Ladies and gentlemen, Crime Prevention Week, now being observed nationally, is designed
for one purpose, to emphasize that crime is your personal enemy.
It costs money and lives, it weakens the moral and physical strength of your community.
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Join the fight to stamp out crime, the ally of treason.
The story you are about to hear is true.
Only the names have been changed to protect the innocent.
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You're a detective sergeant, you're assigned to bunko detail.
A husband and wife confidence team has shifted operations to your city.
Their criminal record dates back 17 years.
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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 transcribed from official
police files.
From beginning to end, from crime to punishment, Dragnet is the story of your police force
in action.
It was Monday, April 20th.
It was windy in Los Angeles.
We were working the day watch out of bunko detail.
My partner's Ben Romero.
The boss is Captain McCauley.
My name's Friday.
We were on the way out from the office and it was 10.35 a.m. when we got to the Holy
Gospel Tabernacle.
The pastor's house.
Look at that palm tree.
Yeah.
Windstorm sure didn't do it any good.
It was really blowing last night.
It woke me up a couple of times.
Yeah, not me.
I slept like a baby.
What'd you say the name here was, Olsen?
We got it right here.
Reverend Andrew Olsen.
Doesn't seem to be anybody home.
I'll try it again.
Huh?
We said on the phone he'd either be here at the church.
Where's that?
Just around the corner.
Faces on South Spring.
Not a very wealthy looking neighborhood.
There must be the church up there.
Sure could stand a coat of paint.
Grounds are well kept, aren't they?
Nice flower beds.
Look at that.
Giant pansies.
Tried some in the backyard last year.
Too bad.
What do you mean?
Giant snails.
I sliced them right off at the roots.
Yes, that must be him up at the front.
Better close the door, huh?
Oh, yeah.
Come on.
Excuse me, sir?
Oh, didn't see you.
You the Reverend Olsen?
Yes, can I help you?
My name's Friday, Reverend.
I talked to you on the phone.
Oh, yes, Sergeant.
And this is my partner, Sergeant Romero.
How do you do?
How are you?
Had a night.
Sergeant Marrow?
Oh, that's Romero, Reverend.
Oh, excuse me, Romero.
Didn't expect you so soon.
A little busy here fixing the pulpit.
It happened last Sunday.
What's that, Rimmer?
I guess I got carried away with my sermon.
Quite a commotion.
Oh?
I leaned forward in the pulpit.
This whole section here just splintered and broke right off.
Ruined my whole sermon.
Well, I can finish this up later.
Have a chair there, officers.
No, thanks very much.
Well, there it is, Sergeant.
The names, descriptions.
Mr. and Mrs. Tom Herbert.
That's the name they used anyway.
Would you mind briefing us on how it happened, Reverend?
When did you first meet this couple?
They came to us a little over a month ago.
They didn't have any reason to be suspicious.
Mr. Herbert showed me some fine references.
I didn't think it was necessary to check them.
What kind of approach did they use, could you tell us?
On the first visit, Mrs. Herbert did most of the talking.
She told me she and her husband wanted to write a history of our church.
It was supposed to be part of an historical book on all the churches in the county.
Naturally, I felt a little flattered about it.
Did this Mr. and Mrs. Herbert make any demands for money or to write about your church, I
mean?
There was no money involved at first.
They said all they wanted was our cooperation in doing some of the research work.
You know, looking up dates, names, things like that.
Oh, I see.
They seemed very sincere, both of them.
Didn't drink, smoke.
They worked very hard during the search and writing.
I don't know why they had to change.
It would have been nice having history written about our church.
Yes, sir.
When did they first bring up the idea of money?
Well, Mr. Herbert came to me one day and showed me this letter.
It was supposed to be from the people who were going to publish the history of our church.
The letters said, well, because of certain business reasons, the whole thing was off.
They couldn't publish the book.
Mr. Herbert acted very sorry.
Did he leave that letter with you, Reverend?
No, he took it with him.
I felt badly about the whole thing.
They were doing all that work and then the book not being published.
Mm-hmm.
Did the Herbert's bros the idea of you and the church putting up the money to print the
book?
Well, no.
Not exactly, but I guess they gave me the idea.
How do you mean?
They suggested that I talk it over with the church board, so I did.
We all agreed it would be a shame to give up the idea of the book after so much work
had gone into it.
Is that when you agreed to finance the book?
Well, the board and I did, yes.
It's all my fault, though.
I helped to persuade them.
And the money came out of church funds, is that it?
As a matter of fact, it didn't.
Well, they have a small operating fund, so you can see we're a small church.
Congregation isn't wealthy.
And where did the money come from, sir?
Well, for one thing, the ladies of the altar society put on a Sunday afternoon ham dinner.
It made some money, and then the Herbots suggested we help sell advertising to pay part of the
cost, so we did that, too.
But still wasn't enough.
Well, exactly how much did you turn over to the Herbots?
$804.61.
I had to borrow $350 from the bank to make it.
It'll all have to be paid back.
People who paid for their advertising, too.
It'll all have to come out of our pocket.
It's a terrible thing.
Yes, sir, it is.
Terrible.
I don't know what I'm going to do.
Hate to ask the congregation for it.
Their offerings have always been so generous, and they're not wealthy either.
They're just working people.
When was the last time that you heard from this Mr. and Mrs. Herbert?
A week ago, I guess.
Yes, it was last Monday.
I got anxious and called them at their hotel.
It's on South Grand.
I can give you the address.
They told me when the books would be ready.
They said it would be on Tuesday.
That's the last I heard of them.
No forwarding address, no other place that you think we might find them.
No, I'm sorry.
I just don't have any idea.
So hard to believe anyone would do such a thing to us.
Yes, sir.
I wonder if we could have the address of their hotel.
Yes, all right.
If you'll come with me, I have it over at the house.
Did Mr. and Mrs. Herbert have a car?
Do you know, Reverend?
I don't think so.
If they did, I never saw it.
I don't know what I'm going to tell the congregation.
$800, that's a lot of money to our people.
Yes, sir.
Tell me, Sergeant, I don't mean to be uncharitable, but Mr. and Mrs. Herbert, do they have a criminal
record?
Have they done this sort of thing before?
Well, their descriptions seem to fit a couple that we've been looking for.
They've been working the churches in this area on and off for a couple of years now.
I can't understand why they do such a thing.
It's almost like robbing a poor box.
Yes, sir, they've done that too.
1115 a.m.
We went back to the city hall and pulled a package on the suspects, Mr. and Mrs. Tom
Herbert.
They were a veteran man and wife confidence team who'd worked the Los Angeles area and
other large cities around the country.
Their specialty seemed to be swindling churches and clergymen.
Over a period of 17 years, they'd piled up a long record involving frauds and various
bunko games, but they'd only been brought to trial once.
The case had been dismissed for lack of sufficient evidence.
1135 a.m.
We took mug shots of Mr. and Mrs. Herbert out to the Reverend Olson, and he identified
them.
We went to the hotel on South Grand where they'd been staying, no leads.
We got out a local broadcast and an APB on them.
Together with the sheriff's office, we sent a special bulletin about the Herberts to the
pastors of the different churches in the city and county.
From the list of names on the Marmots sheet, we began checking out all the known friends
and relatives of the suspects.
One of them was a Clyde Harris, proprietor of a physical culture school out in the Wilshire
District.
1 p.m. Tuesday, we drove out to talk to him.
Which way, Joe?
Right down the street, the blue and white signage.
Oh, yeah.
Venus School of Physical Culture.
I can make you an all-American girl, Clyde Harris manager.
This looks like the office here.
No, we're supposed to meet him in the gym.
That's next door.
I don't know.
Yeah, here.
No, go ahead.
Oh, yeah.
It's back this way, I guess.
All right, now.
90 gun face, all together with me.
One, two, three, four.
Extend.
And hold.
Down.
Extend.
And hold.
Down.
With me.
Hold.
Down.
Come on.
All together.
Let's go.
And hold.
Down.
Come on.
Come on.
And hold.
Down.
Come on.
Hold.
Down.
One, two, three, four.
And four.
Four, down.
One, two, four, down.
One, two, three, four.
Ten, ten, four, down.
Four, one.
Hold it a minute.
No, I'm sorry, Mrs. Tollison.
You're doing it wrong.
Your pelvis is all out of position.
Excuse me, are you Clyde Harris?
Yes, did you want something?
Police officer, sir, Harris.
Like to talk to you?
Oh, yeah, officer.
Could you hold on a half a minute?
Sure, go right ahead.
Francis, Francis, would you take over here for a few minutes?
I have to talk to these gentlemen.
Ladies, Francis is going to count for you for a while.
You go right ahead with the lesson.
I'll be back in a few minutes.
Back here, officers.
Won't take too long, will it?
No, sir, just a few minutes.
Sorry to interrupt your lesson.
It's all right.
I just want to have the ladies thinking I neglected them.
They pay good money for these exercises.
Yeah.
Here you are. Have a chair.
Thank you.
You said something about Tom Herbert on the phone, Sergeant.
What's it all about?
We understand that you're a friend of the Herberts, Mr. Harris.
Yeah, I knew Tom and Doris a couple of years back.
Haven't seen much of them lately.
When was the last time you saw them?
Let's see, it must be two, three months anyway.
Anything wrong?
Well, do you know where we could locate them?
I don't know for sure.
Last time I saw them, they were at a hotel downtown in South Grand, I think.
You know, South Grand right near Peacock.
We have no idea where they moved when they left there.
No, I didn't even know they'd moved.
They haven't phoned or contacted you at all in the last month or so.
No, not a word.
They're not in a jam again, are they?
We'd like to talk to them, that's all.
Would you know of any of their favorite spots around town?
Eating, drinking places?
No, I don't think I could say.
They got around quite a bit.
You checked with some of their other friends around town,
the Pattons, the Thompson's, Mike Runyon.
What was that last one?
Mike Runyon, very good friend of the Herberts.
Ben?
No, I don't recall the name.
Well, how could we get in touch with this Runyon, Mr. Harris?
He's got a phone, come on in the office, we'll call him if you'd like.
Yeah, thank you very much.
I'll get Mike on the line for you, introduce you.
Would you mind talking to him, Harris?
Don't tell him it's for us, just ask if he knows where the Herberts are.
Would you mind?
Yeah, all right.
No answer.
Maybe...
Hello, Mike.
Clyde Harris, Mike.
Yeah, how are you? Fine.
Fine?
Yeah, a long time.
Say, Mike, you any idea where Tom and Doris Herbert are?
Mm-hmm.
Is that right?
How about that, huh?
What are you doing?
No, that's okay, it's not important.
Sure thing, Mike, make it soon, huh?
Right.
Goodbye.
Yep.
No, he doesn't know where the Herberts are staying.
Saw them a week ago out in Hollywood, though, says they're doing fine.
How do you mean?
Ran into them outside that big church on Hollywood Boulevard,
they told Mike all about it, they really got religion.
That's how?
Yeah, they're even writing a book about the church.
We called back Mike Runyon, a friend of the suspect,
and he gave us the location of the church where he'd seen Mr. and Mrs. Herbert.
Ben and I drove out there and talked to the pastor, Reverend John Kenworth.
We showed him the Herberts' mugshots and he identified them.
They were going under the name of Williams,
and supposedly they were writing a book about the history of the church.
To cover publishing expenses and research,
more than $1,000 from Perry's contributions
had been placed in a separate account at a local bank.
Reverend Kenworth told us that it was a special joint account
and the Herberts had access to it.
Ben got on the phone and called the bank.
How's that?
Yes, yes, sir.
Uh-huh.
Yeah, all right, thank you.
What'd they say?
The two of them were in the bank yesterday, they didn't draw out everything.
How much did they leave?
$3.
Ben and I checked with the teller at the bank
and showed him mugshots of Mr. and Mrs. Herbert.
He identified them as the couple who'd withdrawn the church funds.
We went to the hotel address the suspects had given to Reverend Kenworth.
They'd checked out two days before.
The search went on.
Two weeks passed, we ran out of leads.
No further reports on the couple.
A month went by.
Tuesday, May 23rd,
we got a P.B. from San Francisco on a couple answering the Herberts' description.
They were still working the church angle.
During the next six weeks, we got reports on them from Washington, Oregon,
Nevada, and Northern California.
In Sacramento, they apparently changed their M.O. for the first time.
They started selling phony health insurance policies.
They promised everything and they had a lot of takers.
One of the big selling points was a clause which promised full protection
if anybody in the family should come down with polio.
From Sacramento, they headed south to Oakland and then to Fresno.
On July 10th, the complaints started to come in and we knew the Herberts had moved
into Los Angeles with their health insurance racket.
One of the first victims was a Carl Fogarty.
He lived out in the Westlake area.
There's a policy they gave me, sir.
Apex health insurance.
Not worth the paper it's printed on.
When did they sell you this, Mr. Fogarty? You remember?
Three weeks ago, I guess.
Never would have known it was phony if my boy hadn't come down with polio.
How's he getting along?
Too good. Right leg. He's got it bad there.
It's not as if we don't have enough grief.
We've got to lose out on this bum insurance.
You mind if I take a look at that policy, sir?
No. Go ahead. Here you are.
Thanks, sir.
Same outfit, Joe. Apex health insurance. Same phony address.
Would you remember the man who sold you this, do you think?
I think I would, yeah.
I wonder if you'd mind looking through these pictures, Mr. Fogarty?
Not at all.
Just look at them carefully, if you will.
Mm-hmm.
Mm-hmm.
Yeah. That's him. I remember. Who's he?
His name's Herbert.
When he came in to sell you this policy, was he alone?
Yeah, he was. Had a real good sales talk.
How much did you pay for the insurance?
Let me see. $43.00 and some odd cents.
I remember that because I cashed him a war bond,
and then I took $5.00 out of the rent money.
Outside of this policy here, you have no other papers
that the man might have given you?
No, nothing but this business card here.
He gave me that.
You see here, the same name, Apex Health Insurance.
Yeah.
Well, thank you very much, Mr. Fogarty.
We hope your little boy pulls out of it all right.
Yeah, thanks.
All right, sir. Anything we can do, give us a call.
Sure, okay.
About time we checked the office, huh?
I think so. Do you have a phone here, Mr. Fogarty?
Oh, yeah, Sergeant. Straight back in the hallway.
Help yourself. Thank you very much.
2572.
Yeah, that's right.
Yeah, Fred, Joe Friday.
Anything for us in the book?
Hmm? West 7th.
Yeah, okay.
Right, thanks, Fred.
Anything doing?
It looks pretty good. The office got a call from a printing shop
out on West 7th. The manager's got an order he's not too sure about.
How do you mean?
It's for a batch of letterhead stationery, business cards.
Yeah? For who?
Apex Health Insurance.
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Wednesday, July 10th, 4 p.m.
Ben and I drove back downtown to the printing shop on West 7th Street and talked with the manager.
He told us that the order for stationery and business cards for the Apex Health Insurance Company
had been placed two days before.
He said he'd become suspicious after reading a story in one of the newspapers about the polio insurance fraud.
He also said that the customer who'd ordered the stuff was a woman.
She told him that she would call and pick up the order on Friday.
We showed the manager a handful of mug shots.
He could give us only a partial identification of Mrs. Herbert's picture.
We called the office, told them we were going on stakeout, and arranged for a relief.
Ben and I spent the rest of Wednesday and all day Thursday and Friday in the rear of the print shop
where we could keep an eye on everyone entering the place.
Friday, 6 p.m. No sign of the Herberts. Not a trace.
Saturday, the same. No sign of either one of them.
Monday, more waiting. The suspect stayed away.
Tuesday, 3.30 p.m. I went out the rear door, went down the street and got some cigarettes,
and then I headed back for the print shop.
Ben, keep your coat on, Joe. Just called the office for a relief.
Why, what's he doing?
That Clyde Harris, friend of the Herberts, the guy who runs the physical culture school?
Yeah, what about him?
He called the office, wanted to talk to us.
I phoned him out there at the gym.
Yeah?
He told me he was out drinking last night and he met Mrs. Herbert at a bar.
She was alone.
Did he tell you where to find her?
The Greenwood Apartments, 603.
When the relief men arrived, Ben and I left and drove across town to the Greenwood Apartments on Taylor Street.
It was a three-story frame building set back from the sidewalk behind a sloping lawn lined with a box hedge.
We checked the names on the mailboxes.
The name T.J. Bronson was listed for apartment 603.
We rang, but there was no answer.
Better try the manager, huh?
Yeah.
Hmm, it's a nice place.
Insurance racket must be paying off for them.
Here we go.
Yeah? Can I help you?
Yes, sir, you the manager here?
That's right, Thatcher's my name. Can I help you?
Police officers, Mr. Thatcher. We're trying to locate the people in 603.
Oh, that crazy woman tried to blow up the place last night.
Why? What do you mean?
Mrs. Bronson, she came in drunk about 2 a.m.
No sense at all.
About 3 a.m., the folks in 601 called me and they said they smelled gas.
I went up there and found her in the kitchenette.
I'd like a light gas stove turned on going full blast.
Crazy.
Where's her husband?
Couldn't say. Chasing around again, I think.
Hadn't been home in a week.
Lucky I got to that gas before something a little match.
Did you say it happened about 3 this morning?
That's right, crazy woman. She'll be all right, though.
Where is she now, do you know?
Yeah, County Hospital.
4.25 p.m. Ben and I got in touch with the office
and arranged for a stakeout at the Herbert's apartment.
We called homicide and checked on the attempt suicide report.
They informed us that the woman had been taken to the Psycho Ward County Hospital.
We went over to the hospital, checked at the main desk and identified ourselves.
The nurse on duty had us shown to the ward where the suspect Doris Herbert was confined.
She was a halfway attractive woman in her late 40s.
Short, bleached blonde hair, dark eyes with deep circles under them.
She turned and looked up as we stopped beside her bed.
Excuse me, you Doris Herbert?
Ah?
Is your name Doris Herbert?
Who do you want?
Police officers. Would like to talk to you for a minute?
I knew you'd be around. I don't care.
Ma'am?
I'm sick of it. I'm sick of the whole rotten thing. I knew you'd come.
We just have a few questions, ma'am. It won't take long.
Go ahead, I don't care. Did you find him yet?
You mean your husband?
He's not my husband, not anymore.
Him and that cheap girl behind my back sneaking around.
Twenty years we've been happy and he throws me away.
Where's your husband now, ma'am?
With her. He's been with her awake. He doesn't even care I'm here.
Twenty years ago he cared.
I found him. He taught him something. I taught him everything he knows.
This girl that your husband's with, where does she stay? Do you know?
Yeah, an apartment. It's on Franklin. Right on the corner, Franklin and Laurel.
You were close weren't you? You knew it was us.
What's this girl's name?
Marie Daly. I saw her with him. Tell me something.
Yeah?
You knew it was us, Tom and me, the insurance?
Yeah, we knew it was you.
I didn't like it. It wasn't a clean game. Tom's idea.
We made money, but I didn't like it. It wasn't clean.
All right, Miss Herbert. We'll talk to you later.
No, not me. I'm going to die. I'm going to die and forget all about it.
Just be sure you can get him, won't you, Tom?
I taught him everything he knows. Get him.
You're sure about the address?
Yeah, I'm sure. Tell me something.
Hmm?
Why did he have to do it to me? Throwing me away, lying, taking that cheap girl.
Why'd he do it to me?
Well, you ought to have an idea. You taught him everything he knows.
Before we left the hospital, we made arrangements to have Doris Herbert transferred to the prison ward.
Five p.m. We drove out to the apartment house at Franklin and Laurel and checked with the landlady.
She told us that Tom Herbert's girlfriend, Marie Daly, had checked out of her apartment the day before.
She said the Daly girl had a middle-aged man with her.
We showed the landlady Herbert's mug shot and she identified him as that man.
She had no forwarding address on her, but she did remember the name of the express truck
that called to pick up the Daly girl's baggage.
We checked with the express company and found that the trunks had been taken to the Lockheed Air Terminal.
We started calling the airlines.
Six-thirty p.m. We finally got a report that a man answering Tom Herbert's description
had booked passage for two on a flight to Mexico City.
The plane was scheduled to leave at eight-thirty-five that night.
Ben and I drove out to the airport and went on stakeout.
Eight-fifteen p.m. We waited. Eight-twenty. No sign of them.
United Airlines mainliner flight 649 from Denver at Intermediate City.
Getting a little late, huh?
Yeah, it's eight-twenty-four. They're kind of getting close.
Going in the bar, Joe. Take a look.
Yeah, that's them. Let's go.
Not hard to spot.
What's the matter with the girl?
Looks pretty drunk.
All right, come on.
Reverend Water, how are you? Is that what you want?
Reverend Water, yeah.
We haven't got much time. We don't want to miss that plane.
We won't miss it.
Are you Tom Herbert?
Yes. What is it?
Police officers like talking to you downtown.
Just a minute. This must be some kind of mistake.
No mistake, Herbert. We talked to your wife. Let's go.
Where's the time? What do they want?
Nothing. It's a mistake.
Now, look, officers, I don't know what this is all about, but we have to get a plane.
The eight-thirty-five. I can't go downtown, will you?
Can we talk it over here? I'm sure we can straighten this out.
Your wife copped out, Herbert. Now let's make it easy, huh?
Come on, lady.
What's he talking about, Tom? Why is he fooling me?
I told you it's a mistake. Now be reasonable, huh, officer?
All we want to do is take a trip. We've been planning on this. New clothes, new luggage.
Here's your hand. Our car's outside.
It's a mistake. You can't do this. We planned on it.
We've been waiting a long time for this.
Yes, sir. So have we.
Come on, let's go.
The story you have just heard was true.
Only the names were changed to protect the innocent.
On October 28th, trial was held in Superior Court, Department 88,
City and County of Los Angeles, State of California.
In a moment, the results of that trial.
Now, here is our star, Jack Webb.
Thank you.
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Mr. and Mrs. Tom Herbert were tried and convicted on several counts of grand theft.
They are now confined in the state penitentiary for the term prescribed by law.
Grand theft is punishable by confinement for not less than one nor more than 10 years.
You have just heard Dragnet, a series of authentic cases from official files.
Technical advice comes from the Office of Chief of Police, W.H. Parker, Los Angeles Police Department.
Fatima cigarettes, best of all long cigarettes, has brought you Dragnet, portions transcribed from Los Angeles.
David Harding, counter-spy, solves an exciting case next on NBC.