Rex: A Cop's Best Friend (1994–2008): Season 5, Episode 11 - Mörderisches Spielzeug - full transcript
INSPECTOR REX
Killer Toys
Alfred...
- Thanks for the lift.
- A pleasure.
Tell me one more time
what he wrote.
I'll fax you the review
the minute I get back.
But from your lips
it sounds much nicer.
- Writers are so vain...
- Please.
"He's a master
of thrilling narrative",
and so on.
A review that melts
on the tongue.
Fax it straight away.
And don't forget
the sales figures.
Enjoy the rest of your day.
You too.
Night over Vienna
"He-s a master..."
There you are!
You took forever.
We're off. Come on.
God, Rex...
You could have left one
for me, you know.
Hello, Rex.
Mr Brandtner.
The explosive must have
gone off right next to him.
Killed him instantly.
Bye.
Hi.
He was Jochen Horn,
the well-known crime writer.
- How did it happen?
- Well...
They found a helicopter
rotor blade.
- What?
- From a model, that is.
I bought schnitzel
and potato salad.
- All right?
- Of course.
Well? How are you today?
The same...
- I'll do the salad.
- No way, I'll do it.
- Don't overdo things.
- But I feel so useless.
As I can't cook any more,
it makes me feel alive
if I can do something to help.
- Soon I won't be able to.
- Nonsense.
Well, darling...
after lunch,
we'll do something together.
Yes.
Don't you have to work
today?
No. My boss gave me a day off.
This came.
Must be the invitation
to the boss's birthday party.
Why was it sent
by registered mail?
No idea. Maybe the secretary
made a mistake.
Sending it registered...
that's so expensive.
I don't think he controlled
the helicopter from the street.
Too obvious. Those things
are noisy.
Looks as if the place opposite
has closed down.
Let's see.
- He's indicating explosives.
- Yes.
- Very good, Rex.
- I'll call Forensics.
Perhaps they'll find something.
You know, we should move
to the south.
It would be better
for your health.
That's a bit of an impossibility.
The main thing is,
you're close to me.
Your book will do well,
I'm sure of it.
That's all I still wish for.
It will be a success.
I know it.
Alfred?
- Alfred?
- Yes?
- What's wrong?
- Nothing.
It's a common explosive,
generally used
in gravel pits.
Check for any explosives
stolen in recent break-ins.
I see. Thanks.
Bye.
How long has the model
been on the market?
I get it.
Thank you very much.
That helicopter came
on the market two years ago.
- It's easy to control, cheap.
- Right.
- So there are lots of them.
- Probably.
Hello, gentlemen.
A frontal attack.
You had my ham roll
this morning.
Rex, no. I'm hungry.
All right. We'll share.
But turn off the light.
Kunz!
Tricks, eh?
Yes, or it'll fly out
of the window.
- Or into the coffee.
- Coffee!
- What's that?
- Like it?
- Hand-knitted?
- Not by me.
Very smart.
Perhaps a bit homely.
- But warm for sure.
- Yes, very.
Do you know the type
of explosive?
Quite a simple one.
It wasn't triggered
by remote control.
- It worked like a landmine.
- So it exploded on impact.
Exactly.
- How well you do that!
- Take off my jacket.
- It must be too hot now.
- Thank you.
Why now?
Don't touch it!
Why not?
It's a bit broken,
you see.
- You might hurt yourself.
- I don't think so.
Yes.
- Now you may have it.
- I don't want it.
Why am I doing this
to myself?
This is his latest book.
Have any of you read
his thrillers?
Not me.
Life's bad enough as it is.
Once in a while I read one
to relax.
Here.
Fritz,
ring the model plane clubs.
Get membership lists.
Maybe someone
knows about explosives.
And we'll go and see
the publisher, eh?
Naughty boy. A good dog
doesn't do that.
Please check Unmack
Publishing's finances.
I'll take care of it.
Hey, what's up? Let's go.
I see. Thanks, Fritz.
Bye.
Unfortunately,
I'm very short of time.
We're preparing
a special edition
for a famous writer
of crime fiction.
Making heaps of money
out of Jochen Horn's book...
What's that?
Well, you're in dire straits,
financially.
His death helps.
The problem's due to
licensing agreements.
If people read
more home-grown writing,
there'd be no crisis.
Mr Horn was laying
the golden eggs.
Excuse me.
Unmack...
Good Lord.
I'll be over.
Where were we?
Golden eggs...
Sure, Mr Horn was
my goose, if you like.
I had some interesting plans
for him.
What can you do?
- His death is a great loss.
- Yes, I can imagine.
Did you and Mr Horn
often disagree?
Disagree...
Mr Horn was certainly
a somewhat difficult person.
But disagree...
I've been in business
long enough
to know how to deal
with eccentric authors.
- How do you?
- You treat them like children.
You have to praise them,
flatter them,
give presents...
you know what I mean.
Gentlemen, now I have
an urgent meeting.
- Well, if it's urgent...
- Well...
Goodbye.
Rex, put that folder back.
Let me read it, Rex.
Just ten more minutes.
All right then.
Let's go for a run.
- It was in today's news.
- It's impossible.
I'm a physical wreck,
not a mental one.
A model helicopter
carrying explosives
entered by a window.
Just as you described it.
Amazing.
It's nothing to do with you?
Me? I only kill people on paper,
you know that.
They say coincidence
doesn't exist, but...
Unbelievable!
- What's in the letter?
- What letter?
It wasn't an invitation.
Don't lie to me.
The freight company is closing.
- In three months.
- Three months?
- How long have you known?
- A long time.
You see,
I didn't want to worry you.
Perhaps my thriller
will get published soon.
No need to panic.
Okay then.
Where's the folder?
Come on, old man.
I went for a run with you.
You hid it, eh?
Where?
All right then,
show me.
In here, is it?
Rex...
You should never put
coloureds in with whites.
Morning, Fritz.
- What is it?
- A fax from Burglary.
A break-in two weeks ago,
at a gravel pit.
A few dynamite sticks
and blast-caps were taken.
- Any leads?
- No.
- Seen Christian?
- No.
Anything new, gentlemen?
Yes.
Forensics found letters
in Mr Horn's room.
- From another publisher.
- Look at that.
Come on.
What would you like to eat?
Here. It really doesn't matter.
Mineral water, fruit,
washing powder.
Is everything all right?
Have a lovely day.
You too.
What about the wheelchair?
The left wheel is wobbly.
I tried to tighten the spokes,
but I couldn't.
I'll ask the technician
at work to look at it.
Did you know another publisher
approached Mr Horn?
Another publisher?
No, I don't believe it.
There.
What a scoundrel.
I knew nothing about this.
Please contact Mrs Späth,
my chief editor.
And closest colleague.
She was rather close
to Mr Horn.
Her office...
Along the corridor,
the last door on the right.
Thank you.
He dropped a hint
last week at tennis.
The bastard.
Well, so if I understand you
correctly,
he wanted more royalties?
Yes! He'd have gone
to the boss, all cock-a-hoop,
proclaiming he'd get more
elsewhere.
Justifiably.
Would Mr Unmack have
paid him more?
For sure.
It's like soccer.
If you're good you can set
your own price.
I must go to the layout office.
They're waiting.
You can join me...
No. We've finished.
Mrs Späth!
Get out, hurry.
Christian, call the bomb squad.
Let no one leave. I'll secure
the entrance.
- Are you all right?
- Yes.
Horst Bauer, born
26th February, 1952.
Fritz Lehner, born
17th May 1976.
Kunz speaking.
Please do a search
for a blue Merc,
registration W 63007A,
and get me the owner.
Right. I've checked the list
of model clubs.
No one has a record, though.
Mrs Späth...
Have you any idea
who could be behind the attack?
No.
Have you had any threatening
phone calls or letters?
No, none.
What about authors
whose work is rejected?
They do say
some nasty things.
They do abuse me on the phone
and think their book
is the greatest.
They all think they're writers
because they wrote good essays
at school.
All these manuscripts came
this year.
Seventy to eighty percent
are unsolicited.
Are they recorded?
Yes, there's a book
where the titles are recorded.
- May I see it?
- Certainly.
Brandtner.
There's no record
of those plates.
Let's check all the owners
of blue Mercs.
It'll take at least three weeks.
- Sure. Got a better idea?
- No.
Please fax me the list
of model clubs.
We might find a lead
somewhere.
Mrs Späth...
In February,
a certain Alfred Nordeck
sent you a manuscript.
Do you remember it?
Nordeck, yes.
He sent us a short thriller.
Two or three pages long.
It was quite original.
Then he wrote a full-length
thriller which was bad.
I only read a few pages.
When he rang me,
I told him what I thought.
Have you an address
or a phone number?
It should be
on the manuscript.
If we received it in February,
it should be in that pile.
Here it is.
17, Reblaus Lane.
I'll send a colleague
to guard you.
Hello. I'm Brandtner,
Crime Squad.
This is Mr Böck. We're looking
for Alfred Nordeck.
Police?
What's the plot
of the thriller?
It's about an inventor
of toys,
whose ideas are stolen.
But I don't know exactly.
I stopped reading
after a few pages.
I wrote,
"Plot much too murky,
naive language, no use to us."
After a few pages?
Yes. Otherwise I'd never
get through it all.
Okay.
I get it.
Mr Alfred Nordeck?
Are you sure?
I see. Thank you.
He wasn't at work yesterday
or today.
Impossible. They're mistaken.
Do you know
where we can find him?
No. But he said he'd be back
at 5.30.
- May we look around?
- Of course.
Won't you tell me
what's happened?
Never mind about
my disability.
Has he done anything wrong?
Too soon to say.
More coffee?
- No, thank you, Mrs...
- Späth.
Mrs Späth...
Actually, I drink herbal tea.
Oh, I see.
Stay here. I'll take Rex
to the freight depot.
Shall I get you a torch?
No need.
What do you say to this?
Bingo!
Come on, answer.
Alex, it's Fritz. I've looked
at Nordeck's book.
It's about a toy inventor.
But that's not the point.
Hear this. A killer
murders three people.
One with a toy helicopter
and explosives.
The next with a toy car
and more explosives.
And the third
he ties up in a wheelchair,
sends him into a maze
and he can't find the exit.
- So he gets blown to pieces.
- Nordeck's staging his plot.
But that means he's got it in
for a third person.
Just ask Mrs Späth
if Nordeck spoke to anyone else
besides her.
Mrs Späth, did Mr Nordeck
speak to anyone else here?
The boss. He came to see him
in his office.
- Where is he?
- Rollerblading in the Prater.
- Where in the park?
- You'll see his Rover there.
- Yes?
- Do you remember me?
No.
I do, but I can never
remember names.
"I had talent", you said.
- You'd make me famous.
- Yes, you're Mr...
Norbach,
no, Nordeck.
You've written
a thriller, right?
You thought it was excellent.
- Yes, I did indeed.
- You'd know who killed Horn.
You haven't read it.
You lied to me,
you mocked me.
You raised my hopes.
Mr Nordeck, what do you want
from me?
You'll do exactly
as I tell you.
If not,
you'll be blown sky-high.
- What nonsense.
- Really?
Look under your seat.
The revenge
of an affronted author.
Perhaps I did raise your hopes,
after all.
I'm so sorry.
And for a moment I thought
the dynamite was real.
It is real.
Please believe me.
Remember Horn.
Now, you'll follow my car.
I'll watch my rearview mirror.
If you try to jump out,
I'll press this button...
- You can't do that.
- Just try me.
I don't see
a Range Rover.
A successful publisher
without a mobile phone!
Who knows if he's rollerblading?
They look new.
Would you leave them behind?
He probably forgot them,
or he...
The maze.
Kunz said the third murder
takes place in a warehouse.
- And freight companies...
- Have lots of warehouses.
How are you feeling?
My wife's been in a wheelchair
for three years.
I told you!
We had to change our strategy.
Your thriller didn't fit in
with our new program.
Don't tell lies.
You didn't read it at all.
Horn told me.
You were mocking me.
Why did you kill Horn?
I gave him my thriller to read.
In his arrogant way,
he put me down.
He said
no one would kill anyone
in such a ridiculous way.
You see?
Now I'm laughing.
What are you up to?
See the scales?
You're inside a maze,
with hidden explosives.
You have five minutes
to find them.
Then you blow out
the candle. If not...
Well then...
have fun.
You can't do this.
Stay here.
Oh, yes... and you can't
open the door from the inside.
Shit.
Where's Unmack?
You're too late. He won't find
his way out of the maze.
Mr Unmack!
Here.
- Over here.
- Rex, find him.
Help!
- Untie me.
- Keep going, Rex.
You're mad!
Well?
We won't even need
the bomb squad.
Love you too.
Killer Toys
Alfred...
- Thanks for the lift.
- A pleasure.
Tell me one more time
what he wrote.
I'll fax you the review
the minute I get back.
But from your lips
it sounds much nicer.
- Writers are so vain...
- Please.
"He's a master
of thrilling narrative",
and so on.
A review that melts
on the tongue.
Fax it straight away.
And don't forget
the sales figures.
Enjoy the rest of your day.
You too.
Night over Vienna
"He-s a master..."
There you are!
You took forever.
We're off. Come on.
God, Rex...
You could have left one
for me, you know.
Hello, Rex.
Mr Brandtner.
The explosive must have
gone off right next to him.
Killed him instantly.
Bye.
Hi.
He was Jochen Horn,
the well-known crime writer.
- How did it happen?
- Well...
They found a helicopter
rotor blade.
- What?
- From a model, that is.
I bought schnitzel
and potato salad.
- All right?
- Of course.
Well? How are you today?
The same...
- I'll do the salad.
- No way, I'll do it.
- Don't overdo things.
- But I feel so useless.
As I can't cook any more,
it makes me feel alive
if I can do something to help.
- Soon I won't be able to.
- Nonsense.
Well, darling...
after lunch,
we'll do something together.
Yes.
Don't you have to work
today?
No. My boss gave me a day off.
This came.
Must be the invitation
to the boss's birthday party.
Why was it sent
by registered mail?
No idea. Maybe the secretary
made a mistake.
Sending it registered...
that's so expensive.
I don't think he controlled
the helicopter from the street.
Too obvious. Those things
are noisy.
Looks as if the place opposite
has closed down.
Let's see.
- He's indicating explosives.
- Yes.
- Very good, Rex.
- I'll call Forensics.
Perhaps they'll find something.
You know, we should move
to the south.
It would be better
for your health.
That's a bit of an impossibility.
The main thing is,
you're close to me.
Your book will do well,
I'm sure of it.
That's all I still wish for.
It will be a success.
I know it.
Alfred?
- Alfred?
- Yes?
- What's wrong?
- Nothing.
It's a common explosive,
generally used
in gravel pits.
Check for any explosives
stolen in recent break-ins.
I see. Thanks.
Bye.
How long has the model
been on the market?
I get it.
Thank you very much.
That helicopter came
on the market two years ago.
- It's easy to control, cheap.
- Right.
- So there are lots of them.
- Probably.
Hello, gentlemen.
A frontal attack.
You had my ham roll
this morning.
Rex, no. I'm hungry.
All right. We'll share.
But turn off the light.
Kunz!
Tricks, eh?
Yes, or it'll fly out
of the window.
- Or into the coffee.
- Coffee!
- What's that?
- Like it?
- Hand-knitted?
- Not by me.
Very smart.
Perhaps a bit homely.
- But warm for sure.
- Yes, very.
Do you know the type
of explosive?
Quite a simple one.
It wasn't triggered
by remote control.
- It worked like a landmine.
- So it exploded on impact.
Exactly.
- How well you do that!
- Take off my jacket.
- It must be too hot now.
- Thank you.
Why now?
Don't touch it!
Why not?
It's a bit broken,
you see.
- You might hurt yourself.
- I don't think so.
Yes.
- Now you may have it.
- I don't want it.
Why am I doing this
to myself?
This is his latest book.
Have any of you read
his thrillers?
Not me.
Life's bad enough as it is.
Once in a while I read one
to relax.
Here.
Fritz,
ring the model plane clubs.
Get membership lists.
Maybe someone
knows about explosives.
And we'll go and see
the publisher, eh?
Naughty boy. A good dog
doesn't do that.
Please check Unmack
Publishing's finances.
I'll take care of it.
Hey, what's up? Let's go.
I see. Thanks, Fritz.
Bye.
Unfortunately,
I'm very short of time.
We're preparing
a special edition
for a famous writer
of crime fiction.
Making heaps of money
out of Jochen Horn's book...
What's that?
Well, you're in dire straits,
financially.
His death helps.
The problem's due to
licensing agreements.
If people read
more home-grown writing,
there'd be no crisis.
Mr Horn was laying
the golden eggs.
Excuse me.
Unmack...
Good Lord.
I'll be over.
Where were we?
Golden eggs...
Sure, Mr Horn was
my goose, if you like.
I had some interesting plans
for him.
What can you do?
- His death is a great loss.
- Yes, I can imagine.
Did you and Mr Horn
often disagree?
Disagree...
Mr Horn was certainly
a somewhat difficult person.
But disagree...
I've been in business
long enough
to know how to deal
with eccentric authors.
- How do you?
- You treat them like children.
You have to praise them,
flatter them,
give presents...
you know what I mean.
Gentlemen, now I have
an urgent meeting.
- Well, if it's urgent...
- Well...
Goodbye.
Rex, put that folder back.
Let me read it, Rex.
Just ten more minutes.
All right then.
Let's go for a run.
- It was in today's news.
- It's impossible.
I'm a physical wreck,
not a mental one.
A model helicopter
carrying explosives
entered by a window.
Just as you described it.
Amazing.
It's nothing to do with you?
Me? I only kill people on paper,
you know that.
They say coincidence
doesn't exist, but...
Unbelievable!
- What's in the letter?
- What letter?
It wasn't an invitation.
Don't lie to me.
The freight company is closing.
- In three months.
- Three months?
- How long have you known?
- A long time.
You see,
I didn't want to worry you.
Perhaps my thriller
will get published soon.
No need to panic.
Okay then.
Where's the folder?
Come on, old man.
I went for a run with you.
You hid it, eh?
Where?
All right then,
show me.
In here, is it?
Rex...
You should never put
coloureds in with whites.
Morning, Fritz.
- What is it?
- A fax from Burglary.
A break-in two weeks ago,
at a gravel pit.
A few dynamite sticks
and blast-caps were taken.
- Any leads?
- No.
- Seen Christian?
- No.
Anything new, gentlemen?
Yes.
Forensics found letters
in Mr Horn's room.
- From another publisher.
- Look at that.
Come on.
What would you like to eat?
Here. It really doesn't matter.
Mineral water, fruit,
washing powder.
Is everything all right?
Have a lovely day.
You too.
What about the wheelchair?
The left wheel is wobbly.
I tried to tighten the spokes,
but I couldn't.
I'll ask the technician
at work to look at it.
Did you know another publisher
approached Mr Horn?
Another publisher?
No, I don't believe it.
There.
What a scoundrel.
I knew nothing about this.
Please contact Mrs Späth,
my chief editor.
And closest colleague.
She was rather close
to Mr Horn.
Her office...
Along the corridor,
the last door on the right.
Thank you.
He dropped a hint
last week at tennis.
The bastard.
Well, so if I understand you
correctly,
he wanted more royalties?
Yes! He'd have gone
to the boss, all cock-a-hoop,
proclaiming he'd get more
elsewhere.
Justifiably.
Would Mr Unmack have
paid him more?
For sure.
It's like soccer.
If you're good you can set
your own price.
I must go to the layout office.
They're waiting.
You can join me...
No. We've finished.
Mrs Späth!
Get out, hurry.
Christian, call the bomb squad.
Let no one leave. I'll secure
the entrance.
- Are you all right?
- Yes.
Horst Bauer, born
26th February, 1952.
Fritz Lehner, born
17th May 1976.
Kunz speaking.
Please do a search
for a blue Merc,
registration W 63007A,
and get me the owner.
Right. I've checked the list
of model clubs.
No one has a record, though.
Mrs Späth...
Have you any idea
who could be behind the attack?
No.
Have you had any threatening
phone calls or letters?
No, none.
What about authors
whose work is rejected?
They do say
some nasty things.
They do abuse me on the phone
and think their book
is the greatest.
They all think they're writers
because they wrote good essays
at school.
All these manuscripts came
this year.
Seventy to eighty percent
are unsolicited.
Are they recorded?
Yes, there's a book
where the titles are recorded.
- May I see it?
- Certainly.
Brandtner.
There's no record
of those plates.
Let's check all the owners
of blue Mercs.
It'll take at least three weeks.
- Sure. Got a better idea?
- No.
Please fax me the list
of model clubs.
We might find a lead
somewhere.
Mrs Späth...
In February,
a certain Alfred Nordeck
sent you a manuscript.
Do you remember it?
Nordeck, yes.
He sent us a short thriller.
Two or three pages long.
It was quite original.
Then he wrote a full-length
thriller which was bad.
I only read a few pages.
When he rang me,
I told him what I thought.
Have you an address
or a phone number?
It should be
on the manuscript.
If we received it in February,
it should be in that pile.
Here it is.
17, Reblaus Lane.
I'll send a colleague
to guard you.
Hello. I'm Brandtner,
Crime Squad.
This is Mr Böck. We're looking
for Alfred Nordeck.
Police?
What's the plot
of the thriller?
It's about an inventor
of toys,
whose ideas are stolen.
But I don't know exactly.
I stopped reading
after a few pages.
I wrote,
"Plot much too murky,
naive language, no use to us."
After a few pages?
Yes. Otherwise I'd never
get through it all.
Okay.
I get it.
Mr Alfred Nordeck?
Are you sure?
I see. Thank you.
He wasn't at work yesterday
or today.
Impossible. They're mistaken.
Do you know
where we can find him?
No. But he said he'd be back
at 5.30.
- May we look around?
- Of course.
Won't you tell me
what's happened?
Never mind about
my disability.
Has he done anything wrong?
Too soon to say.
More coffee?
- No, thank you, Mrs...
- Späth.
Mrs Späth...
Actually, I drink herbal tea.
Oh, I see.
Stay here. I'll take Rex
to the freight depot.
Shall I get you a torch?
No need.
What do you say to this?
Bingo!
Come on, answer.
Alex, it's Fritz. I've looked
at Nordeck's book.
It's about a toy inventor.
But that's not the point.
Hear this. A killer
murders three people.
One with a toy helicopter
and explosives.
The next with a toy car
and more explosives.
And the third
he ties up in a wheelchair,
sends him into a maze
and he can't find the exit.
- So he gets blown to pieces.
- Nordeck's staging his plot.
But that means he's got it in
for a third person.
Just ask Mrs Späth
if Nordeck spoke to anyone else
besides her.
Mrs Späth, did Mr Nordeck
speak to anyone else here?
The boss. He came to see him
in his office.
- Where is he?
- Rollerblading in the Prater.
- Where in the park?
- You'll see his Rover there.
- Yes?
- Do you remember me?
No.
I do, but I can never
remember names.
"I had talent", you said.
- You'd make me famous.
- Yes, you're Mr...
Norbach,
no, Nordeck.
You've written
a thriller, right?
You thought it was excellent.
- Yes, I did indeed.
- You'd know who killed Horn.
You haven't read it.
You lied to me,
you mocked me.
You raised my hopes.
Mr Nordeck, what do you want
from me?
You'll do exactly
as I tell you.
If not,
you'll be blown sky-high.
- What nonsense.
- Really?
Look under your seat.
The revenge
of an affronted author.
Perhaps I did raise your hopes,
after all.
I'm so sorry.
And for a moment I thought
the dynamite was real.
It is real.
Please believe me.
Remember Horn.
Now, you'll follow my car.
I'll watch my rearview mirror.
If you try to jump out,
I'll press this button...
- You can't do that.
- Just try me.
I don't see
a Range Rover.
A successful publisher
without a mobile phone!
Who knows if he's rollerblading?
They look new.
Would you leave them behind?
He probably forgot them,
or he...
The maze.
Kunz said the third murder
takes place in a warehouse.
- And freight companies...
- Have lots of warehouses.
How are you feeling?
My wife's been in a wheelchair
for three years.
I told you!
We had to change our strategy.
Your thriller didn't fit in
with our new program.
Don't tell lies.
You didn't read it at all.
Horn told me.
You were mocking me.
Why did you kill Horn?
I gave him my thriller to read.
In his arrogant way,
he put me down.
He said
no one would kill anyone
in such a ridiculous way.
You see?
Now I'm laughing.
What are you up to?
See the scales?
You're inside a maze,
with hidden explosives.
You have five minutes
to find them.
Then you blow out
the candle. If not...
Well then...
have fun.
You can't do this.
Stay here.
Oh, yes... and you can't
open the door from the inside.
Shit.
Where's Unmack?
You're too late. He won't find
his way out of the maze.
Mr Unmack!
Here.
- Over here.
- Rex, find him.
Help!
- Untie me.
- Keep going, Rex.
You're mad!
Well?
We won't even need
the bomb squad.
Love you too.