The story you are about to hear is true.
The names have been changed to protect the innocent.
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You're a detective sergeant.
You're assigned a homicide detail.
You're assigned a homicide detail.
You're assigned a homicide detail.
You're assigned a homicide detail.
You're assigned a homicide detail.
You're a detective sergeant. You're assigned a homicide detail.
You get a call from the receiving hospital in your city.
A dead body has been left in the hospital elevator.
There's no lead to the identity of the corpse.
There's no apparent cause of death.
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.
It was Wednesday, November 9th. It was foggy in Los Angeles.
We were working the night watch out of homicide detail.
My partner's Bill Lockwood. The boss is Captain Lorman. My name's Friday.
It was 11.28 p.m. when we got to the third floor at Georgia Street Receiving Hospital,
Dr. Terrell's office.
Friday, glad to see you. Been waiting for you.
We made it as soon as we could, Doctor.
I'd like to have you meet my new partner, Bill Lockwood. Dr. Terrell, Bill.
How are you? I think I've seen you around, Lockwood.
Yes, sir. How are you?
I understand you got a problem, Doc. What's the story?
An odd one. Happened a few minutes after 11.
You want to sit down a minute? I'll fill you in before we go back
and take a look at the body.
Thank you very much.
I understand it's a woman, that right?
Yeah. Grace Morgan. She's a night nurse on duty.
She told me she was sitting at the desk checking over some patients' cards.
It was about five, ten minutes after 11 when she heard the elevator come up.
She heard the elevator stop and the doors open.
Kept on checking the cards there. Didn't pay any attention to it.
And then she realized nobody got out of the elevator.
She looked up and the elevator doors were still open.
She saw this young woman slumped over in a wheelchair
sitting there in the elevator.
The woman was alone, was she?
That's right.
The nurse went over and wheeled her out of the elevator.
The woman was wearing a nightgown, bathroom over that.
She was unconscious.
Nurse called me. The two of us took the woman into a treatment room.
I examined her. She was dead.
Any indication how long?
Body was still warm. She'd only been dead a short time.
Any idea of the cause of death?
I noticed a couple of abrasions on her right shoulder.
Another one in the right temporal region. Not positive.
But I don't think any of them were severe enough to cause death.
No other markings at all?
No. She seemed to have been in good physical condition.
I noticed a strong smell of alcohol, though.
Could be she'd been drinking.
Is the nurse pretty sure the woman came up the elevator alone?
Possibility one of the attendants might have brought her up?
No. I checked with the attendant on duty down in the first floor lobby.
Ray Collins. He didn't bring her up.
He said a man came in the lobby about 11 o'clock.
Said he had a sick woman out in his car.
He asked for a wheelchair to bring her in.
Ray asked if he could help, but the man said he'd take care of it.
That's all Ray knows about it.
He let the man have a wheelchair, then he went in the back room...
to change some linens on the ambulance stretcher.
Any possibility one of the other attendants might have brought her up in the elevator?
No. Collins was the only attendant on duty.
I'd like to talk to him. Is he still around?
Yeah. I knew you'd want to see him. He was off duty 11.30. I held him over.
He's down at the corner having a sandwich.
He ought to be back in a few minutes.
What do you figure, Doctor? Think the woman could have operated the elevator herself?
Possible. Not too probable, though. It's a self-operating elevator, automatic.
Someone could have wheeled the woman into the elevator...
pushed the button for the third floor and then stepped back.
Would have taken her straight up.
The nurse is sure the elevator didn't go back down after it got up here.
Positive. She heard the elevator doors open. They stayed that way.
She kept waiting for someone to come out. That's what attracted her attention.
How about identification?
The woman have a purse with her or anything like that, Doc?
No. All she had was what she was wearing. Nightgown, slippers and bathrobe.
Let's go back and have a look. I'll show you.
Okay. Thank you.
You say the only markings on the body are those abrasions on the shoulder and the forehead.
Yeah. Yeah, that's right.
And you don't think that's why she's dead? Any ideas at all?
I wouldn't want to say, Lockwood. Strange one.
Gonna have to wait for the autopsy.
How about the wheelchair the woman came up in, Doc? Where is it now?
Back here in the same room with the body.
I gave notice it wasn't to be touched. I knew you'd want to check.
Oh, fine. In here.
All right. You smoke in here? Yeah. Sure.
Fine. Want a cigarette?
No, thanks. Bill? No.
Over here on the table.
Nurse put the woman's clothing over there. Nightgown, slippers, bathroom.
I see. Seems to be a fairly young woman.
I'd say in her early 30s. Nice-looking girl.
Well-groomed. Notice her hair and fingernails. Well-kept.
And the bruise there on her head. Took a pretty good blow to cause that, wouldn't you say?
Yeah. Might even be worse than it looks. Hard to say right now.
Other abrasions I was telling you about, right here along the clavicle,
seem to be fairly distinct. Three or four of them.
That's all of them, huh? That's it.
Like I say, we'll know more after they post the body.
Take a look at the clothing over here.
Want to check over the bathrobe, Bill? Yeah.
No label here. Size marking, though. Size 34.
Just an ordinary rayon nightgown. Seems to be fairly new. It's not damaged.
Nothing on the bathrobe, Joe. Both pockets empty. No visible markings.
Manufacturers' label here. Fairly common trade name.
Laundry marks? No, none showing. We can have the crime lab check them over.
How about the slippers? No, it's the same. Nothing.
You fellas want me to notify the coroner? No, we'll get it, Doc.
We have to call in for the crime lab crew anyway.
Looks like a rough one. We don't even know what we've got.
I can't figure it. If somebody murdered the woman, why'd they bring her here to die?
Yeah. If she was sick or hurt and they were worried enough about it to bring her here,
why'd they want to get rid of her? Leave her alone in an elevator.
Yeah. Doesn't make sense. Somebody's got something to hide.
Sure could use a lead. Man puts her on the elevator and sends her up three floors.
Don't know who she is, how she died. Don't even know where she came from.
There's no choice. We'll just start at the beginning. Yeah. Ground floor.
11.52 p.m. The receiving hospital attendant Ray Collins returned,
and we interviewed him in Dr. Terrell's office.
He told us substantially the same thing the doctor had told us.
At a few minutes past 11 o'clock that night, a man entered the lobby of the hospital
and asked for a wheelchair to move a patient up to the third floor.
Collins stated he gave the man the wheelchair.
The man refused his offer of assistance, and Collins went on about his work.
He didn't see the patient, and he didn't see any car parked outside,
and he was able to give us only a partial description of the man himself,
a male Caucasian, about 35 years old, short, heavy-billed, dark hair.
The crew from the crime lab arrived and began their investigation.
The body was photographed and fingerprinted, and the wheelchair was also dusted for prints.
The clothing was packed up to be taken downtown for further examination.
After the men from the crime lab left, Bill Lockwood began a canvas
of the immediate neighborhood for possible witnesses.
Meantime, I checked with the rest of the hospital personnel and the patients.
They could tell me nothing. 12.30 a.m. I met Bill back at Dr. Terrell's office.
How'd you do, Joe? Any luck?
I talked to the nurses and some of the other attendants. They couldn't help any.
Checked with the dispatcher on incoming and outgoing ambulances. Nothing there.
What about you?
No good. Most of the business places around here are locked up.
Talked to the newsboy down at the corner.
He was about the only one on the street. He didn't see anything.
Sure going slow, isn't it? Might give Bergman a call,
see if he's got the woman's prints classified there.
How about the coroner? Show up yet?
Yeah, I think he's in there now.
Yes, ma'am. Give me station 2557.
Yeah, that's right. Layton prints.
Hi. Let me talk to Bergman, please.
Right.
Yeah, Dean, Joe Friday.
No, we're still over at the hospital. You do any good on those prints?
Yeah, that's what we figured. How about her prints?
Okay, Dean, thanks. Yeah, right.
We're still betting a thousand.
What'd he say? They make her prints?
Nothing in record zone. Her dean's gonna send along a set to Washington,
see if they got anything.
How about the wheelchair? Any prints there?
Well, the nurses and Dr. Terrell's, that's all. We figured on that, didn't we?
How's he luck?
Sure is. I checked with missing persons while you were out.
There's nothing there either.
Well, that about finishes up here, huh?
Yeah, we better get back to the office.
Joe?
Yeah, Don?
I think I got something for you here.
Yeah?
Nurse at the switchboard got a call a minute ago.
Man's voice wanted to know the condition of Carla Cheswick.
Mm-hmm.
Nurse checked the list of patients, didn't find anyone by that name.
The man insisted she's here.
The nurse asked him what time the woman was admitted to the hospital.
He told her 11 o'clock tonight.
Yeah.
The man said, I know she's there. I brought her myself.
Along with Dr. Terrell, Bill Lockwood and I went down the hall
and talked to the nurse who'd received the phone call.
She told us that she tried to question the caller
as to his name and his relationship to the alleged patient Carla Cheswick,
but the man refused and hung up.
We put in a call to R&I and asked him to run the name for us.
There was no one by that name in the files.
We went back to the doctor's office and started checking through the telephone directories.
In the northwestern section, we found a listing for a Mrs. Carla Cheswick.
We called the number, but there was no answer.
Then we checked with the office, told them what we had,
and that we were going to follow through on it.
1 18 a.m. It was only a possibility, but it had to be checked out.
Bill Lockwood and I left Georgia Street Receiving Hospital,
got in the car and drove out to the address on North Capitol Avenue.
It was a large apartment house, fairly new.
The name on the mailbox for apartment 18 was Mrs. Carla Cheswick.
We rang, but there was no answer.
We finally had to get the manager to call the number.
We identified ourselves and explained the reason for our visit.
She got a passkey, showed us upstairs to the second floor, and led us in apartment 18.
There was no one there, but there was evidence of a recent party within a matter of hours.
Half-filled cocktail glasses, an empty whiskey bottle,
a glass bowl containing partially-melted ice cubes.
An end table in the corner had been overturned.
In the bedroom, women's clothing was scattered on the floor and on the dressing table.
On the mantel in the living room, there was a picture of a woman.
Did you notice anything unusual about her at that time, Ms. Herbert?
I mean, anything out of the ordinary?
No, don't think so. She'd been drinking some.
I'm pretty sure of that, but that's not unusual for Mrs. Cheswick.
She drinks quite a bit, parties and things, runs around a lot.
Yes, ma'am. You didn't notice anything about her face, no cuts, bruises, anything like that?
No, nothing like that. Why?
You told us she had quite a few men friends.
Do you know any of their names, where they live?
No, can't say to do. She was just one of the tenants.
I didn't try to get acquainted, didn't have much in common with her.
The other tenants didn't either, matter of fact.
She kept pretty much to herself, her and her friends.
Mm-hmm, I see. Now, about this party she had last night, Ms. Herbert,
you say you don't know who was there with her?
No, I'm afraid I don't. When I called her on the phone to ask her to quiet things down,
I heard that one man's voice talking. That's about all, though.
I couldn't tell you who was there.
Well, is there anyone at all that you know that was close to her?
I mean, someone we could talk to about her?
Well, her husband, I suppose. He's the only one close to her I know.
He comes around every month and takes care of the rent.
Kind of a peculiar thing, but I never questioned it.
I figured it's their business, live and let live.
Do you have any idea where we can find the husband, ma'am?
No, I'm not sure. He works at a machine shop out near Glendale.
I have his home address and my rent booked downstairs if you want it.
Yes, ma'am, we'd like to have that if we could.
Would you happen to know how Mrs. Cheswick and her husband got along?
I mean, the separation of theirs, was it friendly or did they still quarrel quite a bit?
No, as far as I know, they got along all right, as long as they didn't have to live together.
Poor Mr. Cheswick, I feel sorry for him. He's going to take it hard.
His wife, I don't know whether to blame or pity her.
She was a terrible disappointment to him.
That so?
I had a long talk with him once, seemed like such a nice man, hard worker.
And his wife, he was so disgusted.
I mean, drinking all the time, going out with different men.
Bitter disappointment. He told me how he felt.
Or did he seem violent on the subject? I mean, did he feel anger toward his wife?
No, just pity. He said he'd rather have her dead than go on the way she was.
We checked through the dead woman's apartment for names and addresses of some of her men friends, but we found nothing.
The crew from the crime lab went over the apartment thoroughly.
The only evidence found were fingerprints on some of the cocktail glasses.
Along with the apartment manager, Mrs. Herbert, we went downstairs and she gave us Mr. Cheswick's home address and also his place of employment.
It was 2.30 a.m. We got to a phone and called Cheswick's home, but the people he was staying with told us that he wasn't there.
He was working the all-night shift at a farm implement factory on Glendale Boulevard.
3.05 a.m. Bill and I drove out to the factory and checked with the night personnel superintendent.
He directed us to the factory repair shop where Cheswick was employed as a welder.
The foreman at the repair shop pointed him out for us.
Cheswick was working on the welding line, a tall, thin man, slight build.
Bill Lockwood and I went back and introduced ourselves.
Yes, sir, Ernie Cheswick. That's my name. What can I do for you?
I'd like to talk to you for a few minutes if we could. It's about your wife.
Carla? What's the matter? Is she in trouble again?
It might be better if we could step outside and talk. It won't take very long.
All right, I got to finish up this little job here if you don't mind waiting.
A couple of pieces of tubing. It won't take a minute.
Sure, you go right ahead.
You might stand back a couple of steps. This thing pops a little.
Okay, thanks.
Not too much oxygen. I have to light it again.
Yeah, that does it.
Don't look at the flames, Joe. They're bad for your eyes.
Yeah, I know.
They're sure on their money, don't they?
Yeah, they seem to. A lot of work.
Finish this thing in here.
Okay, that's got it. Now, what's this about my wife, Sergeant? What's the matter?
We understand you're separated from her, Mr. Cheswick.
Yeah, that's right. About a year ago now.
I finally gave it up as a bad job. It wasn't anything I could do for her.
Nothing anybody could do for her. Hopeless.
Well, when's the last time you saw her?
First of the month. I went by to pay her rent.
Dropped in to say hello, that's all. I stay away as much as I can.
No good bum. That's about all you can do.
Seemed to admit I was even married to her.
Why do you ask, anyway?
Your wife's dead, Mr. Cheswick.
Huh?
Yes, sir. She died late last night. Found her at Georgia Street Receiving Hospital.
Oh. Guess I've been expecting something like that.
I can't feel sorry. Probably the best thing for her.
How did it happen?
Well, we're not sure. I wonder if we could step outside.
It sure would be a lot easier to talk with her.
Yeah, all right.
Fine.
Over here, we can dug out the back way.
Okay.
You say they found her at Georgia Street, huh?
What was it? She in an accident?
It doesn't look like that. We're gonna have to wait for the coroner's report.
What time do you check in at night for work, Mr. Cheswick?
They're supposed to be on the job by 10 o'clock.
I punched in before that tonight. Why?
Routine question.
I suppose the men around the plant will vouch for you.
You checked in at 10 and you've been here ever since?
Yeah, that's right. You're right.
You can ask any of them. What's the pitch?
You think I had something to do with it? Carla getting killed?
Well, we didn't say that, Cheswick. Your wife's dead.
We have to check on all the leads, all the possible suspects.
Well, I don't know how it happened, but I didn't have anything to do with it.
She wasn't why I lived nine years with her.
Lousiest nine years of my life.
Boos, parties, going out all the time.
She wasn't a wife. She didn't know what the word meant.
I understand she'd been running around with different men lately.
Do you happen to know any of them?
No, I don't know. I couldn't care less.
Stupid dame, Sergeant.
That's the easiest way you can let her off.
I tried to make a go of it.
It wasn't any good. I worked for her, tried to give her everything she wanted.
Didn't make any difference. Yeah.
She was a bum. Some of them must be born that way, a bum dame.
I could have killed her. I had reason enough to.
I didn't.
How about your wife's drinking habits?
She do most of it at home, or did she go out to bars?
Always at the bar. Only one place she ever went to.
Place on 8th and Rosewood, right on the corner.
Went there all the time, six, seven nights a week.
She'd hang over the bar all night.
I'd like to put up with that for nine years.
Drinking, going off somewhere on weekends.
How come it lasted that long, Cheswick?
I don't know. I guess I should have had my head examined.
Just a bum. I figured I could change her.
Kept trying. Never worked out.
After the drinking, she'd have these terrific headaches that'd make her sick.
I'd stay home from work and take care of her,
wait on her hand and foot.
She always made promises. Nothing but a liar.
As soon as she got well, she'd start it all over again. Same thing.
Yeah.
Just a bum, a tramp.
No good at all. No good.
A tramp. No good tramp.
Cheswick? Mr. Cheswick, is there anything we can do?
Carla. She's dead.
Carla.
Carla.
When the dead woman's husband, Ernest Cheswick, recovered,
we continued questioning him, but we got nowhere.
Before we left the plant, we checked his time card,
talked to the machine shop foreman and some of the men Cheswick worked with.
We got the same story all along the line.
Cheswick had showed up for work at 9.46 p.m. the night before
and had not left the plant since that time.
4.35 a.m. Bill and I got in the car, drove back to the office
and typed up a 15.7 report for Captain Lorman.
8.30 a.m. Over in the county morgue, the body of Mrs. Cheswick was being posted.
A few minutes past 10 a.m., Bill Lockwood and I drove out to a bar
on the corner of 8th and Rosewood,
the same bar where Ernest Cheswick told us his wife did most of her drinking.
It was a typical neighborhood cocktail lounge in the early morning.
Two customers sipping beer at the far end of the bar.
The manager busy washing glasses and bringing in supplies.
We called him over and identified ourselves.
Popular girl, married old Ernie Cheswick. They're separated now.
Yeah, would you know if she was in here last night?
That's right, she was. Hardly Mrs. Knight. Why?
Would you happen to know about what time she left last night?
8, 8.30, about that.
You might ask that fellow there down there in the bar. He'd know better than me.
Well, how's that?
He left with her.
You are listening to Dragnet,
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November 10th, Thursday, 1014 a.m.
The manager of the cocktail lounge pointed out the man at the end of the bar
who was supposed to have left the place shortly after 8 o'clock the night before
with the dead woman, Carla Cheswick.
Bill Lockwood and I went up to the man, identified ourselves and questioned him briefly.
He appeared tense and highly nervous.
He told us his name was John Gabels, an assistant sales manager for a downtown jewelry concern.
He didn't deny that he was in the bar the night before,
but he refused to admit that he left with Mrs. Cheswick.
He insisted he didn't even know her.
We asked him to account for how he spent his time the night before, but he refused.
We got in the car and drove downtown to the city hall.
While Bill took the suspect to the interrogation room,
I stopped by the R&I counter and had to make a run on Gabels.
He had no previous criminal record.
I called the morgue, but there was no report on the autopsy yet.
1052 a.m. I signed in at the office, briefed Captain Lorman on the developments,
and then I headed down the hall for the interrogation room.
We had a couple of drinks together, and that's all there was to it.
You can ask anybody who was there. She got up and left by herself. I didn't go with her.
And Joe?
Yeah?
Gabels here was just telling me he did see Mrs. Cheswick in the bar last night,
had a couple of drinks with her.
Why'd you hold out, Gabels? Why couldn't you tell us that when we asked you?
I didn't remember then. You came up to me in the bar, started asking questions, I got all rattled.
Mm-hmm.
It didn't make any difference, though. I didn't even know her name.
Just had those couple of drinks with her, and then she got up and left.
That's all. I didn't go out with her.
The bartender says you did. He's sure of it.
Says he can get half a dozen other people to back him up.
He's wrong. He's got to be. He's thinking of somebody else.
Well, if you didn't leave the bar with Mrs. Cheswick, when did you leave?
I don't know. About five or ten minutes later, I guess.
Where'd you go then?
I walked around a little bit, got a little fresh air.
Mm-hmm.
And I went to a show.
Which one?
I don't remember the name of the place. It's in Rosewood, a couple of blocks down from the bar.
What picture did you see?
I'm not sure. I had a couple of drinks.
You went to the movies. You don't even know what you saw.
I told you I had a couple of drinks. I'm feeling pretty good. I just don't remember that, so...
Not much of an alibi, Gables.
What are you talking about? I don't need an alibi.
A woman's dead, mister. You were with her the last time she was seen alive.
I wasn't with her. I don't care what anybody tells you. I wasn't with her.
This movie you say you went to, what time did you get out?
After midnight, I think. I don't remember.
Where'd you go after that?
Bar. Had a few more drinks. Then I went back to my hotel.
Which bar was that?
Place on West Seventh. I go there sometimes. I know the bartender.
What time did you leave there?
Closing time. Two o'clock. And then I went back to my hotel.
You say you know the bartender there. I guess he'd be glad to vouch for you.
I mean, that you were there when you said you were.
I don't know. Maybe not. He was pretty busy last night. Maybe didn't notice me.
How about your hotel? Huh?
The desk clerk. Somebody like that.
They should be able to tell what time you got in, don't you think?
They wouldn't know. I always carry my key with me. I go in the side door.
They wouldn't know what time I got in.
What are you trying to sell, mister?
What are you talking about?
You knocked around town from eight o'clock last night till past two o'clock this morning.
You can't think of anyone that could vouch for you, where you were, what time you got there, what time you left.
I can't think of anybody right now.
I don't take down names and addresses every time somebody looks at me.
What's the difference, anyway? I didn't have anything to do with a girl.
This difference, Gables. The attendant at the hospital, he got a good look at the man who came in and asked for that wheelchair.
He gave us a man's description. It fits you pretty close.
So what? It doesn't mean anything. He could make a mistake, too, just like that bartender.
They're all wrong but you. Is that what you're trying to say?
Look, as far as I'm concerned, I only got one thing to say.
I had a couple of drinks with Carla last night, and that's all.
She left by herself. I didn't even go near the apartment.
How'd you know she had an apartment?
Well, you told me. You said so.
No, we didn't say anything like that.
Then I guess I heard it around the bar. Maybe she mentioned to me.
Yeah, that's probably it.
Why don't you come off it, Gables?
Come off what? I don't even know what you're getting at.
We want a straight story, and we're not getting it.
You told us you didn't even know the Cheswick woman before last night. You didn't even know her name.
That's right.
Then why'd you say Carla just a minute ago? You said I had a couple of drinks with Carla.
I say that?
That's what you're saying.
Maybe I just haven't remembered. I was drinking quite a bit, talking to her. Maybe I just remembered it.
Won't do, Gables. Story doesn't hold water. How about it?
I don't know. I was drinking quite a bit. A lot of things I don't remember.
How about giving it to us straight? What do you remember?
I thought about it. Thought about it all night.
The more I went over it, the worse it got. I just couldn't remember.
I knew what it would sound like in court. I couldn't tell it that way.
You couldn't tell what?
I didn't kill her. I didn't even touch her. You gotta believe that.
I left the bar with her about 8.15, 8.30.
She invited me up to her apartment. She was pretty well gone. Had quite a few drinks.
We got there, had some more to drink, and then Carla got up and started for the kitchen to get some more ice.
She tripped, I think, stumbled a little bit, and then she fell down.
I think that's the way it was.
All right, go on.
She tried to get up, and then she fell again.
Wasn't a bad fall, though. I figured she'd just passed out.
Got some cold towels, ice, water. I tried to bring her around. It wasn't any good.
She was white as a sheet. I got scared. I didn't know what happened.
What'd you do then?
I don't remember. I just kept trying to bring her around.
I don't remember any of it very well. I don't even know why she fell down.
You think you could have hit her, Gables? You think maybe that's why she fell down?
No. I don't know. I don't think so. I don't think I was mad at her for anything.
I think we were having a pretty good time. I just don't remember, that's all.
I'm not sure about any of it. Lousy booze, no good at all.
Did you kill her, Gables?
No, Sergeant. I swear it. As far as I can remember, I didn't.
We were having a good time. That's all I know. I know I wasn't mad.
I'm not a nasty drunk, not as far as I can remember, anyway.
What'd you do when you couldn't revive Mrs. Cheswick? You brought her to the hospital?
Yeah, the shape I was in, I couldn't figure anything else to do.
I got her in the car, drove her down to Georgia Street, put her in the elevator,
pressed the button and sent her up.
I'm a married man, you know. I didn't want any scandal. I didn't want to get involved.
You didn't kill her. Is that what you want us to believe?
I don't know what to tell you. I don't remember.
If I killed her, I think I'd know it. I'm sure I would. I just don't remember.
I'll get it.
Interrogation room, Friday talking. Yeah, Arthur.
That's so. Just a second.
All right, I got a pencil now. Go ahead.
Are you sure? How was that?
I see. No possibility, huh?
Yeah, I see. OK, Arthur, thanks a lot.
Yeah, sure, we'll pick it up later. Bye.
Yeah, Jim?
Coroner's report just finished the autopsy. It's all right, Gables.
It's all right. It's all cleared up.
What do you mean? Well, you're free to go if you like. We're not going to hold you.
What's the pitch, Joe? Coroner's report.
Primary cause of death was a massive cerebral hemorrhage, hemorrhage into the ventricle.
Could have been a blow on the head, couldn't it? You figure that could have done it?
No. Secondary cause was a brain tumor, a big one.
Coroner says she's had it for years. It must have caused her a lot of pain.
Probably would have counted for the drinking.
And the tumor wrote on the hemorrhage. That's what's killed her.
What's in? Coroner says erosion of the blood vessel by brain tumor
probably grew, caused pressure on the blood vessel, finally gave way, caused a hemorrhage, and that killed her.
And she just died. I didn't have anything to do with it. She died and I didn't kill her.
Yes, sir, that's right. You're free to go if you want.
Thank God. You know, officers, I'll tell you the truth.
I didn't know the answer. I didn't know if I killed her or not. I really didn't.
Drinking so much, I came to, and there she was dead. I didn't know what happened. I really didn't.
I didn't know the answer.
Well, you went up on us, Gables. We thought we did.
The story you have just heard was true. The names were changed to protect the innocent.
On Thursday, November 10th, the meeting was held in the office of Captain of Homicide.
In a moment, the results of that meeting.
And now here is our star, Jack Webb.
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With the filing of the official autopsy report by the county coroner, John Gabels was cleared of all charges.
He was released from custody immediately.
The death of Mrs. Carla Cheswick was listed as due to natural causes by the coroner's jury.
Ladies and gentlemen, last year's traffic death toll was 37,500, a 7% increase over 1950.
The National Safety Council believes that the best way to promote safety on the road is for each of us to know and obey traffic laws, to read and heed traffic signs.
So be careful. The life you save may be your own.
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.
Technical advisors, Captain Jack Donahoe, Sergeant Marty Wynn, Sergeant Vance Brasher,
heard tonight were Martin Milner, Big Perrin and Gwen Delano.
Script by Jim Moser. Music by Walter Schuman, Hal Gibney speaking.
Fatima cigarettes, best of all, king-size cigarettes, has brought you Dragnet, transcribed from Los Angeles.
Now it's Counterspy on NBC.