Man: He's around here somewhere. A big guy. Neighbors say he always wears basketball shoes and a cream jacket. And get this, the kids around here say he plays the harmonica.
Phelps: Find a gamewell and have the commander set up a dragnet. We want the area closed off. We'll take the side of the street.
A harmonica-playing wrestler. That's a weird one. Think he knits, as well?
Roy: Just keep your eyes open and your mouth shut. We don't want him to bolt on us.
Wilson Reade! LAPD! Give yourself up!
Hold it. He's got to be around here somewhere. No place to go, unless he grew wings. There he is! Waste that son of a bitch!
Lieutenant: Son of a bitch really picked a spot for it up here, didn't he? Julia Randall's folks are flying in from New York tomorrow to claim the body. I saw her on the slab. So perfect. Looked like she was made of porcelain. She really made an impression on me.
Phelps: Julia had that impact on a lot of men.
Lieutenant: Christ, it's cold. You guys did good work here today. Roy, I think you should buy your brother officers a drink.
Roy: Do you now? That's very generous of you, Lieutenant.