Ladies and gentlemen, the story you are about to hear is true.
The names have been changed to protect the innocent.
Fatima cigarettes, king size, extra mild and soothing, brings you dragnet on both radio
and television.
You're a detective sergeant.
You're assigned to homicide division.
You get a call that the body of a dead man has been found in a vacant lot.
The man has been beaten to 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, February 6th.
It was cold in Los Angeles.
We were working the day watch out a homicide division.
My partner is Frank Smith.
The boss is Captain Warman.
My name is Friday.
It was 10, 14 a.m. when I got to room 42.
Homicide.
Frank?
In here, Joe.
Right.
Hi.
Morning, Skipper.
I heard that you ran into a bad one out there on Fountain.
Yeah, we did.
Must have been quite a fight out there.
The victim's clothes were pretty well torn up.
The ground around the body was all trampled.
I wonder if we could tell that much.
How do you mean?
Well, the body was found by a couple of school girls.
A vacant lot out there near Fountain and Selma.
Girls took a shortcut through the lot.
When they saw the body, they let out enough screams to get the whole neighborhood over
there.
Mother put on the call.
By the time the radio unit got there, the neighborhood had walked over the whole area.
They got the people back right away, but most of the physical evidence that there was any
had been trampled out.
That helps.
Any of those people see or hear anything?
No, nothing.
How was he killed?
We found a big piece of concrete near the body, blood stains on it.
The crime lab's checking it now.
Did they find anything else?
No, they're still checking the scene.
Lee's going to call.
The crowd may have took a mess out of the place.
A lot of houses around there.
Somebody must have heard something.
Well, we talked to a young girl who lives a couple of doors down from the lot.
Seems she and her boyfriend were coming home from a show.
Said about 9, 45, 10 o'clock, they noticed a car parked in front of the lot.
Girl said they noticed right away.
I'm afraid it might be some guys out to cause trouble.
She told us that when she and her boyfriend walked by, they heard loud talking, men arguing.
Mm-hmm.
Did you describe the car?
Just said it was a dark sedan, late model, 51 or 52.
We checked the boyfriend.
He told about the same story.
He said he thought the car was a dark blue Ford.
Mm-hmm.
Well, anyway, the girl said she got scared and went right into the house.
A few minutes later, they heard a car tear by.
They looked up the street and the parked car was gone.
This was around 10 o'clock.
Yeah, that's right.
That might make it about the time of the killing.
Well, we'll know better when the body's posted.
The girl or her boyfriend able to describe the men?
No, soapskipper.
All they could tell us were they looked like there were two men in the car.
Said they couldn't get a good look at them.
License number?
No.
They were just taking it down, but he didn't.
Tough break.
Hanson and Cummings helped check the neighborhood.
They didn't do any better.
Seems like everybody in the vicinity was away for the evening.
Oh, McConaugh, Frank.
Hanson just brought this in.
Guy's wallet stuffed in his pocket.
Let's take a look.
Driver's license.
Name's John Allen Iverson.
Address, been scratched.
Oh, here it is on the back.
Had to change.
6295 North Sereno Avenue.
Height, 5'9".
Born October 2nd, 23.
Make it 28, huh?
That's right.
Weight, 136.
Eyes, hazel, brown hair.
Well, that's a good one.
What else is in here?
Calendar from an oil company.
Blank check.
Picture of a puppy.
Dalmatian, huh?
Looks like it in there.
Picture of a woman.
Let's see that.
Here, wait a minute.
Here's a card.
Case of accident, please notify Mrs. Alfred Iverson.
Mother, 6295 Sereno Avenue, Hollywood 98844.
How are we her pictures?
She been notified yet?
No, not yet.
Cheese, corn, cheese, corn, cheese, corn, cheese, corn, cheese, corn, cheese, corn,
corn, corn, cheese, corn, cheese, corn, corn, corn, corn, corn, corn, corn, corn, corn, corn,
corn, cheese, corn, corn, cheese, corn, cheese, corn, cheese, corn, cheese, corn, corn, corn,
cheese, corn, cheese, corn.
Cheese, corn,
cheese, corn, cheese, corn, cheese, corn, corn, cheese, corn, cheese, corn, cheese, corn
Compared to me.
Let me see that.
Laird's teared up.
It's coming down.
It's coming right down.
Can you tell much?
Not much.
Cheeks.
Teeth.
Jeez.
titties.
Cheese.
T doubled to the point.
Taffy together.
Cheese.
T Arabia and you died.
Oh floating did.
lying on the floor with a
Ten fifty a.m. We called Lee Jones to see if he'd been able to come up with any new information.
He told us that besides the piece of cement, his crew had been able to find little other
physical evidence. Tests of the blood found on the concrete were not finished, but Lee
said that it looked like a murder weapon. Although the ground around the body was fairly
soft, the people in the neighborhood effectively obliterated any footprints that the killer
might have left. We were faced with the old problem. The average citizen, in an attempt
to be helpful, had unknowingly destroyed what physical evidence we might have found. We
went by R&I and checked the name John Allen Iverson without result. Eleven thirty-five
a.m. Frank and I signed out and drove to the address listed on Iverson's driver's license,
6295 North Serrano Avenue. It was a small frame cottage set well back on the lot. The
yard was well kept and as we climbed the front stairs, we could hear a dog barking in the
rear of the house. We rang the bell and the lady in her middle sixties answered the door.
It was the woman in the picture that we found in Iverson's wallet. Yes? Mrs. Iverson? Yes?
Police officers, ma'am. Like to talk to you if we could? Of course. Won't you come in?
Thank you very much. You'll have to excuse the way I look. I was in the middle of baking.
What was it you wanted, officer? I'm sorry. I don't remember your name. Joe Friday, ma'am.
This is my partner, Frank Smith. How do you? Is it about the dog barking at night? We've
tried to keep him quiet, alarm clock, hot water bottles, everything. He's just a puppy
though, officers. He doesn't know. No, ma'am. It's not about the dog. It's about your boy.
What's he done? Well, he's had an accident, Mrs. Iverson. An accident? John? Yes, ma'am.
Hear you? Yes, ma'am. Pretty sure. You're sure it's my boy, John Allen Iverson? Yes,
ma'am. It's your boy. He's in the hospital. Is that it? No, ma'am. He's not in the hospital.
Not in the hospital? He's dead? Yes, ma'am. I'm sorry. John, John Allen Iverson, you're
sure? Yes, ma'am. We're sure. Oh, no. What can be? How will that be? John, my baby. You've
got to be wrong. No, I'm sorry, ma'am. John, John dead. Gone away from me. For all I've
done. Why? Why does it have to be John? Why? It's always the same question, isn't it? Yeah.
How do you answer it? Frank put in a call to Mrs. Iverson's doctor. Five minutes later,
he arrived and gave her a sedative. We asked if we could talk to her, and he told us that
it'd be all right if we kept the questioning brief. He explained that Mr. Iverson, John's
father had died two years before and that his passing had hit Mrs. Iverson pretty hard.
He said that it'd be a few minutes before the sedative took full effect and that we
might talk to the woman until then. Frank and I walked into the bedroom. I hope you'll
forgive me for crying. Yes, ma'am. We understand, Mrs. Iverson. There are a few questions we'd
like to ask you. How did it happen? Auto access? No, ma'am. He was murdered. Murdered? Why?
Who did it? Have you caught him yet? No, not yet, ma'am. That's why we need your help.
Is there anything I can do? Anything at all? John was murdered. That's impossible. So hard
to believe. Yes, ma'am. Was there anyone you might know who didn't like your son, someone
who might have hated him enough to do this? No one. No one at all. John had a lot of friends.
Wasn't anybody who didn't like him bright and cheery, always smiling. I'm sorry. Please.
I want to help get this over with. Go ahead with the questions. I hope you're all right,
ma'am. You like my ink, don't you? Oh, thank you. Now, what was it you were asking? Could
you tell us where your son worked? Airplane factory out in the valley. He was an inspector.
He's got a promotion, a raise. He was so proud. First rung of the ladder, he said, on his
way up. What factory did he work at, ma'am? Websters. They make parts. John worked the
morning shift, midnight to seven in the morning. Said there was a better chance for advancement
on the morning shift. How about girls, ma'am? Anyone special your son saw quite a bit of?
Well, just Alice. Alice Johnson saw her quite a bit. He was going to see her last night,
had a date for 6.30. When did he leave the house, do you recall? Oh, 6.15 or so. Alice
just lived a few doors down the street. John was going to take her to a championship match
over in Burbank. Ma'am? Billiards. Oh. John loved to play billiards. Alice liked it, too.
John always said that when he got married, he's going to have a table right in the house.
Do you happen to remember where in Burbank this billiard mattress was going to be held?
I'm not sure, but I think John said at George's place, right on Burbank Boulevard. Do you
know if your son had a large amount of money with him when he left? Well, he had his week
to pay with him. He just cashed his check this afternoon, and then he gave me the $30
for the house. He had the rest of it. About how much would that be? Oh, maybe $40, $45.
How about jewelry, ma'am? Do you carry any rings, anything like that? No, John didn't
believe in wearing rings. Said he'd do that when he got married. There was his watch.
He had that. Breast watch, ma'am? Yes, he always carried it. Kept perfect time. Does
your son have a car, ma'am? Yes, a Ford. 1951 Ford. What color do you know? Dark blue.
Pretty car. He was so proud of it. I wonder if you'd have the license number of the car,
ma'am. Yes, I think you'll find it with the phone book in the bureau. He keeps... He kept
all his papers there. I wonder if it'd be all right if we got it, ma'am. Yes, all right.
That's it, ma'am. Yes, that's it. I still can't believe it. Yes, ma'am. It's gonna be a hard
thing to get used to, isn't it? Ma'am? Life without a son.
12.40 p.m. Frank and I drove back to the office and checked the license number we'd gotten
through DMV. The car was registered to a John Allen Iverson, 6295 North Serrano Avenue,
legal owner, Bank of America. A local and an all-points bulletin were gotten out on the
car, all occupants to be held for investigation. In the event the car was found abandoned,
a stakeout was to be placed on it and homicide was to be notified. We checked the name Alice
Johnstone through R&I, but there was no record on it. 1.50 p.m. Frank and I drove out to
her place of employment, an unpainted furniture factory on Ventura Boulevard. We questioned
the girl for a good hour and she explained that John Iverson was usually on time for
his dates with her, but the previous night he'd called to say that he'd be a little
late. He called several more times and finally said that he was afraid they'd better cancel
the date and that he'd call for her in the morning. She told us that she could think
of no reason for anyone to be jealous of her spending so much time with Iverson, that he
was the only date that she'd had for over a year. She gave us names and addresses of mutual
friends to add to the list we already had to check out. 3.05 p.m. Frank and I went for
something to eat. Is that all you're gonna eat, Frank? Just that little salad? Yeah,
Elizabeth's got the idea to cut down on my lunches. She said I'm getting too heavy around
the middle. That's too bad. Chili was good. Yeah, it looks good. Pretty spicy, wasn't it?
No, no, just right. A lot of beef. Uh-huh. Joe? Yeah? You think I'm getting too fat?
No, you don't look it to me. When a man gets in his 30s, he's supposed to look a little
portly, isn't he? Well, I don't know, Frank. You couldn't prove it by me. I always heard
so. My father was pretty heavy. That has a lot to do with it. Is that so? Well, sure,
you know, it's heredity, that stuff. A lot of beef, huh? Now look, Frank, why don't you
have a bowl of the chili? It doesn't look like it's got too many calories, does it? No,
it doesn't, does it? Miss? Oh, Miss, could I have a bowl of that chili? Some of that coconut
cream pie, too. Thanks. Yeah, right away. What do you figure, Joe, about the Iverson?
You know, I can't figure it. If we could just come up with a motive, it might be easier
to give us some place to start. Yeah. Young kid. Seems everybody liked him. It looks that
way. I've been thinking about that robbery angle. His mother said he left the house with
about $45, didn't he? Now we find him and he's only got 13 of it left. Where'd the rest
go? And that watch, if anybody was going to hold them up, they'd take the watch. They
could have gotten something for it. Bigger revenge? Jealousy? I don't know. The girl said
there wasn't any reason for that. Look, as soon as you finish your lunch, let's check
the place he worked. The guys he worked with, maybe they can give us the answer. Been done
before. Yeah. Iverson. He just got a raise and a promotion. Maybe somebody thought they
should have got it. Before we left the lunch room, we called the list of names in the R&I.
432 PM. Frank and I drove out to the aircraft plant where John Iverson had been employed.
We checked with the foreman of the shop, the men he worked with, the personnel office,
everyone he came in contact with during the day's work. They all gave us the same answer,
that they could see no reason why anyone would want to take his life. 456 PM. The list of
names we'd given R&I had come back with no make. None of the names had any criminal record.
We called the county morgue and found that the coroner had posted the body and that the
cause of death was listed as a subarachnoid hemorrhage due to multiple depressed fractures
of the skull. Lee Jones had finished the test and was able to tell us that the piece of
concrete found at the scene was more than likely the murder weapon. 615 PM. Frank and
I drove over to Burbank to George's Pool and Snooker Hall. It was a big place with a lot
of neon over the entrance. Inside there were about 10 tables with a row of theater chairs
on each side of the large room. Just off the entrance was a small bar. Except for a man
brushing off the tables, the place was empty. Hi, what'll it be? Pool, billiards, or Snooker?
You the manager here? No, I'm not. I kind of run the place though when he's not here.
Something I can do? We're police officers. My name is Friday. This is my partner, Frank
Smith. How do. I'm Sam Howard. Were you on duty here last night, Mr. Howard? Yeah, until
about midnight. I leave then. Sometimes when George asks me, I stay on. But I usually shove
off about midnight. Why anything wrong? I can get George on the phone. You know a man by
the name of Iverson, John Iverson. You ever see him around here? Iverson? There's an awful
lot of guys come in here. Hard to tell. What's he look like? He's 5'9", about 136 pounds.
He's brown hair, likes to play billiards, I understand. John, I think I know who you
mean. Never knew his last name before, but he comes in here quite a bit, always plays
billiards, three cushion. You see him last night? An awful lot of people here last night.
Had a match, pretty crowded. What was he in here last night? Well, yeah, came in, watched
the match for a while, then he sat up at the bar, had a couple of beers. Was he drinking
with anybody? Let me think. Yeah, he and another guy were talking it up. The other guy was
popping for the drinks. You know the other man? No, sir, don't think I ever saw him before.
About what time was that? Gee, it's hard to say. I was pretty busy. It's important, Mr.
Howard. Like that, huh? Well, I'd say it was seven o'clock, maybe 7.30. Johnny came in
first, he watched the matches for a while, then when this other guy came in, they both
moved to the bar. Stayed there talking until about 9.30, 9.45, then they walked out together.
They were together all evening then? Yeah, near as I can tell. What did this other man
look like? Let me think. I'd say he was maybe 36, 37, had kind of dark hair. How tall would
you say he was? About your height, 5'10 or 11'. Had on a plaid sport jacket. I noticed
that because I'd been looking for one like it. You know, sort of Glen plaid, only with
more color. Not exactly loud. What color was the jacket? Blue, real rich blue. Must have
cost a fellow a lot. During the conversation, did Iverson and this other man seem to get
along all right? Oh, yeah, even when the fellow lost the bet. What bet? Yeah, they had a bet
on a match. The other guy lost and he had to pay Johnny 10 bucks. Didn't have the cash,
had to cash a check. You cash it here? Yeah, it was a payroll check. George doesn't like
it when we cash personal checks. If they bounce, we have to stand the laws. Think we could
locate that check, Mr. Howard? Do you happen to remember the company name on it? No, not
right off. I can get it for you, sir. Oh, George wasn't feeling too well today, so he
didn't get to the bank. Check's still in the safe. The check was issued from the Kimberly
Insurance Company and made out to Martin G. Weber. The endorsement was made by Weber
with a notation of his address under the signature. We called the office and had the name run
through RNI. There was no record on him. According to the information we'd gotten from Sam
Howard, the last time the victim was seen alive at 9.45 p.m., he was in the company
of Martin Weber. Frank and I got in the car and drove out to the Kimberly Insurance Company.
It was a large building on San Fernando Road. The employees were leaving the building when
Frank and I got to the office of the general manager. We asked him about Weber and he told
us that he'd been with the firm for the past 10 years, starting as a runner on the floor
and rising to the position of office manager. He told us further that in his entire 10 years
of service, Weber had never been late or missed a day's work. However, on that particular
morning he hadn't shown up at all. We called our office and arranged for a stakeout on
the building of the insurance company. Frank and I drove out to Weber's home, a modern
apartment house in the North Hollywood area. We rang the bell but there was no answer.
We checked with the landlord and he told us that he hadn't seen Weber the night before.
In the company of the manager, we checked Weber's apartment. He was not there and from
what we could see, the bed had not been slept in. In further checking, the manager was able
to give us the name and address of Weber's sister, Mrs. Madge Wilson. We arranged for
a stakeout on the apartment. 9.20 p.m. Frank and I drove over to check with his sister.
Yes?
Mrs. Wilson?
That's right.
Police officers, Mrs. Wilson, like to talk to you. My name's Friday. This is my partner,
Frank Smith.
Come in. But I thought all this had been cleared up.
Ma'am?
Well, you hear about my brother, Martin, aren't you?
Well, yes, ma'am. I don't think I understand.
Neither do I. It seems to me that you'd spend your time trying to find out why the man did
it instead of bothering us. My husband won't like this at all. We're taxpayers. We've got
right.
Just a minute, ma'am. I think maybe there's a misunderstanding.
Nothing of the sort. You're here to talk about Martin, aren't you?
Yes, ma'am.
No misunderstanding at all. He had an accident. It's up to you to take care of the man who
did it. Put him in jail for a long time.
I'm sorry, Mrs. Wilson. I'm not sure we know what you're talking about.
Well, this is the limit. My poor husband spends practically the whole night filling out forms
and you didn't even take time to read them. I'm talking about Martin's accident. The man
who ran him down last night, put him in the hospital, broke his leg. That's what I'm talking
about. I've got two kids upstairs with bad colds and I haven't got time to stand around
and talk to you. If there's anything else you want to know, you can talk to my husband.
He'll tell you.
Did you know that your father was run down by a car last night, ma'am?
Yes. Last night.
And he's in the hospital now?
Yes. Yes. Yes.
Now, look, we're only trying to conduct an investigation, ma'am. Could you tell us what
time this accident happened and where?
All right. It's on the report if you'd only read it.
Yes, ma'am.
Martin was on his way home last night. He stepped off the curb out on Burbank Boulevard
and this car came right around the corner and hit him. Broke his leg. Sent him to the
hospital. He's been there ever since. He's there now.
What time did this happen, ma'am? Do you know?
Sure, I know. It was 9.45.
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When we explained about John Iverson's death to Mrs. Wilson, she was extremely apologetic
about the way she'd acted. She went on to say that her brother did have an appointment
with Iverson the night before. We put in a call to Sergeant Erbson of the Accident Record
Bureau downtown, and he told us that there was a traffic accident report which listed
the time of the accident at 946, corroborating the story given us by Mrs. Wilson. Weber had
been given emergency treatment at Georgia Street and then transferred to General Hospital.
From what Sam Howard had told us, we knew that Iverson had been alive at approximately
945 p.m. The deputy coroner's fixed the time of death at approximately 10 or 1030 p.m.
The fact that Martin Weber had been run down by a car at 946 p.m. seemed to absolve him
of any part in the crime. The stakeouts at his place of business and his home were removed.
Frank and I drove over to General Hospital to interview Martin Weber. His leg was in
traction but he seemed to be in good spirits. If I was on my way home, just stepped off
the curb to catch a bus, next thing I know I looked up right into a pair of headlights.
Almost scared me to death. And wham-o, I was on the street, my leg broken. Oh, I'm covered.
The whole thing won't cost me a cent. Yes, sir. We were talking to Sam Howard over at
Georgia's billiard hall. He said you were there with John Iverson last night, that right?
Yeah, that's right. I had a talk with old John. I had a big business deal trying to
sell him some insurance. Oh, I didn't know you were salesman, Mr. Weber. Well, I'm not
really office manager. I don't like the job. Figured if I could bring in a good sale, the
boss might let me have a crack at selling. Well, did Iverson give you any indication
that he wanted any insurance? Well, not right off. He's always been worried about his mother,
though. You know, if anything should happen to him. Anyway, a couple of days ago, one
of the press men out at the plant where John works was killed, accident. I thought this
might be a good chance to try to sell John some coverage, you know, life. Leave his mother
a little something. Yes, sir. Well, old John wasn't an easy one, let me tell you. Told
me he wasn't completely sold on insurance yet and then he said he'd leave it up to the
billiard match. Sir, if the championship changed hands and John would buy some insurance. If
it didn't, I had to pay him 10 bucks. I lost. Had to cash my paycheck to do it, too. And
those are the breaks. I want to lose a sale and get hit by a car. So what's this all about?
Anyway, why all the questions about old John? Well, he was killed last night, Mr. Weber.
Killed? What do you mean? He was murdered. How did it happen? That's what we're trying
to find out, sir. While you were at the bar with Iverson, did you see him talk to anybody,
anyone besides you? No, he made a couple of phone calls. Said they were to his girlfriend,
but that's about all. Oh, wait a minute. Yeah? We got outside the bar, there were a couple
of guys that came up and talked to him. Had these men been in the bar? Yeah, come to think
of it, they were sitting right next to us. When I had to cash that check, I didn't have
a pen to endorse it and one of the guys gave me his to use. You ever seen them before?
No, I don't think I ever did. Can you describe the men, Mr. Weber, what they looked like?
I didn't pay much attention to them. One of the fellows was a big guy, maybe six feet
or more, a couple of hundred pounds anyway. How old would you say? Well, maybe 37, around
there. I'd know him if I saw him again. Well, how's that, sir? The scar, he had a scar right
across here on his forehead, made him look like he was frowning all the time. How about
the other man? I'm afraid I can't be of much help there. He was short, five, five or six,
heavy, 180 more or less. I think he was wearing a flannel suit. I can't be sure about that.
You saw these men out on the sidewalk with Iverson right after you left the bar, is that
right? Yeah. After I told John good night, I walked over to the corner, I saw these two
fellows come up to John and from what I could hear, they were asking for a lift someplace.
Did you give them a ride? No, I saw my bus come and made a run for it. Is there anything
else you can tell us about these men that might help? Anything at all? Any little thing
you might remember? Gee, now that I can remember, I didn't really pay a lot of attention to
them, just a couple of guys sitting next to us. One of them lent me his pen. Well, how
about the pen? Any initials on it? No, it was the tall guy, the one with the scar, he
loaned it to me. It was one of those plastic things, you know, with the figure that disappears
when you turn upside down. I know the kind of thing. I noticed it because I thought
it was kind of cute. Anyway, it was put out by a Venetian blind company. It had the name
right on it. Can you remember the name? Let me see. Rogers, Rogers Blind Company. All
right, fine. Here's our card. If you remember anything else, we'd appreciate a call. Sure
thing. Say, you fellas going out to Rogers? Yes, sir. I kind of hate to ask. Yes, sir.
Can you pick up one of those pens for me? 11.35 p.m. We called the office and they told
us that Iverson's car had been found abandoned up on Wonderland Drive in Laurel Canyon,
was taken to the police garage and impounded. The crime lab had gone over the car for fingerprints
and in eliminating the prints of the people known to have been in the car and friends
of Iverson, they'd come up with one unidentified print. As remote as it was, the lead about
the pen had to be checked out. We called the Rogers Blind Company and the night watchman
gave us the home phone number of the personnel manager. We called him and he agreed to meet
us at the plant. We gave him the description of the man who had talked to Iverson outside
of the bar and he was able to identify him as a Peter Standish, a former salesman with
the company. He recognized Standish from the description of the scar, but he was unable
to tell us the name of the other man. The personnel manager furnished us with Standish's
last known address, but he'd moved and left no forwarding address. Frank and I went back
to the office and ran the name through R&I. Standish had a record of two arrests on suspicion
of 211 PC, one of them only a month before. Sergeants Hanson and Cummings drove out to
the general hospital to show a mugshot of Standish to Martin Weber. He positively identified
the suspect as the man he'd seen talking to Iverson on the night of the murder. We checked
with Dean Bergman and Leighton Prince. The fingerprint found in the car matched perfectly
with the prints of Standish. Frank and I drove out to the last address on the suspect's arrest
report. The manager of the apartment told us that he'd gone out a few minutes before.
He told us that there was another man living in the apartment with Standish and the description
she gave tallied closely with the one we had of the man seen with Standish in the bar the
night of the murder. She informed us that he was registered under the name of Charles Teal.
In the company of the manager, we made a search of the suspect's apartment, but we found nothing.
We asked the manager not to give any indication that we were in the apartment. She agreed
to cooperate. We settled down to wait. An hour went by, an hour and a half, two hours.
Well, I'm getting tired of it, Teal. Every night the same thing dragging you out of some
crummy bar. If you don't knock it off, I'm going to get myself another boy. Not only
that, but I'm getting sick of... All right, let's hold it right there, sir.
Cops, lousy cops, Frank. All right, hold it, mister. Hold still. Fuzz, crummy fuzz. I had
to walk right into it. How's the other one, Frank?
He's out. Want to shoot him down?
Yeah. What do you want with me, cop? I done nothing. You got nothing to hold me for? He's
clean, Joe. So is the other one. We got plenty, Standish. Let's go.
What you got on me? Murder, mister.
Murder me? You're crazy. You're off your rocker.
Yeah, sure. All right, Frank. I'm getting him up. Come on, boy.
I told you, Standish. I told you they'd get him.
Shut up, Joe. All right, let's hold it right there, mister. Don't make any more problems.
It was him. He did it. I didn't want to. It was his idea. I'll tell you all about it.
Should have known not to trust you, Teal. Look what you got me into.
We only wanted his money. He wouldn't give it to us. Standish kept trying to hit him with
that piece of cement. I tried to make him stop.
He didn't try to stop me splitting the dough. He got more than half.
Don't worry about it. What do you mean you split this one even?
The other thing he should have done the same way he did it. He stepped out, the crystal
one.
And then he did it again.
All right, sir.
has always stood for quality. That same Fatima quality is the reason why king-size Fatima
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Peter James Standish and Charles Edward Teale were tried and convicted of robbery and murder
in the first degree. They were sentenced to life imprisonment. They're now serving their
term in the state penitentiary, San Quentin, California.
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 Ken Patterson, Gwen Delano, Jack Crushen. Script by John Robinson. Music by Walter
Schuman. Hell, give me speaking. King-size Fatima has brought you Dragnet, transcribed
for you. Friday, hear the Mario Lanza show over NBC.