The story you are about to hear is true.
The names have been changed to protect the innocent.
You're a detective sergeant.
You're assigned a homicide detail.
A man has been shot in a cheap hotel in the downtown area.
There's no apparent motive for the attack.
No lead to the identity of the assailant.
Your job, find him.
It was Tuesday, January 11th.
It was cold in Los Angeles.
We were working the day watch out on homicide detail.
My partner is Frank Smith.
The boss is Captain Warman.
My name is Friday.
I was on my way into the office and it was 5.26 a.m. when I got to room 42.
Homicide.
Yeah.
We just got through the hospital.
Mm-hmm.
Well, he's on the way in.
That's right.
Wait a minute.
Yeah, here he is now.
Uh-huh.
No, I haven't called him yet.
Well, I didn't say anything.
Okay, we'll keep in touch with him.
Right.
Bye.
What do you got, anything?
Yeah, shooting over on 5th.
Soon as I check the crime lab, we can roll on.
Who's the victim?
A guy named Arthur McNeil.
WMA, 62 years.
Is he saying anything?
No, he ran out.
Six bullets in his head.
The Garnet Hotel was located on 5th Street between Turner and Banning.
It was an old run-down building.
A wooden sign over the entrance advertised room, 75 cents per night, weekly rates available.
Frank and I climbed one flight of wooden stairs that led to the lobby.
By the time we'd gotten there, two black and white cars had arrived and the uniformed officers
were attempting to restore some sort of order in the place.
We talked with them briefly and then we met Mr. Ted Brindle, the night Arthur placed the
original call.
I know what's going on, I tell you.
No reason for me to try to hide nothing.
I ain't mixed up in it.
We didn't say you were.
What?
I say we didn't say you were involved.
We just want to find out what happened here.
Oh, come on in the office.
Can't hear a word you're saying.
Come on.
Come on, talk in the office.
Now then, tell me, can you hear yourself talking?
I can hear you.
I can hear you.
I can hear you.
I can hear you.
I can hear you.
I can hear you.
I can hear you.
I can hear you.
I can hear you.
Now then, tell me, can you hear yourself talk?
Sit down.
Thank you.
Just throw the clothes on the floor, toss them down, take a seat.
Yes, sir.
Yes, sir.
Now about the shooting.
I was just finishing up and all of a sudden I hear these noises, you know, like pow, pow,
loud, sharp.
Yeah.
Wasn't sure what they was at first.
A lot of noise around here all the time.
People falling out of bed, bottles breaking, stuff like that.
Mm-hmm.
It was loud enough, though, I figured I ought to take a look, so I went upstairs.
Yeah.
A couple other people were out in the halls trying to find out what the hullabaloo was all
about.
Wasn't anything to let anybody know.
Yes, sir.
Then I come to Mr. McNeil's room, 319, on the left.
Mm-hmm.
Door was open, wide.
I looked in, there he was.
McNeil?
Yes, sir, laying right on the floor.
Just kind of sprawled around like he'd just dropped there.
Yeah.
I called to him, he yelled.
The light wasn't on the room, couldn't see too good, didn't go right off, then it went
in.
Yes, sir.
Dead.
Mm-hmm.
Called the cops, told them to kill him, said for him to come right in.
Did you go in the room at all?
Well, just to look at Mr. McNeil.
As soon as I saw what happened, I turned around, ran to the phone, called the cops.
What can you tell us about this McNeil?
Oh, not much to say.
Quiet, didn't cause no trouble.
Didn't drink, pities, ran on time.
Mm-hmm.
Yeah, me and my relatives in town, did you know that?
Didn't hear him say nothing.
Is there anything else you might tell us about him?
No, nothing right off.
All right, thank you.
You going up to see the room now?
That's right.
Sure don't make much sense.
What's that?
Why anybody do it?
Plain little guy, nothing about him, make him stand out, take any notice.
Mm-hmm.
Mind his own business, got along with all the guests.
Wasn't anybody pay any attention to him.
You got it wrong.
Why?
Somebody did.
612 a.m.
The crew from the crime lab arrived and began their investigation of the murder room.
The canvas of the area was started in an attempt to find somebody who might have seen the killer.
Frank and I went up to room 319.
The appearance of the room indicated that there had been a struggle before McNeil was
killed.
Clothing was scattered around the floor, tables were overturned.
The bedding had been ripped from the bed and then torn apart.
Pictures had been removed from the wall.
Books were scattered all around the place.
The drawers from the small desk in the bureau had been ransacked.
Papers had been thrown around.
While Lieutenant Lee Jones continued his investigation, Frank and I talked with the
night clerk, Ted Randall.
Do you know if McNeil carried large sums of money?
Huh?
Did McNeil carry much money with him, would you know?
Don't know if I can answer that.
He never did flash any of it around.
Guess he had enough to live on, though.
Told you before, he always paid his rent on time.
Do you have any close friends you know of?
Only met one.
Who was that?
Girl.
Know her name?
Well, ain't exactly a girl either.
Guess she's around 50.
A couple of times, McNeil took her out to a movie or something.
When they came in, he went upstairs, changed his clothes, and her and me, we talked.
I guess he saw something kind of interesting in her.
Myself.
I couldn't, though.
Kind of dumpy, you know?
Seemed like her, though.
A couple other times he talked about her, said how she was so nice.
Seemed to understand him.
How about her name?
Let me think for a minute.
Clara.
Yeah, it seemed like that with it.
Clara.
You know where we can get in touch with her?
Well, the way I remember, she lived in a hotel down the street near 6th.
Did you know the name of the place?
Eldridge, I think it was.
Not really sure.
If you ask down there, they ought to be able to tell you, though.
Name's Clara something.
What if we could use your phone?
Sure, in the lobby downstairs.
I'll call.
All right.
Hey, you gotta have a dime.
It's your pay phone.
Yes, sir.
Gee, they sure made a mess.
Did McNeil get much mail while he was here?
No, a couple of letters.
You know where they were from?
Some law company here in town.
Must have been good.
You know how they had the name printed up in the corner of the envelope?
Yeah.
Embossed.
Must cost them something.
You remember the name?
No, can't get a picture.
Did McNeil drive a car?
Uh-uh.
Used to take the street car to work.
Know that because he used to talk about the people he met.
He got real sore when it rained.
Told me he couldn't stand the smell of wet wool.
Said there ought to be a law that nobody could wear wool clothes when it rained.
He's a funny little guy.
Got real definite ideas about things.
That so?
Oh, yeah.
Made up his mind and stuck to it.
Like the envelope.
What's that?
The envelope he had a couple days ago.
Wanted to put it in the hotel safe.
Told him he didn't have one.
Just got the steel boxes.
You know, one for each room in case the guests want to check something.
And we got those.
When he found out, he decided to keep the envelope himself.
Tell you what was in it?
No.
Just acted kind of mysterious, like it had something real valuable inside.
When he found out it wasn't safe, he told me he'd keep it with him.
But he didn't give you any idea what was in the envelope?
No.
No, just plain white, little.
You know, like your mail letter in.
Yeah.
How about it?
Did you find a woman?
Yes, sir.
See you in a minute, Joe.
Yeah.
Want to excuse us?
Sure.
What do you want?
I want to check the hotel.
The woman's name is Clara Fabian.
Yeah.
She checked out 30 minutes ago.
Did you say where she was going?
No.
The clerk said she was pretty upset.
Said something about a death in the family.
Frank and I went over to the Eldridge Hotel.
We talked to the manager and he told us that the Fabian woman had left hurriedly.
We checked her room, but we found nothing to indicate where she might have gone.
We called the office and had the name run through R&I.
We found she had a record listing several drunk arrests and two convictions on bunko charges.
Her picture was pulled and shown to Ted Brenda.
He identified her as McNeil's friend.
From her package, we obtained the name of a sister living in the Los Angeles area.
721 a.m., Frank and I drove out to talk to her.
At first, she refused to tell us anything, but after questioning,
she admitted that she'd heard from Clara Fabian that morning.
She called to say that she was checking into a hotel on South Spring Street.
When we got to the place, the desk clerk told us we'd find her in the coffee shop.
I guess that's her.
Yeah, matches the description.
Yeah.
Clara Fabian?
Yeah.
What do you want?
Police officers would like to talk to you.
I want nothing to do with no cops.
This is my partner, Frank Smith. My name's Friday.
I told you, I don't want to talk to you. You go away.
I'm afraid we can't do that.
Why, some kind of law?
I don't know what you're after, but I ain't gonna help you.
My filly guys like you all the time, giving me nothing but trouble.
I'm clean. Don't owe nobody nothing. Now leave me alone.
You know a man named Arthur McNeil?
I'm gonna get out of here.
All right, Miss Fabian. If you don't want to talk here, we'll go downtown.
What about McNeil?
You know him?
Yeah.
When did you see him last?
About midnight.
Where?
At dinner.
A couple of drinks. I drove him home.
How well do you know him?
He wants to get married.
Do you know where he worked?
At his own place.
Some kind of chemicals.
Can you give us the address?
What are all the questions about? Something wrong?
Police matter.
Why don't you tell me what this is about? Questions you're asking.
For all I know, I might be saying the wrong thing.
If you tell us the truth, you won't be saying the wrong thing, huh?
I got your word on that.
What about something happened to Arthur?
Yeah.
What?
He had an accident.
Where? Down at the chemistry place?
Yeah.
What about his hotel?
What'd he do? Fall down the stairs?
No.
Wouldn't be surprised.
The way he lusht up last night.
Boy, I never saw him so loaded.
That's all?
Yeah.
A couple of drinks and he's on his way to outer space.
He only takes two or three.
He had more than that when I met him.
I'm gonna have a celebration.
What for?
What was he celebrating?
Some kind of an invention he was working on.
Told me it'd taken him over five years, but he did it.
Said we'd be on the easy street.
He had pictures about the money pouring in, all we could use.
That's what caused the fight.
You see, all the time we've been going together,
he's been giving me that line about lots of money.
How he was gonna make this invention and be a millionaire all the time.
Talking like that.
Yeah.
I went and looked at him and you know it was all in his head.
Nothing to it.
I told him to stop it.
Told him a hundred times.
Didn't do any good.
Finally blew up.
I couldn't take no more.
This was last night, huh?
Yeah.
We had dinner and he showed me an envelope.
That was the invention and it's a big deal.
He's gonna be rich.
Went on and on about it.
I tell you, I think he was a little cracked.
Wanted to drive to Vegas right then, get married.
10.30 and he wanted to leave then.
I told him he was off the beat.
I got it right to his face.
Made him mad.
Real sore.
I think a lot of it was the booze.
You know, courage.
He can't handle drinking at all.
Told me that if I didn't go with him right then,
we'd call the whole thing off.
Stop seeing each other.
I told him it was all right with me.
Never meant to get married anyway.
Something to do to pass the time.
I wouldn't have really got married.
What happened then?
I took him home.
Dropped him at the hotel.
Where'd you go then?
Back to my place.
Got ready for bed.
Guess it was about 11 when he called.
Real mad.
Carried on.
Yelled and screamed.
Said I'd be sorry.
Finally, I couldn't take it anymore
and hung up right while he was talking.
A couple of minutes later, he called back.
I wouldn't answer the phone.
Then when it stopped ringing,
I told the boy at the desk not to ring my room anymore.
Yeah.
It didn't bother me at first.
Then I got to thinking about it.
Little crackpot.
I tried to do something.
So I decided to get out.
That's why you left the hotel.
Yeah.
The way he was lashed up,
the things he said,
and the way he'd known if he was going to cause me trouble.
All I knew was that I didn't want no part of it.
Yeah.
It was an accident.
Something serious?
Yeah, that's right.
In the hospital?
No.
How bad's he hurt?
As bad as you can get.
This isn't a joke, is it?
No, it's no joke.
If it is, I don't think it's very funny.
It's no joke, lady.
He dead?
That's right.
He do it himself?
Looks like he had some help.
Poor old guy.
It's kind of funny to think about it now.
I used to figure he was cute,
the way he was always bringing me presents.
Oh, not big, you know,
but like a bunch of flowers or a book, little things.
Funny to think about it.
I can hardly imagine him being dead, poor little guy.
You know who did it?
Not yet, no.
We hope you might be able to help us.
Why me?
Nobody seems to know much about him.
Can't find any close friends.
Nobody'd want to see him dead.
Never talked about anybody to me.
Did he ever mention a lawyer to you?
No.
Can you give us any idea where he worked?
You mean the chemistry place?
If that's the place, yeah.
No, never said exactly.
I think it was some kind of store though,
with the windows painted.
He talked about the invention,
said he had all this stuff to make it with,
but he never told me where it was.
All right.
Anything else you can tell us about him?
No, nothing.
All right, thanks, Miss Fabian.
For what?
For what you have been able to tell us.
Don't seem like it's going to be any help.
Are you sure this ain't some kind of a joke?
No, ma'am.
He's really dead.
Yes, he is.
Yeah, poor little guy.
Well, if you think of anything,
we'd appreciate a call from maybe one of our cards.
Oh, thanks.
I'll remember something, I'll sure let you know.
All right.
Can you tell me how it happened?
He was shot.
Maybe it was an accident, you know.
Whoever did it didn't mean to.
That's not likely.
Maybe.
Heard where a gun goes off, somebody kills.
All the time, you read about it in the papers.
Gun goes off accidentally?
No, not six times.
Frank and I went back to the office.
We called the crime lab and talked with Lieutenant Lee Jones.
He told us that they'd been unable to find anything we could use
at the scene of the killing.
He said that the victim had been shot with a.38 caliber revolver.
And going over the room, his crew had found several items of value.
In light of this, there was a possibility that the motive for the killing
was not robbery as we'd thought before.
Lieutenant Jones said that the coroner had called,
and he said that he'd found over $100 in cash on the body of the victim,
also a wristwatch and an expensive ring.
In one of the pockets of the coat McNair was wearing,
the crew from the crime lab had found an address book.
Jones said he was sending it over to us.
The canvas of the area had netted us nothing.
None of the people in the immediate vicinity had seen anything
out of the ordinary at the time of the killing.
We contacted the stats office and asked them to make a run on the method of operation.
Until we could come up with a motive for the slaying,
and we did, to apprehend the killer.
Additional men had been sent out from the office
to interrogate the other people in the hotel.
They reported that they'd found nothing to aid us.
1047 AM.
Well, we're sure of building zeros.
We sure are. There's not much to go on.
Nothing.
I got it.
Homicide Friday.
Yes, sir. That's right.
Well, how'd you hear about it?
Yeah.
Yes, sir, we would.
What's that?
All right. As soon as we can get there.
Yes, sir. Goodbye.
Might have a break, man.
The man says he's McNeil's lawyer.
What's he got?
First step. The reason McNeil was killed.
Frank and I left the city hall and drove over to the address I'd been given on the phone.
After a few minutes' wait, we were shown into George Casper's office.
We identified ourselves and he asked us to sit down.
Terrible thing to have happen.
Yes, sir.
I heard about it on the car radio this morning when I was coming to work.
You're Mr. McNeil's attorney, are you?
Yes. Have been for over 10 years.
On the phone, you said that you knew why he was killed.
That's right. I feel a little silly about it now that you're here.
All seems pretty melodramatic.
Like to tell us about it?
It's McNeil's formula.
What, sir?
For the last eight years, McNeil's been working on a new type of explosive for commercial use.
I see.
Supposed to have a lot of advantages.
Easy to carry, minimizes the danger of accidental firing.
The way he painted it would answer a lot of problems in building.
Mm-hmm.
He called me the day before yesterday. He said it was finished.
He'd completed the final laboratory experiments.
Yeah.
Went on about how it was going to make a fortune for him.
Mm-hmm.
Had he talked to anyone about it?
I'm not sure, but knowing McNeil, I imagine he did.
Why do you say that?
The experiments got to be an obsession with him about the only thing that mattered.
A couple of times when we were out someplace, he'd have a few drinks and start talking about the explosive.
Loud enough for anyone near him to hear it.
Mm-hmm.
Do you know where he worked?
Yes, small place out in the valley. I can give you the address if you want it.
Yes, sir. We'd appreciate that.
Have you any idea who might have killed him?
Those who were working on it.
Mm-hmm.
Was there anybody he was close to?
You mean socially?
Ladder and business.
No, can't think of anyone.
There was a girl. He spoke several times of marrying her.
Sorry, but I can't tell you any more than that. I don't know her name.
All right, fine, Mr. Cather.
Does he have any relatives here in town?
No, he made a will several months ago.
Left everything to one of the industrial schools.
Not much. Lab equipment, a few books.
Mm-hmm.
Anything else he can tell us about?
No, I'm afraid not. Most of the time he's pretty quiet.
Kept to himself.
Once in a while he'd go on a bender my last couple of days.
When he was on one of those drinking bouts, he'd get in some kind of trouble.
Loud talk, something like that. Nothing serious.
All right, sir. If you'll give us that address, we won't take up any more of your time.
Yes, of course.
I can understand why I felt a little silly about calling you.
What's that, sir?
Explosives, spies. Sounds like something in a movie.
Mm-hmm.
I don't imagine there's anything to it, though.
As far as I know, McNeil might not even have finished the formula.
Might have been just another of his stories.
Yeah, that's right.
He was always telling whoppers.
I guess a psychiatrist would say he was trying to find some way of justifying himself.
Is that right?
It seemed to be a big thing with him, to find a way of making himself heard about.
It kind of looks like he found it.
...
Frank and I went back to the office and met with Captain Lorman.
We discussed the possibility of McNeil being killed by somebody who wanted the chemical formula.
Because of the potential value of the explosive, federal authorities were notified,
and they sent a team of men out to aid in the investigation.
The next morning, Wednesday, January 12th, we picked up a list of similar crimes from the stats office.
In checking out the victims, we got the same description of the thief from each one of them.
They all described him as a white male American, 32 years, 165 pounds.
In each case, the thief had followed the victims and attacked them as they entered their homes.
The last robbery had taken place three weeks before, on December 23rd.
During the commission of the crime, the victim had been wounded.
The bullet had been removed and held at the crime lab as evidence.
8.02 a.m. Frank and I put him on a call to Lieutenant Jones.
8.26 a.m.
Might be late.
Yeah.
I got it.
Homicide Friday.
Yeah, Lee.
You check him?
How about it?
Yeah, sure is.
Yeah.
Now all we gotta do is to make it do some good.
All right. Thank you, Lee. Bye.
What's he got?
Well, he checked the bullet from the last robbery against the ones that killed McNeil.
Yeah.
Same gun.
Additional local broadcasts and APBs were gotten out, carrying the description of the holdup man.
Victims were asked to come to the city hall and recheck the mug books in the hope that they might be able to identify him.
A check of McNeil's workshop failed to disclose any evidence that he'd been working on an explosive.
A week went by without any new developments.
Thursday, January 20th, Frank and I got back to the squad room.
I was here to look for a while, like it was gonna go.
Yeah, I'm good.
I got it.
Homicide Friday.
Yeah, Jim.
When?
Might be.
Right.
Right now.
Jim Austin, robbery.
They just got back from a call out in Westwood.
Yeah?
Thief fits our description pretty good. Austin thinks it might be the same guy.
They get him?
No, something just as good.
What do you mean?
He's got a key.
Frank and I went over to room 27A and we met with Sergeant Jim Austin.
He gave us the details of the robbery.
From the way the holdup man operated and the description given by the victim, he was the man we were looking for.
And getting away from the scene, he dropped a key to a downtown hotel room.
We checked the address in the phone book and then we left the city hall.
It was a small place on South Fourth Street.
We identified ourselves with the manager and told him why we were there.
Yes, it's one of our keys.
Do you have the room?
Yes, Ralph Otley.
What's this Otley look like?
He's a nice young fellow, blonde. Guess he's about 30 years old.
How long has he been here?
You mean regular?
That's right.
About five months. A couple of times before that for a couple of months. He came back though.
See him now?
No, I haven't seen him since this morning. Left about 7.30.
Does he have a job?
He never told me nothing about it.
What does he do for a living?
Well, I guess you'd say he was kind of a promoter.
What do you mean?
Well, he goes around trying to line things up, figure some way to make a killing.
He hit it pretty good on a deal last year and he's been living on the money since then, I guess.
What do you want to talk to him about?
Police business.
Not in trouble, is he?
We'd better talk to him about that.
Well, look, if he's done anything wrong, the hotel didn't know a thing about it.
He paid his rent, he didn't cause any trouble here. Now, we didn't have any partners.
Well, don't worry about it. What if we could see his room?
You mean go through it?
We'd like to take a look at it, yeah.
Well, I guess it's all right. You being cops, sure, I'll give you the key.
You better come with us.
Well, I ain't gonna tell him nothing. He comes in while you're upstairs. I won't tell him anything.
No, sir, that's not the idea. We'd like you to be in the room when we check it.
Oh, well, sure, okay, let's go. You really figure that there's something wrong with this, Otley, huh?
Well, we're not sure.
You know, come to think about it, there could be.
Why do you say that?
Just because, the way he lives, he'd have to make a lot of money to live the way he does.
A fella makes that much, he usually tells everybody how he did it. You know, show how smart he is.
Well, Otley never says anything, just that he made it, not how. He wouldn't let anybody in on a good thing.
Well, maybe he's got a reason. It's not such a good thing.
In the company of the manager, Frank and I checked the suspect's room.
In one of the bureau drawers, we found a box of shells for a.38 pistol.
There were also several items that had been listed as stolen in previous robberies.
We returned to the lobby of the hotel and we waited for Otley to come in.
Four thirty p.m., five, five thirty, five forty-five.
Joe.
Yeah.
Hi, Sid.
Hello, Mr. Otley.
I lost my key someplace. You got another one?
No, I don't have any.
I left it in the room. I'll check, sure.
Let's go.
Any calls for me today?
No, no, sir. No calls.
Stand still, Otley. Police officers.
Hey, what are you doing?
Don't turn around.
I'll take it.
Thirty-eight revolver.
Hey, what's this all about? I haven't done anything.
Get your hands back of it.
Hold still.
You know you got the wrong guy.
I keep telling the same.
Taking him for robbery, huh?
That's one of them.
What do you mean?
We're booking you for suspicion of murder.
Robbery? That's all you can do?
I'm not going to let you get away with it.
Robbery? That's all you got me for?
I'm not going to stand no killing beef.
You keep believing him.
I will.
You're going to tag me with anything more than a 211.
Let's go.
Grab him.
Wait a minute.
Hold it up, Otley, or I'll shoot.
Why did you kill me, cop? Why?
You're lucky.
That's all you know.
I'd have been better off a lot better.
You should have killed me.
All right, come on.
We'll take you down to George Street Hospital.
I'd have made a shoot-through, man.
Is that so?
Yeah.
He wouldn't give me the money.
He kept saying he didn't have any.
Yeah.
I heard him talking about it.
He was loaded.
He could have just given it to me.
No trouble if he didn't just give me the money.
All right, settle down.
You're not hurt bad.
He started yelling.
I had to shoot him.
I had to.
It wasn't any other way.
You should have killed me.
That's why I took off so you'd kill me.
I wish you had a...
Well, don't worry about it.
Huh?
Maybe it'll turn out that way.
The story you've just heard is true.
The names were changed to protect the innocent.
Ralph Neville Otley was tried and convicted of murder in the first degree and received
a life sentence as prescribed by law.
The jury returned a recommendation of mercy and the suspect was sentenced to life imprisonment
at the state penitentiary, San Quentin, California.
You have just heard Dragnet, the authentic story of your police force in action and starring
Jack Webb, a presentation of the United States Armed Forces Radio Service.