Phantom lady, I was with you for six hours last night, but I can't remember what you look like, or what you wore—except for that large orange hat. We sat shoulder to shoulder at a little bar in the east Fifties. We ate dinner together, saw a Broadway show together, shared a cab together.

The bartender, the waiter, the usher, the cab driver—none of them remembers you. The police say I was home strangling my wife at the moment I met you.

You are the only one who can prove my story—but I don't know your name, or where you live. And I can't search for you from a jail cell....