailing it. The limo waits at the curb.

"Home, Fred."

At Steele's apartment, Laura rings the doorbell. Then knocks. "Mr. Steele?" She tries the door. It's unlocked. Entering, she says "Hello. Mr. Steele?"

She slowly walks through the dining room and living room, and then into the bedroom. She opens the closet. It's empty. She looks in drawers, but they're empty too.

She sits down on the bed, hands folded, silent.