You said you weren't a cop. I lied. Isn't there some kind of illegal thing about that? What, lying? I'm allowed to lie. They pay me to lie. Doesn't seem right. Maybe we can work something out. Like what? We know you were with a guy named Diamond night before last. What happened? The night before last? I was upstate. Facts. Hospital just called. Diamond had another coronary. He's dead. I sure hope you have a plane ticket. You don't understand. I didn't realize he was still alive. I thought he was dead. I've never seen anyone die before. Honey, just tell us what happened. I called my driver. He was waiting for me in the garage. He told me to split. So, I went home. You didn't try to give him CPR? Oh god. I didn't know he was still alive. He wasn't breathing. I got scared, okay? I would never just leave somebody to die. Do you think he would have been all right? How did he get to Central Park? I don't know. You'd have to ask Cookie. Cookie Molina, the driver. Where can we find him? In his car, I guess. He works out of the West End Garage. Hey, you guys know a guy named Cookie? Oh, yeah. He's right over there. Thanks. Yo, Cookie Molina? Who wants to know? Hey, I thought Cookie was a girl's name. Come on, get out of the car. Get out. Get out. Cops. So, tell us about Mr. Diamond. Never heard of him. Aw, hope you belong to a softball league, Cookie. Hey, you must be an all-star. He's hitting the ball so hard he's making it bleed. Mr. Diamond, they found tiny wooden slivers in his head. Somebody hit him with something. Yeah, something. Like this. Like a bat. Could have even been this bat. And since you don't know Mr. Diamond, we'll just take it down to the lab and see what they turn up. Look, the guy Diamond was dead before I hit him. Heart attack. Wrong order, Cookie. Heart attack, you hit him, then he died. No way. He was history in the room. I'm afraid the hospital where he croaked would disagree. Why don't you just talk it through? Blow by blow. Jolene briefs me. I go up. John's lying there. He ain't moving. He ain't breathing. I call Jasmine. Jasmine? She runs the day-to-day. I tell her we got trouble. She puts me on hold, comes back a minute later, and says, "Dress the guy." Done. Done. Pretend he's drunk. Take him to the car. Dump him someplace. Make it look like a mugging. So, I drive the car to the park, dump him. Turn out his pockets, toss his key and wallet into the bushes. Then you hit him. Man, when I told Jasmine, she freaked. "What'd you do that for?" she's screaming. It's not my fault. She said, "Make it look like a mugging." You did a good job. I can see the future. Oh, yeah? You guys are going to read me my rights.