The story you are about to hear is true.
Only the names have been changed to protect the innocent.
Fatima cigarettes, best of all long cigarettes, brings you dragnet.
You're a detective sergeant. You're assigned to robbery detail.
A holdup has been committed in a neighboring city.
A bystander is shot to death. Two others are wounded.
The bandits are ruthless, well-armed. Your job, get them.
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Dragnet, the documented drama of an actual crime.
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, October 6th. It was cool in Los Angeles.
We were working a day watch out of robbery detail.
My partner is Ben Romero. The boss is Captain Ed Walker.
My name is Friday. I was on the way back from Calvary Cemetery.
It was 11.45 a.m. when I got to room 27A, robbery detail.
Joe, how'd the funeral go?
Pretty good turnout.
Sure, sorry I couldn't make it.
One of us had to be in court.
A lot of the boys out there, huh?
Yeah, Martin had a lot of friends. He was a good cop.
You see his wife?
Yeah.
Wife took it hard again.
Pretty hard, yeah.
Are you about ready for lunch?
I'm gonna make up the log book first. Now I'm a little behind.
All right.
Hi, Stu.
Ben, what's with you?
Oh, same old thing.
Say, what's the D.R. number on that job we handled yesterday?
Hmm?
The grocery store thing? You know, we showed those mug shots to the victims.
You remember the D.R. number?
Oh, yeah, yeah. I got it here. 374-332.
3-32. Thanks.
Mm-hmm.
Yes, sir?
My name's Frank Chaney.
I've just been paroled from Folsom. Can you tell me where I register?
Yeah. I'll get one of the men from the rehabilitation detail. He'll take care of it.
Okay. Thanks.
Excuse me, Ben.
Oh, yeah.
Bosberg? Johnny Bosberg?
Yeah.
Got a minute? Something for you here.
I'll be right there.
Did you contact the witnesses in this report here?
Let me see.
This one.
What do you got?
Oh, yeah, yeah. I took care of it.
I'll go over to the desk once the register's next, Tom.
Hmm. Okay.
Excuse me, Romero.
Yeah. Mm-hmm.
Hi. You want to register?
Yeah. My name's Frank Chaney.
Okay.
Address?
218 Belgrade.
Belgrade. Where you been?
Folsom. Got out Saturday.
Okay. What'd you pull up for?
Robbery. First degree.
First degree. How much do you owe?
Served 18 years. I'm on life parole.
Life parole. Okay.
Hey, Thackster. You want to tell Rambo we're out for seven?
Wait a couple minutes, huh? You see the guy at the desk? The one with the
Bosberg? Yeah. He's an ex-con, why?
Frank Chaney. 1931. Jack Taylor and I had him.
First big one we ever drew.
Oh, that's so.
Did you ever hear of him? Used to call him a gentleman bandit?
Yeah. 1931, Claude. That's 18 years ago.
Chaney was the biggest of them. Came from a wealthy family, too.
Fought as a millionaire.
You sent him up, huh?
San Quentin. Tried to break out with a partner of his.
Partner killed a trustee. Chaney was sent to Folsom.
From a millionaire family. That's a queer one.
Yeah. Well, how about that lunch, fellas?
Yeah. Let's go.
Seems like it could have been yesterday. 1931. We grow old right along with the thieves,
huh?
Where we go? Federal Cafe? That's all right with me.
18 years.
Yeah.
Sure goes by in a hurry.
I wonder if Chaney thinks so. As far as day-to-day routine goes, police work
is pretty much like any other job. To the rookie detective just starting in, there's
new things to see, new things to learn. But five or six years on the detail and the job
gets pretty ordinary. You see a lot of dirt, a lot of trouble and tragedy, and after a
while you begin to wonder what all the glamour's about and the excitement that's supposed to
go along with the job.
The fall months went by pretty slow. On November 3rd, we closed a case against a gang of drugstore
holdup men. In December, Ben's youngster fell off a fence and sprained his wrist. My Uncle
George from Renton, Washington, visited my mother and me in January. Stayed a couple
of weeks. On January 28th, it rained. Ben and I checked into the office where we got
a phone call from Lieutenant Mort Gear of the San Diego Police Department. He gave us
additional information on a finance company holdup which had been pulled in San Diego
the day before. In the robbery, one bystander had been shot and killed and another one wounded
by the two bandits. They also shot a police officer three times through the stomach when
he tried to stop him. Next day, Sergeant Ormsby and McGuire from San Diego arrived and we
helped them check the suspects through the stats office.
A couple of bad ones, Joe. Both have guns and they use them.
One of them got away in a car and the other one on foot. Is that right, McGuire?
Yeah, the big one used the car.
Well, size ought to help some. Say, 45 years old, height 6 foot 1 or 2 inches, weight 275,
85 pounds. Anybody get a look at the car, Ormsby?
Blue Ford sedan, 1940 or 41 model. That's all we got.
That's a rough one.
After all the shooting, the witnesses didn't know what they saw. All mixed up.
Well, how about the other one, the guy who got away on foot?
He's a WMA, about 50 years old, 5 feet 8 to 9 inches, 145, 55 pounds. Where's glasses?
Yeah, we got that on the teletype. Is that all?
No, we traced it in the Greyhound bus depot about six blocks from the hold up. Changed
his clothes in the washroom there, left behind a coat and a gun.
Yeah.
The coat was a kind of gift parolee from State Penn. Checked it through our crime lab. Same
kind of suits are issued to all ex-cons. No make.
Well, at least you know one of them's an ex-con. How about that gun you found?
It's a murder weapon. Our ballistics men went over it, no prints. Tried to trace the serial
number, no record. C.I.I. in Sacramento is trying to run it down.
Well, we got any hunches?
A few. We're almost sure both of them had gone their route before. Pretty cool. Shot
down three people, didn't ban nine.
How much did they take in the hold up?
Eleven thousand. Are your stats of us make a run in those descriptions yet?
Yeah, this morning or tonight's got the list of possibilities. They're pulling the mud
shots now. They'll be winding it up by now, don't you think?
Hey, let's check. This way, fellas.
Yeah.
Go ahead, Rory.
Oh, thanks.
How's the wife, Ormsby?
Oh, fine, Ben. She's expecting again.
What are you gonna do, raise an army?
Four kids. That's not so bad. McGuire's wife wants six.
How about that, Mac?
He's at five now. No point in quitting when you're ahead.
Frank?
Hey, Joe.
You know Russ Ormsby and Tony McGuire, don't you, San Diego PD?
Yeah, sure. Met them last year.
All right. Come on, Frank. Good to see you.
I'm ready to call you. Got those mud shots together for you.
Here, I got them right here.
Okay.
Here they are. These are the stats for suspect one. This is for number two.
Okay, Frank. We'll check them out with the witnesses.
There's one mug there. Here, let me show you.
Here, this one.
Yeah.
It matches the description pretty close. Safe man by trade, but he can go any route.
Name's Weber.
First name?
Stanley. Call him Turk, I think, nickname.
Know anything about him?
He's an ex-con.
Ormsby and McGuire drove back to San Diego to show the mug shots to the holdup witnesses and see if they could get an identification.
Late the next afternoon, they called back to tell us that Stanley Turk Weber had definitely been identified from his mug shot by four of the five witnesses as one of the holdup men.
His partner remained unidentified.
We called Turk Weber's parole officer, got all the available information on the suspect, including his latest address, an apartment house on North Alameda.
Weber wasn't there.
We talked with the apartment house manager and he told us that Turk hadn't been seen there since the day before the San Diego robbery and murder.
We had a stake output on the apartment. Ben and I went back to the office and had the record bureau pull Weber's package.
On his mama sheet, Ben spotted a familiar name, Henry Garson, another ex-con who was listed as one of Turk Weber's closest friends.
Well, we got a hold of Garson's parole officer.
He told us Garson had had his parole transferred to San Diego where he disappeared two weeks before he was wanted for violation of parole.
We tried to check Weber through his relatives. We couldn't find any.
But Henry Garson's report showed that he had a brother, Al, who ran a dry cleaning shop down in Seal Beach.
He had no criminal record. The next morning we drove down to see him.
Yeah, Henry came around last July. It's the last time I saw him. I want to borrow my car.
You got any idea where he might be now?
No.
You're his brother.
I don't know where he is. It's the truth. I don't want to know where he is.
Was anyone with him when he came to see you last?
No.
You know who his friends are?
Friends? No.
Would you look at these pictures, please, see if you can identify any of them?
No, I just...
No.
These here.
No.
No.
No.
Ah.
How about these?
No.
No.
No, no, look, can't you talk to me later? It's not good for business having cops around a shop.
Who would you yell for if a shop was held up, Mr. Garson?
What's that got to do with it?
Your brother's in trouble. We might stop him from getting in deeper.
No, look away now.
Hello, Mrs. Runner.
Good morning, Al.
Can I help you?
No, I should go ahead and wait in the gentleman.
No, that's all right. They're just waiting.
Can I help you?
My husband's so clean and present. Can you have it by Tuesday?
Tuesday? Yeah, I'll drink.
And my fat jacket's clean and present. Can you sort these little stairs here?
Yeah, yeah, we'll take care of them.
Tuesday, all right?
There you are.
Thanks, Mrs. Runner.
All right, Al, bye.
Bye, Mrs. Runner, thanks.
I'd like to hold you up, Garson, just a few more questions.
All right.
Now, you said the last time your brother was here, he wanted to borrow your car, is that right?
That's right.
Did you let him have it?
I let him have nothing.
How about the revoy, friend?
Oh, can't you let us alone? If Henry's in trouble, let him take care of it.
We've got troubles enough of our own.
This is important, Garson. We've got to have your cooperation.
Why me?
Henry's no good, I admit it, but he's still my brother.
Yeah.
You ask me to send him to jail?
If he belongs there, yell.
Look, I don't want any trouble.
Yeah, well, then.
My mother lives in Santa Barbara, just moved there. I got the address.
Henry goes to see her every once in a while.
When's the last time you saw her?
Two weeks ago, I was there too, and something else.
What's that?
Henry had a gun.
Eleven a.m. Tuesday, Ben and I drove back to the office and put in a call to the Santa Barbara Police Department.
We asked them to put a stake out on the home of Henry Garson's mother and to notify us the minute Garson was apprehended.
We contacted San Diego and told them what we'd found out. After that, we doubled back on Turk Weber.
From one of our informants, we heard that Weber and Garson had gone into some kind of a business together.
For a bank roll, they'd succeeded in getting a loan from the Second National Bank out in Glendale.
One p.m. We drove out and checked with the manager of the bank's loan department, Mr. Peabody.
Here we are, officers. Stanley T. Weber, Henry Garson. Loan papers were signed over a month ago.
What kind of a loan was it, Peabody?
Business loan. Garson and Weber came in with another man. They talked to our manager, Mr. Ascot.
Excuse me.
What business are they in?
Trucking concern. They wanted the money to buy equipment, more trucks.
How much money did they borrow?
$4,500, usual terms.
I guess you inquired into their background.
Oh, yes, their whole financial background.
Did you know that Garson and Weber are both ex-convicts?
I beg your pardon?
I said, did you know that both of them are ex-convicts?
You sure you haven't made a mistake? Henry Garson, Stanley T. Weber?
Yeah, that's right. What'd they offer for collateral?
Well, they had some of their equipment, two trucks, and then, of course, there was the co-signer.
What was that?
The name's right here on the loan papers.
What'd they say?
Right here. Co-signer, Frank Cheney.
2.30 p.m. Ben and I checked back into the office and went down the hall to R&I.
We pulled a package on Frank Bertram Cheney.
White male American, 5 foot 8 and a half inches, 152 pounds, brown hair, brown eyes.
The record read like a dime novel.
Almost 20 years before, Cheney had crashed into the headlines of Pacific Coast newspapers as the Gentleman Bandit.
Maybe some of the news stories were exaggerated, but the records showed that he actually owned a yacht, three expensive cars, and an apartment house.
In spite of all this, he decided to settle for a career of robbery and murder.
At the age of 30, he was the most sought after man on the Pacific Coast.
Finally, in 1931, after tracking him for a year and a half through more than a dozen armed robberies,
Sergeant Thaxter and Taylor of the Los Angeles Police Department brought him in.
He served 18 years at San Quentin and pulled some penitentiaries, and then he won his parole at the age of 48.
We checked his parole officer and he had nothing to report against him.
We checked back in at robbery detail and met with Captain Ed Walker.
How about Cheney's friends, Weber and Garson? Nothing yet?
Not a thing, skipper. Stakeout is still on Garson's mother's place in Santa Barbara.
Weber's apartment is still covered.
You called San Diego about this, the Cheney angle?
Yeah, we briefed him. They got all the mug shots down there.
Weber's definitely been tagged as one of the men on that finance company job.
I figured Garson for the second man, but none of the witnesses have picked out his mug shot.
You talked to Cheney's parole officer?
Yeah, I did. He gave us Cheney's last address.
Same as the one on his ex-con registration, but he's moved. Didn't notify the office.
Where does that leave you?
Well, I talked to the manager at the apartment. He gave us a couple of addresses to run down.
At least we better start getting on it, huh?
Yeah, yeah, it's getting late.
Keep in touch. I'll notify you if anything breaks here.
Right.
Just a minute.
Robbery Walker. Who?
Yeah, just a minute. You, Joe.
Thank you.
San Diego.
Hey. Friday.
McGuire, Joe. How you doing?
Good. You got something?
We had the holdup witnesses back in again this afternoon.
Showed them more mug shots.
Yeah?
Picked out Weber's partner in the holdup.
Yeah?
His name is Frank Cheney.
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Tuesday, January 31st, 4 p.m.
In addition to the San Diego teletype, we got out a local broadcast and an APB on Frank Cheney.
By 430, Ben and I had checked out the first of two addresses where Cheney's former landlady told us that he might be staying.
It was a rooming house out on West Washington.
The owner told us that Cheney had stayed at his place for a few days, but that had been more than two months before.
He had no idea where the suspect might be.
We then drove to the second address. It was an apartment house on West Stanford near Slauson.
The manager's name was Mrs. Pritchard.
Why, yes, I believe Mr. and Mrs. Cheney are home. They've been in all day.
Which apartment is there in, ma'am?
Number seven, straight down the hall on your right.
Thank you.
They may be having dinner now. Are they expecting you?
Be all right, ma'am. Thank you.
Okay.
How about the door?
It's open. Come in.
The apartment was deserted. We checked the bedroom and the kitchen.
There were obvious signs of a fast getaway.
On a card table in the living room, we found the remains of a quick dinner.
Two places were set. One plate was almost clean, the other hardly touched.
The coffee on the stove was still lukewarm.
We called the office and arranged for a steak out of it.
Then we went back down the hall and talked to the manager again.
Well, they moved in about a month ago, Sergeant. They looked like any other newly married couple.
Did you notice if they had any visitors, Mrs. Pritchard?
Well, they might have, but I didn't notice.
Did you notice anything odd about them at all?
Only that one thing. Yes, ma'am.
Mr. Chaney always seemed to have plenty of money.
Put down two months rent in advance, but he didn't seem to have a job.
Yes, ma'am.
Well, every morning he'd sleep late, but his wife was up at eight o'clock to go to work.
Where did she work, you know?
A company called Thompson and some other name.
Offices are down on South Hope.
Builders, I think. Homes and things. My phone.
Would you excuse me? Yes, ma'am. Go right ahead.
Hello? Oh, yes. What? Yes, two police officers.
Mrs. Pritchard, no.
Hello? Chaney?
Yes, he hung up.
An alert for Chaney and his wife was broadcast with special attention for the south end of the city.
The wife's name and description was added to the APB.
The next morning, Ben and I located her place of employment, Thompson and Kilkenny, a big construction company.
The office manager told us that three days before, Mrs. Chaney had resigned her job by letter.
She asked that her final paycheck be sent to her mother who lived in Marysville, California.
We contacted the Marysville Police Department immediately, and the home of Chaney's mother-in-law was placed under 24-hour surveillance.
We now had more than a half a dozen stakeouts going.
A week passed. Nothing.
Chaney and his wife seemed to have dropped completely from sight.
Wednesday, February 9th, we got a tip from the Santa Barbara police that Chaney's friend, Henry Garson, was in Los Angeles working in an auction house on Wilshire Boulevard.
We ran it down.
Looks like a high class place.
They've got a nice crowd, haven't they?
Mm-hmm.
Did you catalog here? No, thanks.
Would you like to see the manager, please?
You know, all right. Let me see.
Oh, yes, over there by the claim desk, the man in the dark suit, Mr. Woolley.
Thank you. Thank you.
Mr. Woolley? Yeah?
Police officer, sir. We'd like to check on a man who's supposed to be one of your employees, sir.
Oh, that's so. What's his name?
Here's his picture.
Can you identify him?
Why, yes. It's Johnson, the new clerk.
Want to talk to him? Yes, sir.
All right. Right this way. He's back in the store room.
Some kind of trouble?
We'd like to talk to him. Yes, all right.
Let's see. Oh, yes, there he is.
Johnson. Oh, Johnson, would you come...
Come on, Ben. What are you running for?
Johnson, come here. Out the back. Yep.
There he goes. He's heading up the street. Come on.
Yep.
You got on that bus. All right, come on. Let's double back to the car. Yep.
Hurry. Yep.
Did you see the bus? Yeah.
Come on, move it. Yep.
All right, get the siren.
All right, that did it. The driver's pulling over.
He's still up behind the bus there, huh? Yeah, he's back there.
Come on, let's go. Yep.
You cover the back door, will you? All right.
Open your door.
What's the matter? Police officers. I want to check your passengers.
Open that rear door right away. Yes, sir.
All right, Garson, get off. I'm getting off.
Coming at you, Joe. Getting off, copper. Make a hole.
Drop it, Garson. He's got a gun. I said I'm getting off.
Let's drop it. Come on.
Good, Joe. You okay? Yeah.
Let's get him off of here. What's it all about? Did he do something wrong?
Yeah, he didn't get off when we asked him to.
Nine p.m. Wednesday.
We drove Garson to Georgia Street Receiving Hospital where he was treated for minor cuts and bruises.
Then we took him back to the office of the interrogation room.
We called San Diego and notified them of the arrest.
From ten o'clock that night until ten the next morning, Captain Walker, Ben, and I questioned Garson.
He refused to admit that he even knew Frank Cheney or Kirk Webber.
By noon he was pretty tired. So were we.
At 12.05 a call came through from San Diego.
Oh, Friday. This is Russ Ormsby. Yeah, Russ.
Fresh lead on Turk Webber. He's got a sister living in San Clemente. Yeah.
And we've got our house staked out. Had a tip he's gonna pay her a visit.
Where's that? This afternoon.
3.15 p.m. We got to the San Clemente turnoff and a few minutes later Ormsby and McGuire arrived from San Diego.
We drove to the home of Webber's sister on South Orange Street and identified ourselves.
She told us that Turk had been there that morning but that he'd gone to the races at Del Mar for the afternoon.
Did your brother say he was coming back?
Said he might be back. He wasn't sure.
Did he go to the racetrack alone? Yeah.
Was he gonna meet anyone there? I don't think so. He didn't mention it.
He driving a car? No, he took the bus to the track. I see.
Where would he most likely go if he doesn't come back here? I don't know.
Maybe back to L.A., maybe San Diego. I don't know.
Do you know if your brother Turk is gonna meet Frank Cheney?
How could he? Turk says Cheney's up north someplace with his wife.
He told me that this morning. Where up north? He didn't know.
You and McGuire want to stake out here in Ormsby. Ben and I will hit the track.
Yeah, okay.
Look, I can't have cops here if Turk comes back. They think I framed him.
Then get over it.
You don't know Turk when he gets sorry, goes out of his head, he'll kill me.
Why worry, miss? Huh? He'll have to kill us first.
3.45 p.m. Ben and I left Webber's sister's house and drove down to the racetrack at Del Mar.
We got there just at the start of the seventh race.
We had no idea whether the suspect was still there or not.
We alerted the security police, gave them mugshots of Webber.
Then we went to the public address booth in the clubhouse and talked to the man in charge.
A few minutes later, the trap for Webber was set.
Mr. Stanley T. Webber, please come to the public address booth for emergency phone call.
Mr. Stanley T. Webber, please come to the public address booth.
We waited. Ben stationed at a vantage point on one side of the booth, me on the other.
Minutes passed. Webber didn't show.
Ben caught my eye, shrugged his shoulders.
Mr. Stanley T. Webber, please come to the public address booth for emergency telephone call.
Mr. Stanley T. Webber, please come to the public address booth.
The announcer was barely finished when I saw Ben motioning.
I looked and saw a large man heading up the cement ramp.
When he got to the top, he turned to his right and headed straight for the public address booth.
It was Turk Webber.
Hold it right there, Webber.
Police officers, get your hands up.
What is this? You lousy cops, I'll have you busted for this.
Save it, Webber, get your hands up.
Who tipped you?
What difference does it make? Stand still.
You'll never get him. You'll never get him in 20 years.
Never get who?
You know who, Chaney.
He's too smart for you. You'll never get him, not in 20 years.
All right, we got you, Webber. Shake him, Ben.
I'll shake you, cop.
Watch it, Ben.
Let go. I'll kill you.
I'll kill you.
All right.
That's it.
He sure is a big bag.
Yeah.
What's that over there? Did that fall out of his pocket?
Looks like a tip sheet.
Yeah.
What's it say?
Yeah, Blue Boy's Peerless Selection for Thursday, price $1.
Let me look at that a minute, Chaney.
Best picks. You can't lose. This is your lucky day.
What's it prove?
He ought to get his dollar back.
The story you have just heard was true.
Only the names were changed to protect the innocent.
On June 19th, trial was held in Superior Court, city and county of San Diego, state of California.
In a moment, the results of that trial.
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After identifying Frank Cheney as the man who did the shooting in the San Diego holdup and murder,
Stanley T. Weber was tried and convicted of participation in the robbery and received a sentence of life imprisonment.
Henry Garson was cleared of any complicity in the holdup killing, but he was returned to prison for violation of parole
and for several burglaries in San Diego and Los Angeles.
Both men are now serving their terms in the state penitentiary.
Next week, Frank Cheney, the gentleman bandit, part two.
You have just heard Dragnet, a series of authentic cases from official files.
The technical advice for Dragnet comes from the Office of Chief of Police, W.A. Wharton, Los Angeles Police Department.
Fatima cigarettes, the best of all long cigarettes, has brought you Dragnet from Los Angeles.
Next, Sarah's private caper with comedian Sarah Burner on NBC.