Remington Steele (1982) s03e19 Episode Script

Illustrated Steele

Very flattering for us to be immortalized - in such a popularized art form.
- Dashing Dave, you? - They've captured you quite well, Laura.
- Dollface? Ditz with the Orphan Annie eyes? The hair has a certain similarity.
Someone's trying to kill me.
Whatever happens to Dick Darkside happens to me.
If you're here on business for that no-good, self-righteous weasel, you're not welcome here! Oh, Miss Holt.
This place is starting to look like Bekins on a bad day.
If you'd just let me put all these into the computer.
Absolutely not, Mildred.
I will not have this agency's history condensed on a single floppy disk.
You hit a wrong button, and you bring a whole new meaning to "gone in 60 seconds.
" We need more room.
Some- Some place that's not being used.
- Wasted space.
- Oh! Ooh, ooh, no, no.
No, no, Miss Holt.
No, the boss left strict orders not to be disturbed.
I'll take full responsibility, Mildred.
But- Ah, good morning, Miss Holt.
Yes.
What- Oh, my signature.
Yes, great.
No.
We're running out of room for our old case files - and I thought- - Oh, well, in that case, carry on.
Please do.
Please do.
Mmm.
- The Blaster.
I might have known.
- Mmm.
Oh, yes.
Wonderful, isn't it, eh? Very flattering for us to be immortalized in such a popularized art form, don't you agree? Dashing Dave, you? Yeah, well, the- that granite jaw that luxuriant black hair those- those steely blue eyes.
Well, you can't deny, the resemblance is uncanny.
And look at this.
I think they've captured you quite well, Laura.
- Hmm? - Dollface? - That ill-defined blob? - Well- The ditz with the Orphan Annie eyes? Yes, well, uh, the hair has a certain similarity.
So what are we up to these days? Hmm? Well, it seems, uh, Dashing Dave and Dollface are awaiting the arrival of Dick Darkside.
Dick Darkside has just double-crossed the Blaster - so the Blaster has cut Dick's brake cable, see? - Mm-hmm.
Someone's trying to kill me.
Dick Darkside? Oh, gosh.
No, I'm sorry.
It's Arte- er, Arthur-Arthur Wayne.
Hello.
I ink The- The Blaster.
Um, you said someone's trying to kill you.
Uh, about two weeks ago, the character of Dick Darkside was put into the Blaster strip.
Just for fun, I kinda filled in his features to look like me.
Ever since then, whatever happens to Dick Darkside happens to me.
Would you care to elaborate? When Dick Darkside was chased by killer Dobermans and the next day a strange dog came at me like Cujo I- I didn't even get the connection.
When Dick Darkside was nearly run down by a hit man and the next day a car ran a red light and almost hit me I just thought, "Hey, Arte, you're in the wrong place at the wrong time.
" - An-And yesterday? - My brake line was cut.
From the second I started down Malibu Canyon, I didn't have any brakes.
- I jumped just before- - So what you're saying is that, uh whoever's reading this strip could, uh, be making these attempts on your life.
Doesn't narrow it down much, does it? Is there anyone who's threatening you? Well, someone who might hold a grudge against you? Anyone who dislikes you a- a teensy-weensy bit? Well- Oh, gosh.
I'd hate to get anyone into trouble.
- Arte, someone's trying to kill you.
- Okay.
There are a couple of people, and, well I think they hate me.
Hate him? What's to hate? Arte's one of the nicest guys that I know.
Mr.
Steuben, uh, Arte tells me that you and he had a rather large, um disagreement a couple of weeks ago and that you haven't spoken since then.
Look, it's my job to have disagreements with people like Arte.
I supervise production on a half dozen strips here at Allied Press Syndicate.
It's up to me to make sure that the stories and the drawings are all up to snuff.
So Arte's work hasn't been, uh, up to snuff lately? Arte's work was perfect but Raymond Kelly, the man who writes The Blaster- He asked me to lean on him, keep him humble.
Well, is that common between artist and inker? No.
But there's nothing common about Raymond Kelly.
You see, about three years ago, we were gonna drop The Blaster.
Nobody was reading it.
Well, suddenly, Raymond hires Arte to ink.
Pow! Now the drawings are jumping off of the page.
The whole style has changed.
He saved that strip.
Well, I would have thought that Ray would have been indebted to Arte surely.
Yeah, but he's not.
Instead of being thankful, he's resentful.
His ego won't allow it.
In fact, I think he'd just as soon kill somebody as share the credit with him.
Okay.
Thank you very much.
Good day.
- Uh, Mr.
Steele.
- Hmm? I don't know if anyone has ever told you this or not but you look an awful lot like Dashing Dave.
Really? Hmm.
I must have a look at it sometime.
Good day.
No, I am not Dollface.
I'm sorry.
I- I just assumed.
I- I know Arte modeled Dashing Dave after Mr.
Steele.
- He's always admired- - Miss Dirks could- could we get back to your feelings about Arte? Well, sure.
I, um- - I love him.
- You love him? - Arte thinks you hate him.
- Oh, Miss Holt, I could never hate Arte.
I don't think any woman could.
He's- He's so open and so caring and so- Independent.
I guess that's why it didn't work out.
I was suffocating him.
Women do that with Arte.
There's something about him that makes you want to mother him.
I can see that.
Tell me, Miss Dirks, do you know of any other women who, uh, would've granted Arte his freedom? Someone less understanding than yourself? - Mrs.
Kelly.
- Who is Mrs.
Kelly? Mrs.
Raymond Kelly.
The wife of the man who draws The Blaster? Well, it- it wasn't Arte's fault.
Believe me.
She had this Mrs.
Robinson complex or something.
She seduced him.
- Could she hold a grudge against him? - I don't see how.
She died, about three months ago.
Did- Did Mr.
Kelly ever learn of the affair? Oh, no.
And please, Miss Holt you have to promise that you will never tell him.
If Raymond ever found out, I- Why he'd- - Kill Arte.
- Hmm.
Perhaps we should ask Arte a few questions about the man behind The Blaster.
My thoughts exactly, Mr.
Steele.
Mildred, could you get me Arthur Wayne's address? Thank you.
Uh, I'm sorry.
What was that? I'll tell him.
It seems, uh- Aspen has just received five inches of fresh powder over an eight-foot packed base.
Really? How interesting.
- I didn't know you skied.
- Oh, an occasional schuss down the Alps with Jean-Claude.
I was, uh, junior downhill champ when I was 10.
- Hmm.
- Mmm.
I'd love to invite you, Laura, but I couldn't bear the disappointment.
- What makes you think you'd be disappointed? - Past history.
I mean, every time we've planned a few uninterrupted moments together, a case interferes.
- You don't think that I'm capable of having fun, do you? - I didn't intimate that.
It's just that your idea of a vacation is coming back late from lunch.
- I could shut the agency down like that.
- Yes, but you never would.
- I wouldn't? - No.
When this case is done, I will close the office down for a week send Mildred on a vacation, and we'll hit the slopes.
You want to have fun? I'll show you fun.
Mmm.
I can hardly wait.
- Yes? - Uh, Remington Steele.
Oh, Mr.
Steele, I'll buzz you in.
Thank you.
What's that smell? Smells like almonds.
- Arte? - Arte? Open the door! No time for that, Miss Holt.
Excuse me.
A- Arte! Is he breathing? Seems someone put capsules containing potassium cyanide in your kettle.
Hence the almond scent.
Once they dissolved in water, they turned ordinary steam into a deadly gas.
You said this comic strip won't be running until tomorrow.
Does anybody know about its contents before then? Me.
I guess Paul Steuben.
He approves the stories and the rough sketches.
And Sid Rothman.
He runs the newspaper syndicate.
What about Raymond Kelly? Well, sure, he drew- No, absolutely not.
- Mr.
Steele, Ray would never- - Did Raymond have access to that teakettle? - No.
- Arte! He brought some sketches down from Santa Barbara yesterday.
But Sid was here too.
He came by to check on my work.
Well, I think it's about time we took a trip to Santa Barbara to have a chat with the Blaster himself, don't you, Miss Holt? Mr.
Steele, you don't understand.
Ray has no reason to want me dead.
He loves me.
I'm like the son he never had.
Arte we know about your liaison with Mrs.
Kelly.
We also know he could be jealous about your, uh, talents.
Miss Holt, Ray's wife chased me.
I didn't know how to say no.
And as for Ray being jealous, everything I am I owe to him.
Three years ago, when I left art school he's the only person who would give me a break.
He worked with me, trained me.
It's not Ray.
I know.
Miss Holt.
Psycho.
I beg your pardon.
Anthony Perkins, Janet Leigh.
Paramount, 1960.
When I was four, my sister Frances took me to see it.
I couldn't go near a shower for years after that.
This-This reminds me of that Psycho house.
Laura, this looks nothing like the Psycho house.
I didn't say it looked like it.
I said it reminded me of it.
There's a-There's a reminiscent foreboding an aura of doom an almost palpable feeling of evil.
Well- rest easy, Miss Holt.
We're here to see Raymond Kelly, not, uh, Norman Bates.
Shall we? Steele, eh? And what's your name, toots? I'm- I'm Laura Holt.
We're private investigators.
Oh, yeah.
Couple of dicks.
I suppose you come for some help from the Blaster.
Uh, yes, you could say that.
Uh, we'd like to ask you a few questions about Arthur Wayne.
- You- Get out! - What? You get out right now! If you're here on business for that no-good, self-righteous weasel - you're not welcome here! - Mr.
Kelly, I don't think you understand.
Arte is in great physical danger.
No, you don't understand, doll.
I don't know what Arte's up to this time but he's getting nothing more from Raymond Kelly! Mr.
Kelly, we have evidence to strongly suggest you're trying to kill Arte.
You know, you're worse than those attorneys in all their three-piece suits Arte sends up here.
Well, you can tell that parasite what I tell them- The well is dry! - Arte reveres you.
- And why not? I'm Fort Knox.
But money isn't good enough for him.
No, he wants credit for saving The Blaster.
Well, lady, he's not going to get it.
There's only one Blaster, and that's me! Mr.
Kelly, if anything happens to Arte - we're gonna nail you to the wall.
- Come on.
Well, it appears we have our man.
I think we should talk to Sid Rothman.
Since Arte's convinced Ray loves him, I'd like to see if Sid knows what's really going on between them.
Dragging your feet a bit, aren't we? Not afraid we might have to wrap this case up and you'll actually have to follow through on your vacation plans, are we? Ah.
Open return.
Impressive.
But I'm afraid the jury's still out.
I won't be convinced until I see you making snow angels in Aspen.
Why is it that the prospect of a relaxing vacation has turned from an invitation to a dare? Because I know how you relish a challenge, Miss Holt.
Ray hates Arte.
The kid is just too busy worshipping him to notice.
So why doesn't Ray just fire him? Well, if he'll admit it or not, Ray knows that he simply doesn't have the style Arte does.
- It's a rare talent.
- Seems as if Arte should have his own strip.
Well, he tried.
A couple of months back he brought me an idea that was just great-just great! - Of course I had to turn it down.
- Why? This isn't television, Miss Holt.
We don't change our shows like dirty underwear.
I told him we'd talk when one of our strips fell out, which is not likely to be soon.
Does Ray know about Arte's strip? The day after we talked I saw Arte with his hand in a cast.
He said it was Ray's opinion of his grand notions.
- Why didn't you tell us that Ray broke your hand? - He didn't- He didn't break it.
He just cracked it.
Anyway, it was my fault.
I got in the way of his putter.
Arte, face the facts.
The man wants to kill you! Who knows what he's dreaming up for you in that strip? Messenger just brought this.
The Blaster has Dick Darkside out in the middle of a jungle.
- Not many of them around here.
- The arboretum could be a jungle.
I mean, the park down the street, the garden out the back.
As far as Ray's concerned, that whole bloody thing could be a jungle.
What are you telling me, Mr.
Steele? That it's a jungle out there? All Mr.
Steele is saying is that perhaps it would be a good idea if someone stayed with you until the guilty party, whoever it is, is apprehended.
No, I've got a lot of work to do, and I won't be able to concentrate if I know someone's hovering around babysitting me.
- Arte- - Really.
Go home.
I will call you if I need you.
Dashing Dave to Dollface.
Dashing Dave to Dollface.
Come in, Dollface.
Over.
Doll- Laura here.
There's really no need for code names.
How are things where you sit? To paraphrase a great American leader surveillance is hell.
Ooh.
Any sign of Ray down your end? Uh-uh, and I'm freezing.
Well, perhaps this might, uh, thaw you out a bit.
Um- Picture a- a ski lodge.
In the center, a fireplace.
A stone fireplace with a large, roaring fire.
And people all around their faces glowing in the light.
I see only two people- a man and a woman shoes off, feet by the hearth.
They're sitting very close together mugs of, um, hot buttered rum in hand- Toasting one another on a splendid run down the slopes.
- He leans in to her and- - And she to him.
and gives her a big, big warm- handkerchief.
Mr.
Steele, get down here.
Arte just left.
- Where'd he go? - I don't know.
I lost him.
I was watching for someone trying to get into the building, not out.
How do you know the man just didn't go looking for a carton of milk? - Do we not believe that Ray is trying to kill Arte? - Right.
And that what appears in the strip subsequently happens to him? So we look for the nearest jungle? There's gotta be a clue in the drawings.
- What exactly was in that jungle? - Bushes, rocks, vines.
Uh, a waterfall, a- It's okay.
It's over.
He was like a father to me.
How could he want to hurt me? Arte, what made you come here? Ray called.
He asked my advice on some new story lines.
He never wanted my opinion before.
I was so excited.
You're gonna have to give a statement.
It's really more a formality than anything else.
I'm sorry I didn't let you handle this your way.
I'm sorry.
Oh, the poor guy.
Yes.
So it appears.
I still can't believe we're closing down for a week.
Ooh.
Miss Holt, you sure the boss doesn't want me to just hang around and cover the phones? No, Mildred.
We all need a vacation.
Is Mr.
Steele ready? Beats me.
He hasn't come out of his office all morning.
- Mr.
Steele? - Mmm? - Aspen awaits.
- Mmm.
Our vacation? Schussing, hot buttered rum apr├Ęs-ski? In a minute, Laura.
Something's not right here.
Look at this.
Dashing Dave lose his dimples? No, look at this.
- Notice the blue pencil? - It's pretty.
Nonphoto blue.
That's a color they use so it won't be reproduced when it's copied.
Oh.
How did you learn that? Well, I had a dash of commercial art training in- Never mind that.
The point is Arte claims this is the way he received the artwork messengered from Ray.
But look at this.
Okay? Notice the black lead and the type of paper? This is from Ray's studio.
He doesn't use blue pencils.
Nor does he have blue pencils nor this type of paper.
- What are you driving at? - I'm not sure.
- You're stalling.
- No, I'm merely following your lead.
I'm not stalling.
I'm ready to go.
Let's have fun.
I mean your attention to detail, your compulsion to tie up loose ends.
There are no loose ends.
The case is closed, and we've got plane reservations.
Laura, your slapdash approach to this case is absolutely unfathomable.
Oh, I see.
The picture is becoming very clear now.
Portrait of a devious man.
Could it be that the only reason you invite me on these little jaunts is because you know that I'll say no and now that I'm ready to go, you're getting cold feet, hmm? Hmm.
After you, Miss Holt.
Take a left.
Just up here.
Six nights and seven days at the fabulous Aspen Chalet.
Nestled in a small hamlet at the foot of rolling hills the lodge offers the expected accoutrements- - fireplace, hot tub, Jacuzzi- - Uh-huh.
Right.
You said it.
- No, turn right.
- Oh.
I already got the lift tickets.
Have you? Okay, just pull over here, will you? Okay.
I won't be a moment.
Nope.
Doesn't look like we delivered this to any Arthur Wayne.
- But this is your receipt, hmm? - Yep.
Well, when was the last delivery made from Raymond Kelly to Arthur Wayne? Uh- Never.
Care to explain what we're doing here? Merely retiring a few nagging questions, uh, before our trip.
Now our records do show deliveries from Arthur Wayne to Raymond Kelly.
About three a week.
Thank you very much.
Good day.
Well, must get to the airport.
Mustn't dawdle.
- We're nowhere near the airport! - Mmm.
Just down the hill, I believe.
I never knew you'd go to such great lengths to avoid going away with me.
Well, merely checking Arte's story.
If he lied about receiving the waterfall strip from Ray he may well have lied about his roller-coaster ride down the canyon.
He nearly died.
How to Murder Your Wife.
Jack Lemmon, Virna Lisi.
United Artists, 1965.
Lemmon plays a cartoonist who has a habit of acting things out before he puts them in his strip.
But Arte only drew what Ray gave him.
Miss Holt, if you're so sure about Arte setting up his own accident then I dare you to make it from here to the point where his car went off the road without using your brakes.
Buckle up.
Brake with discretion, please, Laura! If this test is gonna prove anything, I've got to do it just like Arte.
Must you be so faithful, Laura? - Ah, Laura! - I don't think we're gonna make it! Laura! Oh! Excellent call, Miss Holt.
Excellent.
How did Arte do it? At night yet.
Well, I doubt a brakeless car could have made these.
And at the speed Arte would have been going without brakes there's no way he would have survived a jump from his car.
Speedy Express has no record of delivering any artwork from Ray to Arte.
Yet Arte was always sending material to Ray.
Could it be that Arte was artist, author and inker? And with Ray dead Arte would have control of The Blaster and get everything he felt he had coming.
Perhaps we'd better catch a later flight, huh? Mmm.
Mm-hmm.
Thank you both so much for coming.
Here, an- an extra thank-you gift.
Miss Holt, I hope you're pleased with the changes I made to Dollface especially the eyes.
Excuse me.
I have to say a few words.
Please have a seat.
Thank you, one and all, for being here today.
Ray was a wonderful man and all our lives will be diminished by his passing.
I'm sure all of us have our own fond memories of Raymond Kelly.
As for me, well I owe the man everything I am today.
Before I, uh, say a few words about Ray Kelly I hope you'll indulge me for just a minute and let me tell you about this fine young man, Arte Wayne.
He has decided to let The Blaster rest and leave us with, well, fond memories.
So much for motive.
Fortunately, for my own personal concerns Arte will soon be starting a new strip of his own creation.
Motive, Miss Holt? Proof, Mr.
Steele.
Proof.
- Find anything? - A disturbing pattern.
Arte started courting Cindy Dirks three months ago the same time Ray's wife died.
Arte took his new strip idea to Sid three months ago.
And get this.
The characters Dashing Dave and Dollface were added to the pages of The Blaster- Three months ago.
The little bugger.
He planned this murder three months ago.
He knew then that we'd be the perfect patsies to corroborate his story.
Something happened between Ray and Arte three months ago that drove Arte to murder.
There might be a clue in Ray's house.
But- - What about the ski trip? - Is that all you can think of? What's that? Contract.
- Between Arte and Ray.
- Mm-hmm.
It appears our troubled inker was more of an indentured servant than a hired hand.
Arte was bound by this contract for seven years.
He was exclusive to Ray.
Anything of Arthur Wayne's created during that tenure automatically became the property of Raymond Kelly.
- Like a new comic strip.
- Hmm.
It appears we have a motive, but no proof.
- Gaslight.
- No, the flashlight's fine.
Thanks.
Ingrid Bergman, Charles Boyer.
MGM, 1944.
I like your choice of films, Mr.
Steele.
- Fiendishly appropriate, isn't it? - Mmm.
- I like this one.
- No.
No, it's gotta be changed.
That's all.
Arte, my boy.
How are you? - I saw today's paper.
- Yeah.
Well, I- I was surprised to see The Blaster.
Did Ray have some extra strips I didn't know about? Oh, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah.
It's the darnedest stroke of good fortune.
- Oh, h-how's that? - Sit down.
Sit down.
Well, you see, this bright- this bright young talent comes into my office and says he simply can't stand to see The Blaster die.
He loved the strip.
He grew up with it.
I say, "Well, that's very nice, but unfortunately we don't have anybody with the same vision who wants to continue on with it.
" - Yeah, I'm sure Ray would've wanted- - Listen to me.
Listen to me.
So he opens his portfolio, and I swear to you he had at least two years' worth of Blaster strips and ideas in there some of'em ready to be inked.
So, I said, "Son, welcome aboard.
" But I thought you wanted to let The Blaster rest you-you know, for Ray's memory.
Don't you see? Ray was The Blaster.
What better way of keeping him alive than to keep the strip alive? - Yes, but- - Listen to me.
I want you to rush right on home.
I told this new guy to send you some strips to get inked.
But what about Arte's strip? There's only so much room in the paper.
You know that.
Bird's-eye View is just gonna have to wait.
Arte.
- Arte.
- How can he do this? He promised I could do my own strip.
Calm down.
Everything'll be all right.
No, it won't.
It's ruined.
Everything's ruined.
It will be if you don't get ahold of yourself.
Arte, you're not helping anything by getting so excited.
It isn't good.
Arte.
Arte.
He's here.
Come on.
Doesn't sound like part of the plan.
Seems your comic strip was frighteningly prophetic.
Would either of us buy an accident? Remember in Psycho, when the private detective- Played by Martin Balsam.
went to the Psycho house to interview Norman Bates's mother? Mm-hmm.
- He began to climb the stairs- - Mm-hmm.
- one step at a time.
- Mm-hmm.
And suddenly a woman with a butcher knife comes bursting out of a room, and- Laura, this isn't Psycho, and there is no- Watch the knife! Get up.
Cindy? Without your help, we never could have pulled it off.
Oh- I'll tell him.
- Bye.
- Sid Rothman? - Yeah.
- Ah.
He told me to tell you that you show great promise as a cartoonist and there's an opening for you on the comic page.
Really? Hmm.
You know, it's difficult to believe that Cindy masterminded that entire thing.
Not when you realize how desperately she wanted to share credit with Arte on that new Bird's-eye View strip.
Mm-hmm.
And she would've too, if our Gaslight plan hadn't worked in pushing Arte over the edge.
She was frightened that he'd botch up his attempt to kill us and then confess everything.
Well, case closed.
- How's the ankle? - It's down to a dull throb.
Terrible, senseless accident, tumbling down the stairs like that and spraining your ankle.
Small price to pay for bringing a murderer to justice.
- Ah, yes, well- - All set to go, boss? I can't wait to try out these new skis.
Take care of that ankle.
I'll wait for you in the car.
She told me how much she's been wanting to learn to ski and since all the reservations are made for two- - Don't worry about me.
I've got all this filing to do.
I won't even know you're gone.
Have a good time.
Hmm.
Yes, well, uh, another, uh, missed opportunity, Miss Holt.
Looks like we're never gonna get together, doesn't it? Don't bet on it, Mr.
Steele.