The story you are about to hear is true.
Only the names have been changed to protect the innocent.
Fatima, best of all king-sized cigarettes brings you dragnet.
You're a detective sergeant, you're assigned to homicide detail.
An elderly man is found dead in the living room of his home.
There's a single bullet hole in his chest.
On the surface it appears the man took his own life, but the evidence points to the opposite.
Your job, investigate.
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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.
Was Wednesday, January 10th.
It was cold in Los Angeles.
We were working a 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 8.25 a.m. when I got to the police academy, the doctor's office.
Morning.
Morning.
Can I help you?
I'm checking in for my annual physical.
Oh, okay.
All right.
Let's see your name.
Joe Friday.
Friday, just like a day in a week.
Yeah, that's right.
Friday.
Anything to find.
Are you sure you were notified?
Yeah, the teletype was posted in the office a couple of days ago.
Annual physical exams.
My name was right near the top of the list.
F-R-I-D-A-Y.
Okay.
Oh, yeah.
Yeah, here you are.
Joseph Friday.
That's it, yeah.
Well, all right, Friday.
Let's get your name down here.
Okay.
Age?
Thirty-four.
Where you work?
Central homicide.
Serial number?
2288.
Okay.
How are they keeping you busy?
Oh, pretty busy, yeah.
Forty-five hundred men in the department.
Everyone has to have an annual physical.
Uh-huh.
Better get you weighed and send your lung inside.
Doc's probably going to be very worried.
Over here.
Oh, never fails.
Dr. Vance's office.
Who's that?
Just a minute.
It's for you Friday, your office.
Thank you.
Friday, darling.
This is Ben, Joe.
You about to go in there?
No, not quite.
I haven't seen Doc Vance yet.
What's the matter?
Dead body called up by Westlake Park Radio Company.
What's the matter?
No, not quite.
I haven't seen Doc Vance yet.
What's the matter?
Dead body called up by Westlake Park Radio Company.
No one else in homicide to handle it?
Not right now.
They're pretty busy.
I'll use you coming back to the office once you meet me out there.
It's 932-0-Laurel-9.
Just a minute.
Have that pad, Doc.
Thank you.
932-0-Laurel.
I got it.
What's the story?
Old man, my son dead in his living room, bullet hole in his chest.
Uh-huh.
And the radio car said at first it looked like the old man had killed himself.
They're not so sure now.
What do you mean?
I think he's dead.
What do you mean?
I think he had some help.
845 A.M.
I left the doctor's office at the police academy and drove to the Westlake area where I met
Ben in front of the cottage where the dead body had been found.
We went inside and checked with one of the men from the radio car who was standing by.
The dead man was identified as Martin Latimer, age 68, a retired owner of a couple of neighborhood
grocery stores in the city.
He was lying sprawled on his side on the floor.
There was a bullet hole in his chest just above the heart where the slug had entered
the body.
There was another larger wound in the back through the left shoulder blade where the
bullet had emerged.
Approximately eight feet across the room from the body was another chair with a Winchester
rifle wired firmly to the top, its muzzle pointing directly above the spot where the
body lay on the floor.
A thick white string was found wound firmly around the trigger of the rifle.
It ran through a metal ring on the stock of the gun and stretched across the room where
it had been tied to the dead man's right index finger.
At first glance, it seemed like an obvious suicide arrangement.
Officer Harkness, one of the men in the radio car who had answered the call, took the exception.
I don't know, Sergeant, maybe I'm all wet.
Just doesn't gel right for me.
Who discovered the body, Arnhold?
Next door neighbor, Mrs. Donworth.
My partners were there now.
You fellas call the crime lab?
Yeah, they're on their way out.
Was the old man the only one who lived in the house here?
Yeah, that's what the neighbor told us.
Sure like to see what the crime lab crew is going to think of it.
What's the big question, Harkness?
Well, I know it's none of my business, Sergeant.
You fellas are the detectives.
I just couldn't help but notice though.
What's that?
Well, come here.
Over here, this rifle wired to the back of the chair.
Take a side along the barrel of the rifle.
See what you think.
Right through the sight, huh?
Mm-hmm.
Point it right above the arm, Joe.
Over there, isn't it?
Yeah.
To the straight line with the body.
How much do you think?
The straight line with the body, how much fits?
The old man pulled the string tied to his index finger and it set off the trigger.
Took the slug through the chest, didn't it?
Yeah, that's what I figured.
Now here, take a look at the wall directly behind the old man.
Yeah.
The slug went clean through the body, we know that.
And through the chest above the heart, then out through the shoulder blade.
I see what you mean.
Now here, now take a look at this wall here.
Got a mark on it.
Yeah.
One thing, sure, if the old man was shot in that position, the slug had to come this
way.
Well?
That's through his body, right about this height here.
Uh-huh.
We ought to find the bullet hole in this wall, right around here.
It ought to be.
Not a trace of a slug there.
Not much chance it could have been deflected, do you think?
Well, that's what I thought.
It's a.30-30 Winchester, enough power to go through a couple plaster walls.
Well, we know the slug went through the body.
It's got to be somewhere in one of these four walls.
Take a look over here and see what you think.
All right.
Down here near the corner of the wall.
Where?
Well, right here.
Yeah, it looks like it, Sam.
Something's out of kilter.
The rifle never could have thrown a slug this far down on the wall, not the way far to the
chair there.
Besides, that is way out of line, at least four feet, the way I figured here.
Well, I know it's none of my business, Sergeant.
I couldn't help but notice it, though.
Uh, you want me to stand by outside?
Yeah, okay, if you will.
Would you mind checking with your partner?
See if we can have that neighbor lady brought over for questioning, would you?
Right, I'll check with him now.
Thank you.
I'm going to take another look at that rifle.
Well, it sure doesn't add up too well, does it?
Even if the old man jerked the gun when he pulled the trigger with that string arrangement,
the slug couldn't have passed through his chest, out his back, and then hit the wall
where it did.
Stand just behind the body, will you, Joe?
See if it's possible to line it up.
All right, what about here?
Look about it to you?
Uh, yeah, that's good.
Let me see here.
No, not a chance, Joe.
It's way out of line.
If that's the gun that killed him, the old man didn't pull the trigger.
Not from there, anyway.
Well, there's one other chance.
Yeah?
Somebody pulled it for him.
Lieutenant Lee Jones arrived with his crime lab crew and went to work.
We put in a call to the coroner's office, and then the dead man's neighbor, Mrs. Elsie
Donowitz, was brought over for questioning.
She was a chubby matronly lady, about 45.
She told us she'd been a neighbor to the aging Martin Latimer for more than 10 years.
I take it you knew Mr. Latimer pretty well, ma'am.
Yeah, I suppose.
Didn't have any relatives, poor man, all alone.
He was in the grocery business for years.
He made some nice money, I guess.
Retired about eight years ago, sold both his stores.
Had an income from a mortgage on one of them.
$150 a month.
Yeah, he was very comfortable.
Wasn't a penny painter at all.
But he was thrifty, it was the same way with my husband Claude.
He used to say, take care of the dimes and the dollars will take care of themselves.
Well, Mrs. Donowitz, can you think of any reason why Latimer would want to take his
own life?
Oh, I suppose.
Poor old man is getting along in years.
For a long time, he was afraid he was going to die with cancer.
Is that so?
Did Mr. Latimer have cancer, do you know?
Oh, no.
He kept thinking he was going to die with it.
Could you come next door to my place while I get some of my laundry out?
We could talk there.
It's just across the yard.
All right, ma'am, that'll be fine.
Did you want to tell Lee Jones we'll be next door, Ben?
Yes, you better let Hotness know, too.
Yeah, right, I'll tell him.
Thank you.
About that cancer business, officer, Mr. Latimer was always talking about it.
Yes, ma'am.
He finally went to a doctor about it.
That was last week only.
They came back and he told me the doctor said for him not to be so silly about it.
He was a well man and good health.
When was the last time that you saw Latimer, ma'am?
Day before yesterday.
Oh, we laughed and joked over the back thing.
Poor old man had such a nice smile, reminded me a good deal of Claude.
That was my husband.
I'd like to have your honest opinion, Ms. Donner.
Do you think Mr. Latimer killed himself?
Well, I suppose that rifle in there, that teller was in fact him.
Joe, I wonder if I could talk to you a minute?
Yeah, okay.
Would you like to go on ahead over next door, ma'am?
We'll be right with you.
All right, officer.
Thank you very much.
We'll be right there, ma'am.
Yeah.
Crime lab proves having a field day.
They say if the old man shot himself with that rig, it ought to make Ripley's call.
They find anything definite?
Just the driver for fingerprints, didn't find a warrant.
How about that?
Yeah, makes less sense than that slug buried in the corner of the wall, doesn't it?
Sure does.
Checked the desk in the living room, found some correspondence Latimer was having with
some woman through a lonely hearts club.
Yeah?
Did you find any reason why he'd want to die?
Pretty good reason why he'd want to live.
Found a photograph, beautiful girl, looked to be about 24 or 25.
Yeah, what about it?
She was going to marry him.
The crime lab crew continued their routine investigation of Martin Latimer's cottage.
They removed the 30-30 slug from the corner of one wall.
Ben and I went next door to question the neighbor, Mrs. Donworth.
There didn't seem to be any common ground at all between the evidence in the house and
the information that she had to offer.
As we continued questioning her, Mrs. Donworth remembered that a month before,
Latimer had told her that something might happen to him and he wanted to make out a will.
He asked if she would witness the will.
A few days later, Latimer's lawyer came to the house and Mrs. Donworth witnessed the signing.
At that time, she said Latimer made the remark,
I don't feel like going on much longer anyway. If death means arrest, I think I deserve one.
Mrs. Donworth kept busy with the laundry while we interviewed her.
Could you let me get by to the manhole officer? I have to get some of this ironing done.
Yes, ma'am, I'm sorry.
I'm afraid there's one thing I don't remember you telling us, ma'am.
Did you hear anything of the ordinary going on next door or this morning or last night?
No, nothing I noticed anyway.
Officer, did you see that knob on the washer, the one on the left?
What do you mean, this over here?
Yeah, just lift it up and turn it around to off, please.
It says off right there in the dial.
Yes, ma'am, I see.
Here you are.
Yeah, thanks.
No, there was nothing I heard from next door or remark about.
Of course, it's so noisy around here that time of morning you can't even hear yourself think anyway.
How's that, ma'am?
The trucks passing by up and down every morning.
They're not small truck theater. They start in at 6 a.m.
They rattle past for two, three hours, please.
The first good explanation we've had on this thing.
Could you give us the names of some of the other people on the street who knew Mr. Latimer pretty well, Mrs. Dunwoody?
Yeah, I suppose.
I don't think any of them knew the poor old man as well as I did.
Most of them are younger folks, you know, parties and things.
When you get up around 65, a path that like Mr. Latimer, parties don't mean so much anymore.
Yes, ma'am, I understand.
Yeah.
It's a nice quiet home with a good heating system, good books on the shelves, good man around the house.
Is that all you can ask for?
Yes, ma'am.
Well, thank you very much.
We'll leave our card here in case you want to contact us for any reason.
All right, officer.
There's one more thing, Mrs. Dunwoody, we understand Latimer was corresponding with several women to a lonely hearts club.
Did he ever mention that to you?
No, he never did.
I found out from the mailman.
He's a regular gossip.
And Latimer never mentioned any other women that he corresponded with, is that right?
I pretended I didn't even know about it.
He never brought it up.
Don't understand why he'd want to meet a lady that way.
Almost to them we're looking for is a man with money so they can quit work and lay around the house.
Well, thanks again, Mrs. Dunwoody, that's been very helpful.
Yes.
Poor old man.
I wonder what made him write letters after silly women.
If it was good, they'd have done him.
He wrote letters all over the country.
Getting tired of working myself.
Could have saved the postage, too.
May I be excused?
I was right next door.
Would have married him in a minute.
We left Mrs. Dunwoody's house a few minutes past noon and we went back next door to Latimer's cottage.
The crime lab crew had finished their investigation and the deputy coroner arrived.
He took the body downtown for autopsy.
We talked over the crime lab findings with Lieutenant Lee Jones and he felt the same way that Ben and I did.
The theory that Latimer had shot himself to death was possible in many respects, but it was far from plausible.
We checked through Latimer's correspondence with the women that he'd contacted by mail through the Lonely Hearts Club.
Especially the young girl he obviously intended to marry judging from his letters to her.
Her picture showed her to be a brunette, dark eyes, young and very attractive.
The inscription at the bottom read, With Love, Catherine.
There was no return address on either the photo or the letter.
Ben called to check with the Lonely Hearts Club.
Yes, ma'am.
No, that's all right.
We'll probably be dropping down to talk to you.
Yes, boy.
What'd they say?
Might be it, Joe.
Club secretary says they've been having trouble with somebody who signs the pictures just like this one.
With Love, Catherine.
Uh-huh.
I described the picture and the secretary says it's the same girl.
What's the angle?
The girl doesn't belong to the club, but somehow she got a list of their members and their addresses.
She writes to them, usually old men.
Gets them set for marriage and they send for her.
Her letters come from the east, from different cities.
She writes and asks for a train fare out here.
The men send her the money for clothes and train fare and that's the last of it.
She's gone.
Oh, that's all right.
Now, this one letter here.
This one.
I hate to ask you, dear, but if you could send me the traveling money and just a little extra for some clothes,
I will take the first train and be with you in a week to become your wife, awaiting that precious moment and so on.
Hmm.
Kind of pours it on thick.
What's the date on this?
Let's see.
December 30th.
It's 12 days ago.
What do you think?
It's possible.
She could have showed up, tried to grab all the old man's money she could find.
Maybe he caught her at it.
She killed him, rigged up this phony setup to make it look like Latimer shot himself.
Can you hold more water if we could find out she really came here?
Maybe we better start ringing a few doorbells.
The other neighbors might come up with something.
What do you say?
Let me see that girl's picture again, will you?
Yeah, yeah, yeah.
No photographer's name.
Now look in the back here, Ben.
Hmm.
You know, down here in the corner.
Right in the corner of the picture mounting.
Oh, yeah, yeah.
XXXXY3.
Must be some kind of manufacturer's marking.
Photography supplier.
Hmm.
Guess it stands for the type of paper, huh?
You know anything about the photo business?
No, I don't.
Maybe you do.
Let's find somebody who does, huh?
Before we drove back to the office, Ben and I covered the rest of the neighborhood
and talked to everybody who knew the dead man, Martin Latimer, even remotely.
They told us nothing that we didn't already know.
There had been no strangers seen visiting the old man.
No one had noticed anything out of the ordinary in Latimer's daily routine.
Three o'clock that afternoon, we checked with the police photo lab.
They told us that the symbols stamped on the cardboard frame of the photograph signed Catherine
were symbols used by a photo supply company up in San Francisco.
We went back to the office and got in touch with the San Francisco firm.
We were told that the symbols indicated the style and the size of photographic mounting,
and further that this particular type of mounting was distributed only throughout seven western states.
They gave us a list of 18 photo studios in Los Angeles who kept that particular mount in stock.
It was a long chance, but we started checking them out.
Meantime, we'd run the girl through R&I and gotten on an APB, seeking information on her.
Three days later, Ben and I had checked out 10 of the 18 photo studios on our list.
The 11th was the M&Y Family Portraits on Melrose.
Yes, sir. Can I help you?
Police officers, would you mind taking a look at this photograph here, please?
Let me see. Would you like an enlargement? Got a special price in enlargements this week.
No, sir. We'd just like to know if you can identify this girl, that's all.
Well, do you recognize her at all, sir?
I know her. Sure you wouldn't like an enlargement?
An enlargement?
You're in a cruiser car of a Metropolitan Police Department. You receive a routine radio call.
All units, attention all units, pick up and hold for investigation the following vehicle.
1948 Ford, two-door sedan, black, white sidewall tires.
There are many cars that fit this description. You listen for more facts.
This car will have extensive damage to right front end.
License number, 9-ROBERT-9-707.
In the 7 column, 9-ROBERT-9-707, KMA-567.
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Saturday, January 13th, 1.35 p.m.
We showed the photograph of the girl to the proprietor of the photo studio on Melrose Avenue.
And he identified her as one of his customers.
He told us her name was Doris Chambers.
She was 22 years old and a post-graduate student in chemistry at the university.
She came from a fairly well-to-do family and her father was the president of a local neighborhood bank.
She didn't even come close to the type of girl that we were looking for.
We got the address from the photographer, drove out to the home and interviewed the Chambers girl.
She gave a younger appearance than she did in her picture.
She couldn't recognize the handwriting on the photo, nor did she understand the inscription with love, Catherine.
After questioning her, it became apparent that she knew nothing at all about 68-year-old Martin Latimer.
I wonder if you'd mind taking another look at the handwriting on the picture, Miss.
Familiar at all?
No. No, I couldn't be sure either way. Seems like I've seen it though.
When did you say you had this picture made, Miss?
About a year ago at graduation. My mother had extra copies made up. She liked it.
I didn't care for it much.
Could you tell us how many people have prints of this picture?
Mom had two dozen copies made up. She took 12 and I took 12.
She sent them to relatives, friends of ours, kept a few.
What did you do with yours?
Sent them to friends, girls at school, a few of my boyfriends.
Can you remember if you autographed any of them?
Yeah, some of them. The ones for my girlfriend. Others I gave out plain.
Can you try and think who you gave those to, Miss, the unsigned picture?
One went to Carl, I know that. Ray, Fred and Don. Warren. I think that's it.
I wonder if we could have their full names and addresses, please.
It's all right.
You know what I'm saving all this junk for? Old letters.
Could I see that picture, please?
Yeah, I hear you.
Well, it's the same writing. I thought I'd seen it before.
This old letter from Warren. See the writing? Doesn't it look the same to you?
Hmm, looks close to you.
Well, I've done my own handwriting check it over. Who is this Warren, Miss Chambers?
Warren White. Here's his address right here.
Yeah, I'll copy it, Jim. Fine.
Warren and I went to college together. We were engaged to be married for a while, then I broke it off.
I see.
Warren's a serious boy. He was very thorough, a perfectionist. Do you know, Sergeant, whoever does things halfway?
That's him.
Never knew Warren could do anything in his life halfway, not once.
Well, he's going to have a perfect record at that handwriting matches.
What can they do to him?
I don't know, but they won't do it halfway.
Two fifty-five p.m. We left the home of Doris Chambers and drove down Beverly Boulevard to 743 North Clarewood Avenue,
an apartment house where the suspect was supposed to be living.
We talked to the manager and he told us that Warren White had moved without giving notice three days before on January 10th,
the same day 68-year-old Martin Latimer was found dead in his home.
We got on the phone, talked to Doris Chambers again, and she gave us a lead on Warren White's married sister.
Seven thirty p.m. We met with the sister of the murder suspect and she told us that her brother Warren had phoned that morning
and asked for an emergency loan of two hundred dollars, which he didn't have to give him.
The sister gave us White's new address and we checked it out.
It was one of those run-down, futuristic-style apartment houses built in the mid-thirties.
It was on a narrow road high above Sunset Boulevard overlooking most of Hollywood.
White wasn't in and the manager said he wasn't expected back till early the next morning.
We had the manager let us in White's apartment. We waited. Midnight. 1 a.m.
No sign of the suspect.
No denying it is sure a beautiful view from here.
It's the best in town. It'd be nice for single fellows up here when they wouldn't work with the family though.
How about you Joe? Why don't you get your mother looking around up here, be a beautiful place with the two of you.
I don't think my mother ever leaves the house. She's been there for 40 years. I guess she'll stay there till she dies.
It would be nice up here though, wouldn't it? What a view, huh?
Why don't you try talking her into it? You've got nothing to lose.
I might do that. Why don't you slide up one of the windows? Get a little stuff in here.
Oh, smell that air, huh? That's great.
What time you got?
1 45.
Oh, it's a long night.
We waited. 3 a.m. 4 a.m. 4 30.
It was cold and still no sign of the suspect, Warren White.
5 a.m. 5 30. 6 a.m.
The sky was getting light over in the east.
6 30. 7 a.m. 7 30.
We kept waiting. No sign of the suspect.
We called the office and arranged for a relief.
8 a.m. We could hear groups of youngsters passing by outside,
trooping into the main yard of a grammar school just below the apartment house.
We kept waiting.
At 8 15 a.m. we heard a car pull up in front of the apartment house.
Footsteps came down the driveway, up the path, stopped outside the door.
We heard a key turn in the lock.
What is this? What do you want?
You want Warren White? Yes.
The police officers got some questions we'd like to ask you.
It's all right, officers. Why don't you sit down? I'm not going to give you any trouble.
Huh? I killed him. Maybe I'll never know why, but I killed him.
You want to tell us about it?
You must have had a reason for it, rigging it for a suicide. Do you have anything against him?
I hardly even knew him. He used that picture of Doris, the fool.
I made some good money doing it. I needed it.
Are you willing to give us a statement about the whole thing?
I haven't anything to hide, officer.
The minute I killed him, I knew it was all over. Right there in that one minute.
I knew you'd come and find me somehow. I didn't know when, but you'd come and find me.
Well, okay, Ben. We better head downtown. Yeah. What?
It's a great sound, isn't it? What's that?
The school yard. The kids.
Got a great sound to it. Good one.
You want to get your hat? All right.
How can anybody figure?
You start in a school yard like those kids down there, running around, yelling?
I started the same. I'll give you one.
I wonder what it is that happens. An eight-year-old redhead kid.
Must be one down there now. The other kids will grow up, get jobs, work, and die. It'll be all right. Yeah.
One kid will end up in an alley with a gun in his hand.
How can anybody figure? I don't know.
Bunch of kids playing in the school yard.
Someday one of them's a killer. Yeah, let's go.
You tell me. What's the answer?
The story you have just heard was true.
Only the names were changed to protect the innocent.
On April 2nd, 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. And now here is our star, Jack Webb.
Thank you. Friends, it's come to my attention that some people have a misunderstanding about the cost of Fatimas.
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The cost of Fatima is the same as the cigarettes you're now smoking.
Yes, that's right. Fatimas cost no more. But in Fatima, the difference is quality.
Buy Fatima in the golden yellow package.
Warren Thomas White was tried and convicted of murder in the first degree.
He received a sentence of life imprisonment.
He is still serving his term in the state penitentiary, Folsom, California.
Ladies and gentlemen, to build our strength against aggression,
we've got to equip our armed forces with weapons of war,
and at the same time produce plenty of civilian goods so that we can keep prices down.
Remember, the better we produce, the stronger we grow.
You have just heard Dragnet, a series of authentic cases from official files.
Remember, best of all, king-size cigarettes has brought you Dragnet, transcribed from Los Angeles.
Stay tuned for Counterspy, next over NBC.