Original subtitles

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 Sp�th, 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 Sp�th!

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, 1 952.

Fritz Lehner, born 1 7th May 1 976.

Kunz speaking.

Please do a search for a blue Merc,

registration W 63OO7A, and get me the owner.

Right. I've checked the list of model clubs.

No one has a record, though.

Mrs Sp�th...

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 Sp�th...

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. 1 7, Reblaus Lane.

I'll send a colleague to guard you.

Hello. I'm Brandtner, Crime Squad.

This is Mr B�ck. 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... - Sp�th.

Mrs Sp�th... 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 Sp�th

if Nordeck spoke to anyone else besides her.

Mrs Sp�th, 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.

"l 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.