Here's another in NBC's great parade of new shows.
Ladies and gentlemen, the story you are about to hear is true.
Only the names have been changed to protect the innocent.
NBC brings you Dragnet.
You're a detective sergeant.
You're assigned to homicide.
A mad killer is loose in the city.
In every instance he leaves the murder weapon behind.
There are no fingerprints.
No clues to the killer's identity.
Your job?
Get him.
Dragnet, the documented drama of an actual crime, investigated and solved by the men
who unrelentingly stand watch on the security of your home, your family, and your life.
For the next 30 minutes in cooperation with the Los Angeles Police Department, you will
travel step by step on the side of the law through an actual case from official police
files.
From beginning to end, from crime to punishment, Dragnet is the story of your police force
in action.
It was Tuesday, June 3rd.
It was warm in Los Angeles.
We were working the day watch out of homicide.
My partner is Ben Romero.
The boss is Ed Backstrand, chief of detectives.
My name is Friday.
I was off duty reporting back in on an emergency call.
It was 3.57 a.m. when I got to the basement of the city hall, the carpool.
Let's go, Friday.
Sorry to call you back in.
Couldn't be helped.
All right, Ben.
No case, Giver.
What's up, Ben?
Double murder.
When?
I don't know.
I found out about it, oh, 40 minutes ago.
Got any ideas?
Roughly same M.O.
Was that 6413 Norwich, Giver?
No, 6430.
What do you mean, the same M.O.?
The same guy.
Brickbat killer.
How many does this make?
Counting tonight, four.
We got anything at all?
Smudged fingerprint.
We can't even classify.
Sounds like a smart operator.
We got to get him.
We have to shake down the city from one end to the other.
Big job, Giver.
Big killer.
At 426 A.M., we pulled up in front of 6430 Norwich Drive, a small group of bungalow apartments
facing on an oval-shaped garden court.
Two uniformed officers were stationed at the door to the apartment.
Hiya, Chief.
Hiya, fellas.
We went inside.
Wilbert from homicide was waiting for us.
This way.
In here.
Well, there they are.
Yeah, mother, daughter.
Joe, on the floor beside the bed.
Yeah, a red brick.
Ms. Hafters, we know how you must feel about all this, but would you please try to answer
a few more questions for us?
Yes.
All right.
Oh, Margaret.
Ms. Hafters, how long had you known Mrs. Diaz and her daughter?
Nine years.
This November, they moved next door.
I remember it so well.
We got along right from the start.
And as far as you know, the only close friends the mother and daughter had lived right here
in the apartment court.
Yes.
Margaret was a pretty girl, but she was no chaser, no boyfriend.
Very close to her mother.
The two of them very close.
Did they keep any amount of valuables in the apartment?
Money, jewelry, things like that?
No, Mrs. Diaz and Margaret didn't have much, you know.
Very modest income.
They both worked.
And you can think of no good reason.
Oh, no, no.
Poor Margaret, poor Mrs. Diaz lying in there.
A shock.
A terrible shock.
Wellberg.
Yes, sergeant.
Would you show Ms. Hafters back to her apartment?
Sure, sergeant.
Thank you, Ms. Hafters.
We appreciate it.
Thank you.
Poor Margaret.
Poor Mrs. Diaz.
Well, Joe, let's check with Ed.
He's back in the bedroom.
You get anything from the neighbors?
The usual, Ed.
No jealous boyfriends, ex-husbands, nothing like that.
Boys find any evidence yet, Skipper?
No, still working on it.
You got any theories?
Well, we know the killings were all done by the same guy.
Cuts the same pattern out of the window screen, cuts the same pattern with a glass cutter
out of the window.
Reaches in and flips the locks.
All right, where's that leaving?
Well, before he gets inside, he makes sure there are only women in the house.
That means he probably watches the house for a few days.
Once he gets inside, he wants only one thing, the kill.
He's never taken any valuables.
As far as we can tell, he's never searched for any.
What kind of a man works like that?
I think the guy's killed crazy.
Hey, fellas.
Yes, Donner?
Here's a break.
Two fair prints, one thumb, one forefinger.
What'd you get, Pete?
Only got nine points.
Not enough to go into court, but enough to make him.
We'll know him when we get him.
Yeah.
Found the prints on the lens of the old lady's eyeglasses.
Probably knocked him off the night table when he went after her.
When he's done, he'll put them back on the table.
Yeah.
Had blood on his hands, see?
Yeah.
That's funny, isn't it?
Why would he go to the trouble of picking up the woman's glasses after he killed her?
We'll ask him when we find him.
All right, Ben, Joe, I might have something for you.
We can use it, Link.
Hold it just a minute.
Yeah.
Crime lab, Jones.
Yeah.
Yeah, all right.
I'll tell him.
Right, Ed.
Back strand.
If you're through checking the victim's clothes by eight o'clock, you can knock off asleep
until noon.
What if we're not through?
Take it up with the chaplain.
Here's what I wanted to show you.
Here's a couple of casts.
Barefoot print.
That's right.
Those from the deer's place?
Found them outside the dining room window in the flower bed.
Take a look.
Good cast.
Size nine.
Ten.
Missing toe there, huh?
Left foot, first toe.
That's lucky.
Well, then the guy took his shoes off before he went in that house.
That's the way it looks.
You leave any other prints late?
Three with his shoes on.
Here they are, here.
Yeah.
How would you say the guy is built, Lee?
Oh, from the impression, pretty heavy man.
There's no full length of stride or I might give you an idea of his height.
How about the bricks, Lee?
Here they are, all three of them.
Used this one in the first murder, this one in the second, this one last night.
Leaves them around like calling cards and there's no way to check them.
You'll never get a fingerprint off a common red brick like this, Ben.
Surface is too rough.
Well, we got an idea of his weight.
We know that the first toe is missing from his left foot.
That's something.
The one we had yesterday.
We can check that missing toe in the amputation file, Joe.
Yeah.
Well, we better get back.
Pete ought to have those prints ready, too.
Thanks a lot, Lee.
Okay, fellas.
Say, they post the bodies yet?
Yeah, they're doing it now.
Same as the first two.
The brain?
Concussion, hemorrhage.
They didn't have a chance.
Hold it a minute.
Crime lab, Jones.
Sure, just a minute.
Either one of you, fellas.
I'll get it, Joe.
Okay.
Here, Merrill.
Yeah.
Good, we'll be right over.
They got a make on those two fingerprints.
Okay, Joe.
Single print file.
Made him on the index finger.
Let me see, Pete.
Take a look, Ben.
Yeah.
Doesn't look like a killer, does he, Joe?
Kind of nice looking.
That's right, Pete.
They said the same thing at the end of the day.
Kind of nice looking.
That's right, Pete.
They said the same thing about John Dillinger.
The name at the top of the makesheet read, Carlos Richard Monterey, male, Caucasian, age
19, height 5 feet 11 inches, weight 165 pounds, dark brown hair, dark brown eyes.
Last known address, 1663 Naples Street, Los Angeles.
Previous arrests, one, auto theft, February 8th, 1936.
That was all.
Ben and I had been expecting more.
The information on the mama sheet for Monterey was 13 years old.
So was the picture.
So was the description.
So was the address.
In 13 years, a man can change in a thousand ways.
So can his habits, his appearance, his address.
In 13 years, everything can change except two things.
A man's fingerprints and a physical deformity.
Missing toe on left foot, Carlos Richard Monterey.
Here it is, Joe.
1663 Naples.
Yeah, come on.
Somebody's coming.
Yes, what is it?
They're police officers.
We'd like to ask you a few questions.
Oh, yes.
Would you like to come in?
Thank you, ma'am.
Yes?
Would you mind telling us your name?
Monterey.
Isabel Monterey.
What is it you want?
You're married?
Yes.
My husband is Francisco Monterey.
Would you explain why you are here?
We thought you might be able to help us.
We're looking for a man named Carlos Monterey.
I don't understand you.
We're looking for a man.
We'd like to talk to him.
Do you know where he is?
Yes.
Carlos is dead seven years ago.
He's dead, my husband told me.
Does your husband know Carlos or did he know him?
He was his brother.
What about your husband's parents, Miss Monterey?
Where are they?
They're both dead.
Some time now.
Have you ever met Carlos?
No, never.
I've only heard of him.
What have you heard of him, Miss Monterey?
Do not ask me.
This is important, very important.
Francisco wouldn't like it if I told you.
It's important, Miss Monterey, believe us.
Carlos, he's sick.
He's mined.
For eight years Francisco has not seen him, not heard from him.
He thinks he's dead.
But he only thinks so, Miss Monterey, no one's told him his brother's dead.
He just thinks so.
What else is there to think?
Where's your husband now?
At his work, his store.
In Vera Street, near Main.
Grocery.
Monterey Cartwright grocery.
Here's your change.
Thank you, Mrs. Myers.
No look-alikes.
You know how it is.
You don't like to let these things get out.
That's why I trust you.
You can trust us, Mr. Monterey.
We just want to check on a few things.
Oh, fine.
I'm always glad to help out if I can.
Well, can you tell us if your brother was ever in a mental institution in his life?
Oh, I know there was nothing wrong.
1923.
Got a little bad so Mom and Dad had to put him away for a while, just till he calmed down.
I remember the day.
Sometimes dumb, stupid kid, what do you know?
Sitting there by himself in the train, crying, the public nurse, stupid way he cried, what
do you do?
I cried too.
I was only 10, Sergeant.
I saw him go.
He was alone.
Later on, Mr. Monterey, your brother was released from the state institution.
Yeah, he was 16.
And then he started running around, playing tough, carried a gun, lived by himself.
He never came around.
He dropped from sight about 1938.
You haven't heard from him since then?
Nothing.
I've never seen him.
Do you know of anybody who might have seen him?
There was a girl he had, Anita something, on Sateo Street.
Anita Martin, yeah, that's it.
Sateo Street.
Maybe she's seen him.
Ask her.
Maybe she's seen him.
Carlos?
Carlos Monterey?
Not in a year.
Less than a month she was in.
When I was working at the Peacock, down on South Main, he came in, we talked for a while.
That was all.
And you haven't seen Carlos for the past two months or so?
I tell you no.
Has he written to you?
Has he phoned you?
Once, three weeks ago he phoned.
Here, he left a message with my girlfriend.
But he didn't call back again.
Now that's it.
That's all I know.
Thank you, Miss Martin.
Here's our card.
If he does call, you'll let us know.
Yeah, I'll let you know.
You like Carlos, is that it, Anita?
Like him?
No, I didn't like him.
He was funny.
But he was nice.
You know, I pitied him.
Why did you pity him, Miss Martin?
Well, he was a good fellow who was strange.
He could smile, you know, he had a nice smile, but you could tell he was never laughing.
There was something in his mind.
Something...
Oh, I don't know.
At least a year, closer to two I haven't seen Carlos.
No letters, not a card, nothing.
He was in the East the last time I heard.
When was that?
A year ago, January, I was in here.
He sent me a calendar.
Sometimes he could get along fine, very well.
Other times terrible.
He couldn't keep him down.
How'd he manage to stay out of jail, that way of the city?
I don't know.
Sometimes he should have been in jail five times over.
You say you don't know of anybody who might have a recent picture of Carlos, a snapshot?
No.
No, no one I can think of.
Okay, Vincent, here's our card.
If you do think of somebody, let us know, will you?
It'll help.
Sure, glad to.
If I hear of anybody, what kind of a day is it outside?
Hot?
Hot.
By five o'clock that afternoon, Ben and I were certain of one thing.
Carlos Monterrey was in the city of Los Angeles, somewhere.
We drove back to the office and told Ed Backstrand about our interviews with Monterrey's relatives
and his friends.
Inquiries and requests for further identification and information on him were immediately relayed
to the state mental institutions.
The 13-year-old picture of Monterrey taken from the files was copied and distributed
with a note of caution as to the age of the photograph.
An APB was sent out.
Stakeouts were placed at the home of Monterrey's brother, at the brother's store, and at the
apartment of Anita Martin.
A special detail of 300 men was ordered to join the dragnet already in operation.
The details at the airport and the bus terminals were alerted, as well as the details at the
Union Depot and the main post office.
By six o'clock that night, almost 1,000 men were actively working at the job of tracking
down Carlos Monterrey.
At 6.30 p.m., Ben and I drew a four-hour relief period.
We drove out to Ben's place and his wife fixes some dinner.
At 10.30 that night, we reported into the office, picked up Ed Backstrand, and we drove
out to join the manhunt.
Unit 32R on the corner south-flowered, Loomis, a 390W, KMA-367.
Unit 12A, Code 1.
66A and 864, Rall Street.
See the man about a 507, KMA-367.
Unit 42, 5430, East Grand, apartment KMA-311, KMA-367.
We cruised with the dragnet operation until five o'clock that morning.
Ben and I took turns driving.
Actually, the tremendous job of scouring 500 square miles of city for one man was only
beginning.
Unless there was an unexpected break the search for Carlos Monterrey could wear on for weeks.
It did.
Night after night, the manhunt went on, and day after day.
There was no break.
Sixteen days later, on a Sunday night, I went to bed early.
I read a while, and then I turned off the lamp and went to sleep.
Hello.
Friday talking.
Sorry, Joe.
Get in here as fast as you can.
What's the matter?
That girl Monterrey knew.
The one you talked to?
Yeah.
She left her apartment, went to her girlfriend's.
Yeah?
She's dead.
There it is.
Ordinary red brick.
Found it by the body.
How long she been dead, Skipper?
She was seen alive about an hour and a half ago.
Got three bare footprints, good length of stride.
Found them down in the lab beside the house.
What do they look like?
Same guy.
First toe missing from the left foot.
The same weight impression.
Should be about five foot eleven.
That checks out with what you got, doesn't it?
All right, so it's the same guy.
What about those shoes we found, Lee?
Yeah, they correspond.
They were impregnated with foreign matter.
What'd you find?
Particles of lettuce leaf, dry onion skin, traces of red cabbage.
Maybe a vegetable counter.
Maybe.
What about the city wholesale market down on Front Street?
What about any market in Los Angeles?
No, Lee, that wholesale market is big enough to hide anybody.
Hundreds of tranchions work in there.
Some of them even sleep there.
For a guy like Monterrey, it'd be perfect.
That's a fair guess.
Check it when it opens.
I open at 2 a.m.
2.30 now.
All right, get back to the office and pick up as many extra men as you need.
Get down there right away.
Okay, Ed.
Now you know he's a rough one, so watch it.
On Monday, June 23rd, at two minutes past 3 a.m.,
we pulled up at the city wholesale produce market.
With the exception of 54 police officers in plain clothes,
who mingled with the buyers and sellers, business went along as usual.
The market itself covered almost three square blocks
in the lower part of the downtown area.
It was divided off into hundreds of individual stalls by flimsy wooden partitions.
To make the search even tougher, the place was crowded.
For the first 45 minutes, we had the men circulate at random
through the crowd on the chance that one of them might spot Carlos Monterrey
from the 13-year-old picture.
It didn't happen.
After that, we started a systematic canvas.
We talked to the customers, we talked to the managers of the different booths,
we gave them Monterrey's description, we showed them his picture.
Nobody recognized him.
We checked the employment records one by one, not a sign.
Sorry, Sergeant. I'd like to help. I've never seen the guy.
Okay, Mr. Snyder, thank you.
We sure pick the sweet jobs, don't we?
Oh, yeah, we could spend a year at this.
Sergeant, Sergeant Friday.
Yeah, Comanski. Did you find something?
Guy at the booth over there against the far wall.
Thinks he might have hired Monterrey a couple of days ago.
Come on, Ben. Where?
Over there, Sergeant.
You showing Monterrey's picture?
Yeah, he thinks it might be him.
Mr. President, this is Sergeant Romero, Sergeant Friday.
Yes, I told your boy, Sergeant, that this fellow Carlos, I hired him to help last Thursday.
Big rush for me now, so I hired him.
You sure he's the man?
In the picture? I think so. A little older, maybe.
Oh, but I know faces. He's the man. You looking for him?
You say you hired this man last Thursday?
That's right. It's a big rush for me now in the morning.
I hired him Thursday. He worked Thursday, Friday, Saturday.
But he don't show up this morning, so I got no use.
Too many men to pick from. You know, show up, I let him go.
What kind of work did he do for you?
Same as he did for Schiller down there. Heavy work.
Moving the stores, cleaning up.
What kind of produce does Schiller handle, Mr. Fransenetti?
Fancy. Very fancy vegetables.
Choice. New potatoes, expensive red onions.
Schiller sells to the big hotels.
Does Schiller handle brown onions, Mr. Fransenetti?
Oh, only the best. Big deal that Schiller sells to the big hotels.
How long has this Carlos been working around the market?
Oh, I don't know. Is it just like the rest?
First he worked for me, then Largo Marzini, then Schiller.
Hey, why are you looking so hard for him? He stole something?
He murdered somebody.
Him? My, murder.
Do you have any idea where Carlos lives?
Me? No, no. And if he comes back here, I tell you to get out.
I got nothing to do with this trouble.
You'll tell him nothing, Mr. Fransenetti. Here's our card.
If you see Monterey again, call us. Say nothing to him.
Sure, sure. I'd remember.
Joel, call the chief at the office, William. Message just came in.
Thanks, Hal. Come on, Ben.
Yeah, there's a phone booth. See?
No, I don't. Where?
Right ahead. Little to the left.
Oh, yeah. You got a nickel?
Let's see. Oh, yeah. Yeah, there you are.
Thanks. I'll see what Ed wants.
City Hall.
2511.
2511.
Chief, the detective's always had him.
Hi, Mike. Ed there?
Ed, take it on extension two, will you?
Backstrand talking.
Friday, Ed.
Move fast on this one, Joel.
What's up?
Main post office. Carlos Monterey picked up a letter
that led there less than five minutes ago.
Come on, Ben. There's Ed over there with Wellberg.
Yeah. Traffic sure jammed up around here.
Hi, Ed.
Friday. How's my home? You all set, Wellberg?
All set, Chief. Spring Street to San Pedro.
Sunset the first. Got it covered.
Good.
What's the story?
Post office detail tipped us off.
Five minutes after eight, a man answering
Carlos Monterey's description
picked up a letter at the general delivery window.
That was 16 minutes ago.
Who spotted him?
Sam Lane.
You got to look at him just as he was leaving the window.
Called to him to stop, but Monterey ran.
Lane called me and we threw a net over the area
for six blocks around.
And Monterey still somewhere inside this area?
I don't know how he could have gotten out.
What's next?
Well, I'll give him an hour to break for it.
After that, we start a house-to-house search
of the whole area.
Stop all pedestrian and vehicular traffic
for identification.
You're going to jam up the depot traffic.
That's cheaper than murder, Romero. Get going.
The first hour, we counted off in five-minute segments.
Like backstrand, we felt close enough to Monterey
to touch him, but he still wasn't there.
The north and south ends of the blockade
started to move in, slowly, searching every store,
every house, every conceivable place
where a man might hide out.
In the meantime, Ben and I worked the Spring Street
side of the blockade, watching the faces of the pedestrians
as they came through, one by one,
examining all vehicles and their drivers.
The morning wore on, the sun came out,
and it started to get warm.
By 11 o'clock that morning, Monterey still had not been found.
The temperature was 93 in Los Angeles.
It was still climbing. The search went on.
A ten-minute past 2 p.m. backstrand made the rounds.
How's it look, Skipper?
Not good. Going slow.
How much longer, you figure?
I don't know. It'll go to after dark, that's sure.
District down here is like a rat's nest.
Yeah.
Nothing?
Nothing. But he's someplace inside this blockade.
He's gotta be.
Any chance of getting relief for the men in our squad?
Some of them have been working straight through since yesterday.
Hmm, I'll see.
Check with me around 5 this afternoon.
Thank you, Skipper.
Keep a sharp lookout. One slip. That's all it takes.
The search went on.
At 3 o'clock that afternoon, the temperature was 95.
We sweltered and we waited.
At 3 45, backstrand sent a squad of men into the Union Depot to search it from top to bottom.
There was one false alarm when one of the men thought he saw Monterey slipping out a side door into a taxi.
He turned out to be a train conductor.
At 25 minutes past 4, backstrand passed along the order to our detail to start moving in, house by house.
It was a tedious job and it went slow.
The men were tired.
At 5 30, the relief squad showed up.
Ben and I stayed on.
After another two hours of house to house searching, the trap was narrowed down to a three square block area.
A single block wide and three blocks long.
It started to get dark.
Backstrand ordered out batteries of floodlights.
By 8 p.m., the cordon closed in around the last two square blocks.
Line's raw set, Skipper. Ready to move.
Good.
What do you think?
I will know pretty soon. One way or the other.
Frank, keep that traffic moving.
All right, you two, get going.
See you later, Skipper.
Joe, let's take a look in here.
Okay.
Sure is an old building.
Yeah.
Where'd Kamansky go?
I don't know. He was here a minute ago.
Oh wait, there's his flashlight.
At the end of the corridor there. He's signaling.
Yeah, come on.
Kamansky?
Yeah. Down below, Sergeant, in the basement. Come on.
Monterey?
He's been there, I think.
Yeah, this way.
Where?
Over here. And watch the step, the light's bad.
Here he is.
Says he's a janitor.
Oh, my head.
He's been slugged.
All right, come on. How'd it happen? Can you tell us?
Yeah, a man, a big man, hit me.
I came down to empty the baskets. He hit me and ran.
Ran over to the new building.
The new building? Is that the one next door?
Yeah, just a few minutes ago.
Nobody's come out of this building for the past half hour every door in the place is guarded.
No, no, not the doors. He went through the tunnel. I saw him.
Over there's the tunnel.
I'll take a look, Joe.
Yeah, the tunnel. Next to two basements.
Next to two basements. Same company, old building, new building. The tunnel connects the basement.
Joe, come on.
Yeah. Come answer. You get out the backstrand. Tell them what's happened.
Right, Sergeant.
Call an ambulance.
Right.
All right, Ben. Through the tunnel.
Watch where you're going. The light's bad.
Yeah, it is.
Is that a door up ahead, dude?
Yeah, I think so. Yeah, yeah. Let's go.
Good. There's a stairway. Come on.
Watch the doors.
Joe, the elevator. They're both on the third floor.
Let's head for the stairs. Ben, come on.
One more floor.
Yeah, right.
Come on, hurry.
Yeah.
Look, top of the stairs.
Very good.
All right, hold it, Hugh.
Ducked in the elevator. Joey's going down.
Well, we'll never make it on the stairs.
Joe, look. This other elevator, the control lever's bent.
Let's try it anyway.
Yeah.
All right, kick the control lever. Kick it, Ben.
That's good.
All right, Ben. Knock the lever back. Come on, quick.
Yeah.
What's the matter?
Joey's jammed. We're going past.
All right, let's kick it. Here.
Yeah, that doesn't. Can you reach the door control?
Wait just a minute. I'll see.
Yeah.
Okay.
Well, he's still in the building.
Both elevators are here now.
Yeah.
Down the hall, Ben. The office on the left, I think.
Yeah.
Okay, here we are.
All right, keep clear of the door.
All right, man. All right. Put on that gun and come on out.
I'll kill you! I'll kill all of you!
All of you!
Okay, Joe. Let's take him.
Watch it, Ben.
He's throwing the gun.
Watch it, Ben. He's throwing everything he can get his hands on.
I'll kill you!
Come on!
I'll kill you!
Get away! I'll kill all of you!
All right, Monterey.
Come on, you.
I'll kill you!
I'll kill you!
I'll kill you!
Okay, Ben. Take him.
Nice looking guy.
Clean cut.
Yeah.
Doesn't figure, does it?
What's that?
My wife would say, he doesn't look like a killer, does he?
What's a killer supposed to look like?
The story you have just heard is true.
Only the names were changed to protect the innocent.
Carlos Monterey was examined by five different psychiatrists
appointed by the Superior Court and was found to be sane.
He was tried and convicted of murder in the first degree.
He was executed in the lethal gas chamber at the State Penitentiary.
You have just heard the 17th in a new series of authentic cases from official files.
Technical advice board dragnet comes from the office of W.A. Wharton,
acting chief of police, Los Angeles Police Department.
Tonight's program is dedicated to motorcycle patrolman John Kramer
of the El Paso, Texas, Sheriff's Department,
who on the afternoon of April 26, 1940, gave his life,
so that yours might be more secure.
Dragnet came to you from Los Angeles.
You're tuned for the stars on NBC.