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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 Sunday, March 9th.
It was windy in Los Angeles.
We were working the day watch out of homicide detail.
My partner's Ben Romero, the boss is Thad Brown, Chief of Detectives.
My name's Friday.
It was 4.35 p.m. when we got to the first floor of the Kelsey Apartment Hotel, Apartment
112.
Hi, Joe, Ben.
Hi, Harry.
How are you?
What have you got here?
A woman's dead, shot to the right tempo with a.45 automatic.
Husband claims a suicide.
What's the name?
Mr. and Mrs. Andrew Robertson.
Wife's name was Marie.
That's Mr. Robertson right over here.
Has the crime lab been called?
About 10 minutes ago.
Mr. Robertson, this is Sergeant Romero, Sergeant Friday.
How do you do?
Have you questioned Mr. Robertson?
No, not yet.
Mr. Robertson, do you want to tell us what happened here?
I'd just gotten back from the corner grocery store.
My wife and I had a little argument going.
It started before I left for this door and it was still on when I got back.
I see.
She was fixing chicken fried steaks for dinner, putting a flower on them.
We had a few more words and I went over and sat on the Davenport right where I am now.
She was standing there on the doorway to the kitchen.
She said something that set me off and I guess I got pretty mad and said a few things.
Then she went back over to that little night stand there by the door to the kitchen.
That one right there?
Yeah, that's it.
That's where I keep my army automatic.
She pulled it out of the drawer and backed up into the kitchen.
She put the gun to her head and said, this will put an end to the argument once and for
all.
I yelled at her and tried to stop her but I was too late.
She pulled the trigger and fell right there where she is.
What did you do then?
I went upstairs to Ted Carlton's place.
He lives in 212 right above us.
We don't have a phone here.
I asked him to call the police and send for an ambulance.
Did you go over to see how badly your wife was shot?
Yeah, I forgot to tell you.
The minute she fired, I rushed right over to her but I was too late.
She was dead.
Now, did you touch anything in here, move anything at all?
No, sir, not a thing.
I've been sitting here ever since I got back down from Ted's room upstairs.
I see.
Yeah.
Yeah.
Empty cartridge casing here on the floor.
Yeah.
When Jones gets here, we'll measure the distance, huh?
Just a minute.
We can put this saucer over till the crime lab gets here.
Right.
Oh, highly.
All right.
Crime lab's here Friday.
We need Jones.
Oh, highly.
Oh, Joe, Ben.
Highly.
Freeman, would you mind taking Mr. Robertson downtown?
We'll be right down as soon as we finish up here.
Right, Joe.
See you later.
Thanks a lot, Harry.
What have we got here?
Chopped through the right temple.
Husband claimed suicide.
Mm-hmm.
What's under the saucer?
Empty casing.
Looks like she was flowering meat, huh?
That's what the husband says, yeah.
It's probably what that is in the barrel of the automatic there.
Yeah, we noticed that.
Wastebasket sure full, isn't it?
Yeah.
Right temple, huh?
45 automatic.
Yeah.
If she shot herself in the kitchen, how do you figure the empty casing got out there in
the living room?
The position of the body doesn't warrant that.
That'll be Ed McGill, the photographer.
Coming.
Friday.
Now?
Oh, then?
All right, Ed.
Well, what do you want to shoot?
Why don't you get an overall of the room first and grab one in the kitchen there.
All right.
Wait till I get that saucer off the casing, Ed.
Mm-hmm.
Okay.
All right.
Mary, you want to move over there a little?
Oh, yeah.
Thanks.
You want the kitchen.
Right from where you are now is good.
We can get out of your way here.
Okay, this is fine.
Now right over the body.
Better get that chair to stand on.
Oh, yeah.
Here you are.
Not much room to work in here.
Can you get it all in there?
Yeah, I think so.
Use the wastebasket as your outside line here and kitchen sink on the other side.
Can't get the sink in.
Will you settle for the wastebasket only?
Fine.
Use that as your right-hand sideline, huh?
Okay.
So while you fellas finish up in here, we're going to run upstairs on the other way.
Okay, John.
Come on, Ben.
Where do you want to go first, 212?
Well, that's this Ted Carlton Robertson mentioned in it.
Yeah, the fellas are supposed to have called in for him.
All right, yeah.
Here it is right at the head of the stairs.
Yes?
Police officers.
You're Mr. Carlton?
Yes, that's right.
Come in.
Thank you very much.
This is an awful thing, isn't it?
Yes, sir.
We understand that you're a friend of the Robertsons.
Yes, I am.
Have you found out anything yet?
You think Andy killed her?
We don't know.
We haven't completed our investigation.
Oh, I see.
I'll bet that's the way it was.
I hate to say that, but from all indications, it certainly looks that way.
How do you mean?
The argument, the shouting, and then that single shot.
I don't know, but it sure struck me that Andy did it.
When did the argument start?
Was it prolonged, you know?
What do you mean?
When did it start?
What time, you know?
This one today started about 3.30 when Andy got back from the store,
but they've been arguing ever since I've known them.
And how long have you known them?
About two years.
Those two never should have gotten married to begin with if I'm any judge.
Are you married?
No, sir, I'm not.
I wonder if you could tell us, did Mrs. Robertson ever say anything
that would lead you to believe that she was in fear of her life?
Well, yes, she did.
One time, Andy stalked out of the apartment down there,
and Marie came up here to see me.
She was in tears, all broken up about it as usual during these spats.
Oh, I see.
She said, I'll try to remember exactly how she put it.
She said, Andy gets so mad sometimes, I think he's going to kill me.
What did they usually argue about, you know?
Oh, different things.
This particular time that I was telling you about,
I think it was over as being late for dinner.
I see.
Now, aside from this one instance, is there anything else that you can tell us?
Well, Andy has a terrible temper, that I know.
We used to go out and bowl once in a while,
Marie, Andy and myself, we had to stop.
Every time he'd miss a spare, you'd think it was the end of the world.
Would he usually seem to take it out on his wife?
Most of the time, yeah.
Although I must say, I caught it a few times myself.
Abusive language.
She really carried on over nothing at all.
Did Robertson leave his wife home alone much of the time?
No, not any more than usual.
It seems like he always wanted to get home just so they could argue.
Everybody in the apartment house knows about him.
You said that Mrs. Robertson came up here after that one particular argument,
haven't you?
Yes, sir, that's right.
Well, does she come up here often?
No, not very often, just when she was unusually upset
and her nerves were on edge.
But only then when Andy had a rush out of my head.
Well, do you know whether or not Robertson owns a gun?
Yes, I believe he does.
As a matter of fact, I know he does.
One night we were having trouble with Prowler's,
and he came up here with his automatic.
I see.
And later on, I think I asked him where he got the gun, he said, from the Army.
Is there anything else you can add, Mr. Cardin?
I was the one who called the police into that.
That's what we understand.
Didn't Andy tell you?
He came up here right after the shot and asked me to call the police for him.
They don't have a phone.
Well, exactly how did he tell you?
What do you mean?
Well, what were his exact words?
Can you remember them?
Well, he said, my wife's shot.
Call the police and get an ambulance quick.
And what was your reaction to this?
I'd heard the shot, so I wasn't too surprised.
But when Andy came running up here, I knew before he said a word,
you could tell just to look at him.
You could tell what?
That something was wrong.
I had a hunch all along that this might happen someday.
What's that?
That Andy would kill his wife.
Ben and I continued questioning the various neighbors in the apartment building.
Their stories all matched in every detail.
The Robertsons had been known to argue, quite frequently and quite loud.
None of the neighbors could definitely say that they had ever heard Andrew Robertson threaten his wife.
All of them volunteered.
It would be entirely possible.
We put in a call to R&I.
We found that there was no previous record on Andrew Robertson nor his wife, Marie.
Before Lee Jones had finished his investigation,
latent fingerprint men had arrived,
and the men from the coroner's office were standing by for removal of the body.
We canvassed the neighborhood and checked with the various merchants in the area.
They could shed no further light on the death of Marie Robertson.
The coroner removed the body from apartment 112,
and Lee Jones continued with his investigation.
Ben and I returned downtown for further interrogation of the suspect.
Everything I've told you is the truth.
Would you mind going over it just once more?
All right.
We had our quarrels and arguments, and I guess some of them were pretty bad,
but I'd never do a thing like this to Marie.
Well, you don't seem very upset about all this, Robertson.
I'm not crying, if that's what you mean.
I'm sorry she had to do it.
I tried to stop her, but there was nothing I could do.
You seem to be taking all this pretty well under the circumstances.
I don't know if I can explain how I feel about it.
You see, Marie and I weren't too happy the past couple of years.
We've been married eight years,
and I guess from the start we never could hit it off.
Did you used to argue quite a bit?
No, not at first we didn't.
Just seemed that we've drifted apart the last couple of years.
We seemed to fight all the time over nothing at all.
I honestly believe we fell out of love.
Would you mind telling us again exactly what happened this afternoon?
First of all, I got up.
I always liked to sleep on Sundays.
She asked me to go to the store.
That started the argument.
She knows I don't like to go shopping,
but it seemed like she was always forgetting something,
and I'd have to go.
When I got back from the store,
she was making chicken fried steaks for dinner.
She was putting flour on the meat.
We argued back and forth for a minute,
and then she stepped into the living room.
I went over and sat on the Davenport.
Where were you going?
We had a few more words,
and she went over to the small nightstand by the kitchen door
and took out my army automatic that I kept in there.
She backed up into the kitchen and pointed the gun at her head.
Here.
She said this will end the argument once and for all.
As I said, I was on the Davenport about 12 feet away from her.
I yelled at her.
What did you say?
I said, Marie, put that gun down. It's loaded.
Before I could reach her, she pulled the trigger.
Then what'd you do?
I rushed over to her, but it was too late. She was dead.
What happened then?
We don't have a phone,
so I rushed upstairs to the apartment right over us, Ted Carlton's.
I asked him to phone for the police and the ambulance.
Did you tell Carlton about your wife?
Yes, I did.
I told him she'd been shot.
Then where'd you go?
So, just like I told you, out of the apartment,
I went back downstairs and waited in the living room
for you people to get there.
Did you go near your wife's body?
No, I did not.
Did you always keep that gun loaded?
Yes, I did.
I always kept it loaded and actuated.
The shell in the chamber, but I kept the safety lock on.
Marie knew how to operate the gun
because I showed her before when I was out late.
She wasn't strong enough to actuate it, but she could work the safety.
Did your wife ever try to commit suicide before?
Not to my knowledge.
Mr. Robertson, are you sure that everything you've told us is the truth?
It's the absolute truth, every word of it.
Well, sir, here's the way it looks to us.
We think you killed your wife.
I didn't.
Let us lay out a few things for you.
We talked to your friends and neighbors in the apartment house.
We have people who will testify to the fact that your wife was afraid that you might kill her.
She told one man that.
It isn't true.
I don't know what she may have told somebody, but I didn't kill her.
It's a known fact throughout the entire apartment building
that you and your wife had violent quarrels.
The kind of argument from all reports that could easily lead to something like this.
I told you we argued, but I didn't kill Marie.
I couldn't do a thing like that.
Mr. Robertson, we've made a preliminary investigation of your apartment.
You say your wife killed herself.
Let me show you some of the flaws in your story here.
All I can say is what I've told you is the truth. I didn't kill her.
Well, you told us that your wife went to the nightstand and got the gun.
That's right.
How did she pick up the automatic?
How do you mean?
Well, how did she take it from the drawer?
Like anyone who'd picked up a gun? By the butt?
She picked it up like anybody would who was going to use it.
You're sure about that?
Positive.
She didn't touch anything but the butt?
Well, she had part of her hand on the trigger.
Well, we know that, but she didn't touch any other part of the weapon.
She did not. She didn't have time.
Well, then how do you account for the fact that we found traces of flour on the barrel of the gun?
Oh, sure. She was flouring meat.
Well, how did the flour get on the barrel?
I don't know.
Well, isn't it true that when you approached her with the automatic pointed at her,
she tried to ward off the shot with her hand?
Isn't that how the flour got on that barrel?
That isn't true.
Now, you said your wife was putting flour on some steaks.
That's right.
How do you account for the fact that we didn't find any flour on the butt of the gun where it belonged?
Or on the drawer of the nightstand where you say she first picked up the automatic?
Well, I can't answer that. I don't know what all this means.
Well, it means that unless you've got some kind of explanation,
we have to assume that you're lying, that you killed your wife.
I don't know how to explain all these things, but I didn't kill her.
Mr. Robertson, you say you were an army man.
Isn't that what you told us out of the apartment?
Yes, I was a sergeant in the army during the last war.
What outfit were you in?
I was an instructor in sidearm weapons at Santa Ana Army Air Base.
Then you'd be somewhat of an authority on the Colt.45 caliber automatic pistol, wouldn't you?
I guess I would, yeah. That was one of the weapons I instructed in.
You'd know all about the system of ejection employed by the Colt Company on their.45 automatic.
Yes, I would.
The empty casing ejects to the right, up and back. Is that correct?
Yeah, that's right.
In other words, if you were pointing a.45 at me and you pulled the trigger,
the empty casing would eject to your right, up, and fall on the floor to the rear on your right side.
Is that right?
Yeah, that's where it would end up.
You still maintain that your wife shot herself?
Yes, I do.
Where was she standing when she pulled the trigger?
As I told you before, in the kitchen.
How was she standing?
What do you mean?
Which way was she facing?
Let's see, facing me?
Yeah, that's right. In the kitchen with her back to the sink facing out toward me.
And where were you?
On the Davenport in the living room, facing her.
Now, bearing in mind what we've already discussed and agreed upon concerning the ejection system of a.45,
how do you account for the fact that the empty casing was found in the living room,
six feet and four inches from the kitchen?
Let's see.
I'll figure it for you.
The empty casing should have been found on the floor of the kitchen,
somewhere to the right and rear of your wife.
Isn't that about it?
I don't understand. Why are you trying to prove me guilty?
I've told you and I swear to you, I didn't kill my wife.
Well, it would be a physical impossibility for that empty casing to have landed anywhere but in the kitchen
if your wife had pulled the trigger that automatic.
Now, how about that?
What can I say?
Please believe what I'm telling you. I didn't do it.
Not according to the evidence.
I don't understand any of this.
Well, here's the way we've got it reconstructed.
You had a quarrel. You got the gun.
You met your wife at the doorway to the kitchen.
You pointed the gun at her.
She tried to ward it off with her left hand, leaving flour on the barrel of the gun.
You fired and the casing was thrown up and back to the right,
where it landed on the rug of the living room.
The testimony of the neighbors, the flour on your wife's hand,
the position of the empty casing.
Robertson, you're it.
I don't know why all these things are the way you say they are.
We do. We don't believe your wife committed suicide.
You think about it. Come on, Ben.
Well, what do you think?
The evidence we've got so far has got him tamed.
Yeah. With all that proof, he still refuses to cop out.
Something doesn't jive.
We'll have to find out why.
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We had Gene Bechdel take Andrew Robertson's statement.
We had his testimony that his wife had committed suicide,
the fact that he couldn't prove and that we could disprove.
We had before us the final investigation.
All evidence was taken to the crime lab for analysis.
The photographs taken at the scene were developed and brought in for careful checking.
In accordance with Robertson's story,
both he and his deceased wife were given paraffin tests to determine the presence of nitrates.
Both of them were fingerprinted and latent prints details started to check them out.
Two teams of men were sent out to talk with the close relatives of the two people.
Sunday, March 9th, 7 p.m.
We got a call from Lieutenant Lee Jones that he had the final results of his investigation.
We went over to the second floor of the central station, crime lab.
We got a couple of things for you.
Okay.
How'd you make out with Robertson?
Well, he insisted it was suicide. What's your idea on it?
Let me show you what we got.
All right.
Here, look at this.
A picture of the.45 casing.
That's fine. Take a close look at it.
Right here in particular.
Yeah.
You notice this one edge is a little crimped here?
Yeah. Ejector marks.
No, here are your ejector marks up here, see?
This crimping is something entirely different.
What is it?
You remember where you found this casing?
Six feet, four inches into the living room.
That's right.
We wondered how it could have been thrown that far by the ejector if the husband's story is true.
The ejector didn't do that. I wanted to.
On closer inspection, I noticed this crimping.
Let me show you how this casing got out there in the living room.
Here's an identical.45 caliber called empty casing.
Yeah.
We place it here on the floor on a piece of carpeting the same thickness that was in their kitchen.
Linoleum.
Now watch this.
I'll step on it, hitting it from an angle.
There's your answer to that.
When the husband ran over to his wife's side, what did he say he did?
Yeah, it's about the size of it.
He stepped on the casing accidentally and certainly not caring about it at that moment,
it bounced out in the living room just like a tiddlywink.
Now here.
Notice the casing now, the crimping. Check it against the photo.
Yeah. Looks exactly the same way. It matches.
And the flower on the barrel of the gun, it was flower by the way. Did it figure in for you fellas?
Well yeah, we figured the wife was trying to ward off the gun when he pointed it at her.
Certainly the logical deduction.
Let me show you how it really got on there.
Here's that shot of the kitchen out there.
Uh-huh.
Notice the wastebasket here? It's pretty full, isn't it?
Yeah, we noticed that when we were out there.
What you probably didn't notice is this.
Here's a blow-up of just that section where the wastebasket was.
Can you see what's on the top of the stuff in the basket there?
Yeah, can you hold it over here and leave a little light in?
Yeah, it looks like a flower sack, doesn't it?
That's right, an empty flower sack.
Now, figuring the position of the body in relation to that wastebasket,
when she dropped the gun, it fell from her hand, striking the wastebasket,
bouncing off and landing on the floor while you found it.
You said when she dropped the gun, you figured it was suicide?
It's beginning to shape up that way, isn't it?
There was no flower found on the butt of the gun.
That part of the automatic didn't come in contact with the flower sack.
Yeah, but at least she was flowering meat.
There were no traces of it on her right hand, on the palm, just on the back.
In checking the clothing, we found streaks of flower where she could have
wiped her hands clean before picking up the gun.
Yeah, and out there we could only see the backs of her hand.
The coroner checked that through, huh? Doesn't look like he killed her.
There's more here.
As you know, we ran paraffin tests on both the victim and Robinson.
Yeah.
Here's the results of the tests.
See.
Andrew Robertson, no nitrates negative.
Marie Robertson, evidence of nitrates positive.
She fired a gun, he didn't, huh?
That's it.
There's something else.
Here's the report from latent prints, smudges, one good thumbprint,
right hand, belonging to Marie Robertson,
indicating she was the last one to handle the weapon.
Well, that's about it, Lee.
No, that's more for you.
Now, this shot was taken facing the east wall of the kitchen.
That's the wall that would be on anyone's left, sitting on the
davenport in the front room.
Wouldn't be possible to see that wall from the davenport.
Wouldn't, that's right.
You can see the white X where we located the slug.
Yeah.
Relative to the position of the body, if she was standing,
holding the gun at approximately a right angle with the side of her
head, the bullet would come to rest approximately four inches below
the crown of her head.
Did it check out?
The coroner says she was 5'4".
The bullet was found at a height of 5 1 8", proving that she shot
herself rather than anyone else doing it, judging from the
inclination of the bullet.
As you know, this is critical.
Yeah.
From what it's worth, the condition of the wound indicates
that it was inflicted from extreme close range.
Fair point when you consider that most people wouldn't submit
to being shot from close range without a struggle or unless
taken by surprise.
From all reports, we know she wasn't taken by surprise.
Well, that's it, fellas.
That's all I have.
Thanks, Lee.
Sure enough.
Crime lab, Jones.
Yeah, right here.
Just a minute.
Three to one of you.
All right, Lee.
I'll get it.
Thank you.
Oh, yeah.
Righty.
Well, hi, Harry.
You did, huh?
What's that?
Mm-hmm.
Yeah.
Did you have the letter with you?
It does, huh?
Yeah.
Yeah, right, Harry.
Thank you very much.
Bye.
Harry Fremont.
He just left Marie Robertson's mother.
What'd she have to say?
Well, Fremont says she gave him a letter.
He's on his way in with it now.
It was written by Marie Robertson, says something about taking her own life.
Her mother says that the husband couldn't have done it,
says the daughter's shown indication in the past of wanting to take her own life.
Well, not about saying she's in.
Makes you feel kind of good, doesn't it?
Yeah.
Finding a man clear on a charge instead of having to hang him up.
Come on, Ben.
Right.
Where you headed?
Back across the street.
Where do I get my coat?
I'll go with you.
What for?
The story you've just heard was true.
Only the names were changed to protect the innocent.
On March 12th, the hearing was held in the office of the coroner,
city and county of Los Angeles, state of California.
In a moment, the results of that hearing.
And now, here is our star, Jack Webb.
Thank you.
Friends, a great many listeners have written us saying that they first bought Fatimas
because they liked our program.
But they go on to say that after smoking their first pack,
they agree with everything that we've said about them,
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When you buy your first pack, I'm sure you'll agree.
In Fatima, the difference is quality.
Andrew William Robertson was immediately released from custody.
A 510 form was made out, exonerating him from any complicity in the death of his wife.
Ladies and gentlemen, Mr. James M. Fox,
president of the Southern California chapter of the Mystery Writers of America.
The Edgar Allan Poe Awards of the Mystery Writers of America
are made each year for outstanding contributions in the field of mystery.
This year, by a nationwide vote of 300 professional mystery writers,
the radio award goes to Dragnet for consistent excellence in the use of the medium
and the best traditions of our craft.
The Mystery Writers of America are happy to present their Edgars, statuettes of Poe,
to Dragnet's Jim Moser, who writes the scripts, and a duplicate statuette to Dragnet.
Congratulations, Mr. Moser.
Thank you, Mr. Fox.
Music
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.
Prima cigarettes, best of all long cigarettes, has brought you Dragnet,
portions transcribed from Los Angeles.
Stay tuned for Counterspy, next over many NBC stations.
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