 The story you're about to hear is true. Only the names have been changed to protect the innocent. Fatima cigarettes. Best of all, long cigarettes brings you dragonet. You're a detective sergeant. You're assigned the homicide detail. You go to an apartment house and answer to a shooting and dead body call. Her husband tells you it's suicide. The facts show it to be murder. Your job? Find out. You'll be amazed when you compare Fatima with other long cigarettes. You'll find they now cost the same. But in Fatima, the difference is quality. You see, Fatima is the quality king-size cigarette because it contains the finest domestic and Turkish tobaccos superbly blended. And Fatima is extra mild. With a much different, much better flavor and aroma than any other long cigarette. So compare Fatima yourself. Fatima has now cost the same as other long cigarettes, but your first pop will tell you... Ah, that's different. Yes, in Fatima, the difference is quality. Ask your dealer for Fatima, the quality king-size cigarette. Best of all, long cigarettes. Start enjoying Fatima tomorrow. The documented drama of an actual crime. For the next 30 minutes in cooperation with the Los Angeles Police Department, you will travel step-by-step on the side of the law through an actual case transcribed from official police files. From beginning to end, from crime to punishment, Dragnet is the story of your police force in action. It was Sunday, March 9th. It was windy in Los Angeles. We were working the day watch out of homicide detail. My partner's Ben Romero, the boss is that brown chief of detectives. My name's Friday. It was 4.35 p.m. when we got to the first floor of the Kelsey apartment hotel. Apartment 112. Hi, Joe, Ben. Hi, Harry. How are you? What have you got here? A woman's dead, shot through the right temple with a 45-automatic. Husband claims it's suicide. What's the name? Mr. Mrs. Andrew Robertson. Wife's name was Marie. That's Mr. Robertson right over here. Uh-huh. Is a crime lab been called? About 10 minutes ago. Fine. Mr. Robertson, this is Sergeant Romero. Sergeant Friday. How are you? Good question, Mr. Robertson. No, not yet. Uh, Mr. Robertson, do you want to tell us what happened here? I'd just gotten back from the corner grocery store. My wife and I had a little argument going. It started before I left for the store and it was still on when I got back. I see. She was fixing chicken fried steaks for dinner, putting a flower on them. We had a few more words and I went over and sat on the Davenport right where I am now. Uh-huh. She was standing there in the doorway to the kitchen. She said something that set me off and I guess I got pretty mad and said a few things. And she went back over to that little night stand there by the door to the kitchen. That one right there? Yeah, that's it. That's where I keep my army automatic. She pulled it out of the drawer and backed up into the kitchen. She put the gun to her head and said, This'll put an end to the argument once and for all. I yelled at her and tried to stop her, but I was too late. She pulled the trigger and fell right there where she is. What'd you do then? I went upstairs to Ted Carlton's place. He lives in 212 right above us. We don't have a phone here. I asked him to call the police and send for an ambulance. Did you go over to see how badly your wife was shot? Yeah, I forgot to tell you. The minute she fired, I rushed right over to her, but I was too late. She was dead. Now, did you touch anything in here, move anything at all? No, sir, not a thing. I've been sitting here ever since I got back down from Ted's room upstairs. I see. Joe. Yeah. Empty cartridge casing you on the floor. Yeah. When Jones gets here, we'll measure the distance. Just a minute. We can put this saucer over till the crime lab gets here. All right. Oily. All right. Crime lab's here, Friday. Need Jones. Oily. No, Joe. Oily. Remind, would you mind taking Mr. Robertson downtown? We'll be right down as soon as we finish up here. Right, Joe. See you later. Thanks a lot, Harry. Let's go. We got here. Shot through the right temple. Husband claims suicide. Mm-hmm. What's under the saucer? Empty casing. Looks like she was flowering meat, huh? That's what the husband says, yeah. It's probably what that is in the barrel of the automatic there. Yeah, we don't understand. The wastebasket's sure full, isn't it? Yeah. Right temple, huh? 45 automatic. Yeah. If she shot herself in the kitchen, how do you figure the empty casing got out there in the living room, the position of the body doesn't want that? That'll be Ed McGill at the photographer. Come in. Right in. Oh, Ed? Oh, Ed. Well, what do you want to shoot? Why don't you get an overall of the room first and grab one in the kitchen there. All right. The way till I get that saucer off the casing, Ed. Mary, you want to move over there, love? Oh, yeah. Thanks. You want the kitchen? Right from where you are now is good. We can get out of your way here. Okay, this is fine. Now, right over the body. Better get that chair to stand on. Oh, yeah, here you are. That much room to work in here. Can you get it all in there? Yeah, I think so. Use the wastebasket as your outside line here and kitchen sink on the other side. Can't get the sink in when you settle for the wastebasket only? Fine. Just use that as your right-hand side line, huh? Okay. So while you fellas finish up in here, we're going to round upstairs in the living room. Okay, Joe. Come on, man. Where do you want to go first? Do 12? What if this Ted Carlton Robertson mentioned it? Yeah, the fellas are supposed to have called in for it. All right, yeah. Here it is right upstairs. Yes? Police officers. You're Mr. Carlton? Yes, that's right. Come in. Thank you very much. This is an awful thing, isn't it? Yes, sir. We understand that you're a friend of the Robertsons. Yes, I am. Have you found out anything yet? You think Andy killed her? We don't know. We haven't completed our investigation. Oh, I see. I'll bet that's the way it was. I hate to say that, but from all indications, it certainly looks that way. How do you mean? The argument, the shouting, and that single shot. I don't know, but it sure struck me that Andy did it. When did the argument start? Was it prolonged, you know? What do you mean? When did it start? What time, you know? This one today started about 3.30 when Andy got back from the store, but they've been arguing ever since I've known him. How long have you known him? About two years. Those two never should have gotten married to begin with, if I'm any judge. Are you married? No, sir, I'm not. One if you could tell us. Did Mrs. Robertson ever say anything that would lead you to believe that she was in fear of her life? Well, yes, she did. One time, Andy stalked out of the apartment down there, and Marie came up here to see me. She was in tears, all broken up about it, as usual during these spats. She said, I'll try to remember exactly how she put it, she said, Andy gets so mad, sometimes I think he's going to kill me. What did they usually argue about, do you know? All different things. This particular time that I was telling you about, I think it was over as being late for dinner. All right, sir. Aside from this one instance, is there anything else that you can tell us? Well, Andy has a terrible temper of that, I know. We used to go out and bowl once in a while. Marie, Andy and myself, we had to stop. Every time he'd miss a spare, you'd think it was the end of the world. Would he usually seem to take it out on his wife? Most of the time, yeah. Although I must say, I caught it a few times myself. Abusive language. She really carried on over nothing at all. Did Robertson leave his wife home alone much of the time? No, not any more than usual. Seems like he always wanted to get home, just so they could argue. Everybody in the barfing house knows about him. But you said that Mrs. Robertson came up here after that one particular argument, is that right? Yes, sir, that's right. Well, does she come up here often? No, not very often. Just when she was unusually upset and her nerves were on edge. But only then, when Andy had rushed out in the head. Well, do you know whether or not Robertson owns a gun? Yes, I believe he does. Matter of fact, I know he does. One night, we were having trouble with prowlers, and he came up here with his automatic. Later on, I think I asked him where he got the gun he said from the army. Is there anything else you can add, Mr. Gardner? I was the one who called the police into that. That's what we understand. Didn't Andy tell you? He came up here right after the shot and asked me to call the police for him. They don't have a phone. Well, exactly how did he tell you? What do you mean? Well, what were his exact words? Can you remember them? Well, he said, my wife shot. Call the police and get an ambulance quick. And what was your reaction to this? I'd heard the shot, so I wasn't too surprised. But when Andy came running up here, I knew before I said a word, you could tell just to look at it. You could tell what? Something was wrong. I had a hunch all along that this might happen someday. What's that? That Andy had killed his wife. Ben and I continued questioning the various neighbors in the apartment building. Their stories all matched in every detail. The Robertsons had been known to argue quite frequently and quite loud. None of the neighbors could definitely say that they had ever heard Andrew Robertson threaten his wife. All of them volunteered it would be entirely possible. We put in a call to R&I. We found that there was no previous record of Andrew Robertson nor his wife, Marie. Before Lee Jones had finished his investigation, latent fingerprint men had arrived and the men from the coroner's office were standing by for removal of the body. We canvassed the neighborhood and checked with the various merchants in the area. They could shed no further light on the death of Marie Robertson. The coroner removed the body from apartment 112 and Lee Jones continued with his investigation. Ben and I returned downtown for further interrogation of the suspect. Everything I've told you is the truth. Do you mind going over it just once more? All right. We had our quarrels and arguments and I guess some of them were pretty bad, but I never do a thing like this to Marie. You don't seem very upset about all this, Robertson. I'm not crying if that's what you mean. I'm sorry she had to do it. I tried to stop her, but there was nothing I could do. You seem to be taking all this pretty well under the circumstances. I don't know if I can explain how I feel about it. You see, Marie and I weren't too happy the past couple of years. We've been married eight years, and I guess from the start we never could hit it off. Did you used to argue quite a bit? No, not at first we didn't. Just seemed that we've drifted apart the last couple of years. Seemed to fight all the time over nothing at all. I honestly believe we fell out of love. Well, would you mind telling us again exactly what happened this afternoon? First of all, I got up. I always liked to sleep on Sundays. She asked me to go to the store. That started the argument. She knows I don't like to go shopping, but it seemed like she was always forgetting something, and I'd have to go. When I got back from the store, she was making chicken fried steaks for dinner. She was putting flour on the meat. We argued back and forth for a minute, and then she stepped into the living room. I went over and sat on the Davenport. All right, go on. We had a few more wars, and she went over to the small nightstand by the kitchen door and took out my army automatic that I kept in there. She backed up into the kitchen and pointed the gun at her head. She said this will end the argument once and for all. So I said I was on the Davenport about 12 feet away from her. I yelled at her. What'd you say? I said, Marie, put that gun down. It's loaded. Before I could reach her, she pulled the trigger. Then what'd you do? I rushed over to her, but it was too late. What happened then? We don't have a phone, so I rushed upstairs to the apartment right over us. Ted Carlton's. I asked him to phone for the police and the ambulance. Did you tell Carlton about your wife? Yes, I did. I told him she'd been shot. Then where'd you go? So just like I told you, at the apartment, I went back downstairs and waited in the living room for you people to get there. Did you go near your wife's body? No, I did not. Did you always keep that gun loaded? Yes, I did. I always kept it loaded and actuated. The shell in the chamber, but I kept the safety lock on. Marie knew how to operate the gun because I showed her for when I was out late. She wasn't strong enough to actuate it, but she could work the safety. Did your wife ever try to commit suicide before? Not to my knowledge. Mr. Robertson, you sure that everything you've told us is the truth? It's the absolute truth, every word of it. Well, sir, here's the way it looks to us. We think you killed your wife. I didn't. Let us lay out a few things for you. We talked to your friends and neighbors in the apartment house. We have people who will testify to the fact that your wife was afraid that you might kill her. She told one man that. It isn't true. I don't know what you may have told somebody, but I didn't kill her. It's a known fact throughout the entire apartment building that you and your wife had violent quarrels. The kind of arguments from all reports that could easily lead to something like this. I told you we argued, but I didn't kill Marie. I couldn't do a thing like that. Mr. Robertson, we've made a preliminary investigation of your apartment. You say your wife killed herself. Let me show you some of the flaws in your story here. All I can say is what I've told you is the truth. I didn't kill her. Well, you told us that your wife went to the nightstand and got the gun. That's right. How did she pick up the automatic? How do you mean? Well, how'd she take it from the drawer? Like anyone would pick up a gun? By the butt? She picked it up like anybody would was going to use it. You're sure about that? Positive. She didn't touch anything but the butt? Well, she had part of her hand on the trigger. Oh, we know that. But she didn't touch any other part of the weapon. She did not. She didn't have time. Well, then how do you account for the fact that we found traces of flour on the barrel of the gun? Oh, sure. She was flowering meat. Well, how'd the flour get on the barrel? I don't know. Well, isn't it true that when you approached her with the automatic pointed at her, she tried to ward off the shot with her hand? But isn't that how the flour got on that barrel? That isn't true. Now, you said your wife was putting flour on some steaks. That's right. How do you account for the fact that we didn't find any flour on the butt of the gun and weren't blown? Or on the drawer of the nightstand, where you say she first picked up the automatic? Well, I can't answer that. I don't know what all this means. Well, it means that unless you've got some kind of explanation, we have to assume that you're lying that you killed your wife. I don't know how to explain all these things, but I didn't kill her. Mr. Robertson, you say you were an army man. Isn't that what you told us out of the apartment? Yes, I was a sergeant in the army during the last war. What outfit were you in? I was an instructor in sad-arm weapons at Santa Ana Army Air Base. Then you'd be somewhat of an authority on the Colt-45 caliber automatic pistol, wouldn't you? I guess I would, yeah. That was one of the weapons I instructed in. You'd know all about the system of ejection employed by the Colt Company on their 45 automatic. Yes, I would. The empty casing ejects to the right, up and back. Is that correct? Yeah, that's right. In other words, if you were pointing a 45 at me and you pulled the trigger, the empty casing would eject to your right, up, and fall on the floor to the rear on your right side. Is that right? Yeah, that's what would end up. You still maintain that your wife shot herself? Yes, I do. Where was she standing when she pulled the trigger? As I told you before, in the kitchen. How was she standing? What do you mean? Which way was she facing? Well, let's see. Facing me? Yeah, that's right. In the kitchen with her back to the sink, facing out toward me. And where were you? On the Davenport in the living room facing her. Well, bearing in mind what we've already discussed and agreed upon concerning the ejection system of a 45, how do you account for the fact that the empty casing was found in the living room, six feet and four inches from the kitchen? Let's see. I'll figure it for you. The empty casing should have been found on the floor of the kitchen, somewhere to the right and rear of your wife. Isn't that about it? I don't understand. Why are you trying to prove me guilty? I've told you and I swear to you I didn't kill my wife. Well, it'd be a physical impossibility for that empty casing to have landed anywhere but in the kitchen if your wife had pulled the trigger of that automatic. But how about that? What can I say? Please believe what I'm telling you. I didn't do it. Not according to the evidence. I don't understand any of this. Well, here's the way we've got it reconstructed. You had a quarrel. You got the gun. You met your wife at the doorway to the kitchen. You appointed the gun at her. She tried to ward it off with her left hand, leaving flower on the barrel of the gun. You fired and the casing was thrown up and back to the right where it landed on the rug of the living room. The testimony of the neighbors, the flower on your wife's hand, the position of the empty casing. Robertson, you're right. I don't know why all these things are the way you say they are. We do. We don't believe your wife committed suicide. You think about it. Come on, Ben. Yeah. What do you think? Evidence we've got so far has got him tanned. Well, yeah. With all that proof, he still refuses to cop out. Something doesn't jive. Maybe we can find out why. You are listening to Dragnet. From beginning to end, Dragnet is the authentic story of your police force in action. Now, from beginning to end, the Fatima story. Actual convincing proof that in Fatima, the difference is quality. Quality of tobaccos. The finest domestic and Turkish varieties. Extra mild and superbly blended to give you a much different, much better flavor and aroma. Quality of manufacture. Smooth, round, perfect cigarettes. Rolled in the finest paper money can buy. Manufactured in the newest and most modern of all cigarette factories. Quality, even to the appearance of the bright, clean, golden, yellow package. Carefully wrapped and sealed to bring you Fatima's rich, fresh, extra mild flavor. Because of its quality, its extra mildness, its better flavor and aroma. More long cigarette smokers are now insisting on Fatima than ever before. So if you smoke a long cigarette, compare Fatima. You'll find they now cost the same. But your first puff will tell you... Ah, that's different. Yes, in Fatima, the difference is quality. Insist on Fatima. Start enjoying the quality king-size cigarette. Fatima. Best of all, long cigarettes. We had Gene Bechtel take Andrew Robertson's statement. We had his testimony that his wife had committed suicide, a fact that he couldn't prove and that we could disprove. We had before us the final investigation. All evidence was taken at the crime lab for analysis. The photographs taken at the scene were developed and brought in for careful checking. In accordance with Robertson's story, both he and his deceased wife were given paraffin tests to determine the presence of nitrates. Both of them were fingerprinted and latent prints details started to check them out. Two teams of men were sent out to talk with the close relatives of the two people. Sunday, March 9th, 7 p.m. We got a call from Lieutenant Lee Jones that he had the final results of his investigation. We went over to the second floor of the central station, crime lab. We got a couple of things for you. How'd you make out with Robertson? Well, he insisted it was suicide. What's your idea on it? Let me show you all we got. Look at this. A picture of the .45 casing. That's all right. Take a close look at it. Right here in particular. You notice this one edge is a little crimped here? Ejector marks. Here are the ejector marks up here. This crimping is something entirely different. What is it? You remember where you found this casing? Six feet, four inches into the living room. That's right. We wondered how it could have been thrown that far by the ejector if the husband's story is true. The ejector didn't do that. I wanted to. On closer inspection, I noticed this crimping. Let me show you how this casing got out there in the living room. Here's an identical .45 caliber cold empty casing. Yeah. We'll place it here on the floor on a piece of carpeting, the same thickness that was in that kitchen. The nollie. Now watch this. I'll step on it, hitting it from an angle. There's your answer to that. When the husband ran over to his wife's side, what did he say he did? Yeah, it's about the size of it. He stepped on the casing accidentally and certainly not caring about it at that moment. It bounced out into the living room just like a tiddly wink. Notice the casing now. The crimping. Check it against the photo. Looks exactly the same way it matches. The flower and the barrel of the gun. It was flower, by the way. Did it figure in for you, fellas? Well, yeah. We figured the wife was trying to ward off the gun when he pointed it at her. Certainly the logical deduction. Let me show you how it really got on there. Here's that shot of the kitchen out there. Notice the wastebasket here. Pretty full, isn't it? Yeah, we noticed that when we were out there. What you probably didn't notice is this. Here's a blow-up of just that section where the wastebasket was. Can you see what's on the top of the stuff from the basket there? Yeah, can you hold it over here a little? Yeah. Yeah, it looks like a flower sack, isn't it? That's right, an empty flower sack. Now, figuring the position of the body in relation to that wastebasket, when she dropped the gun, it fell from the hand, striking the wastebasket, bouncing off and landing on the floor where you found it. You said when she dropped the gun, you figured it was suicide? It's beginning to shape up that way, isn't it? There was no flower found on the butt of the gun. That part of the automatic didn't come in contact with the flower sack. Yeah, but at least she was flowering meat. There were no traces of it on the right hand on the palm, just on the back. In checking the clothing, we found streaks of flour where she could have wiped her hands clean before picking up the gun. Yeah, and out there we could only see the backs of her hand. The corner, check that through, huh? It doesn't look like a killer. There's more here. As you know, we ran paraffin tests on both the victim and Robertson. Yeah. Here's the results of the tests. See. Andrew Robertson, known nitrates negative. Marie Robertson, evidence of nitrates positive. She fired a gun, he didn't. That's it. There's something else. Here's the report from Layton Prince. Smudges, one good thumbprint, right hand. Belonging to Marie Robertson. Indicating she was the last one to handle the weapon. Well, that's about it. No, that's more for you. Now, this shot was taken facing the east wall of the kitchen. That's the wall that would be on anyone's left, sitting on the Davenport in the front room. Wouldn't be possible to see that wall from the Davenport. Wouldn't, that's right. You can see the white X where we located the slug. Yeah. Relative to the position of the body, if she was standing, holding the gun at approximately a right angle to the side of her head, the bullet would come to rest approximately four inches below the crown of her head. Does it check out? The coroner says she was 5'4". The bullet was found at a height of 5'8", proving that she shot herself rather than anyone else doing it, judging from the inclination of the bullet. As you know, this is critical. Yeah. From what it's worth, the condition of the wound indicates that it was inflicted from extreme close range. Fair point when you consider that most people wouldn't submit to being shot from close range without a struggle or unless taken by surprise. From all reports, we know she wasn't taken by surprise. No, that's it, fellas. That's all we have. Well, thanks, Lee. It's sure enough. Crime lab, Jones. Yeah, right here. Just a minute. Three to one of you. All right, Lee, I'll get it. Righty. Well, hi, Harry. You did, huh? What's that? Mm-hmm. Yeah. Did you have the letter with you? It does, huh? Yeah. Yeah, right, Harry. Thank you very much. Bye. Harry Freeman. He just left Marie Robertson's mother. What'd she have to say? Well, Freeman says she gave him a letter. He's on his way in with it now. It was written by Marie Robertson, says something about taking her own life. He says that the husband couldn't have done it, says the daughter's shown indication in the past of wanting to take her own life. Well, not about saying she's it. Makes you feel kind of good, doesn't it? Yeah. Finding a man clear of charge instead of having to hang him up. Come on, Ben. Right. Well, you had it. Back across the street. Where'll I get my coat? I'll go with you. What for? I want to see him, too, when you're telling him. The story you've just heard was true. Only the names were changed to protect the innocent. On March 12th, the hearing was held in the office of the coroner, city and county of Los Angeles, state of California. In a moment, the results of that hearing. And now, here is our star, Jack Webb. Thank you. Friends, a great many listeners have written us saying that they first bought Fatimas because they liked our program. But they go on to say that after smoking their first pack, they agree with everything that we've said about them, that Fatimas are our extra mile, that they do have a better flavor and aroma. Well, naturally, we're pleased when you get acquainted with Fatimas and all of us on Dragnet are convinced Fatima is the best of all long cigarettes. When you buy your first pack, I'm sure you'll agree. In Fatima, the difference is quality. Andrew William Robertson was immediately released from custody. A 510 form was made out, exonerating him from any complicity in the death of his wife. Ladies and gentlemen, Mr. James M. Fox, president of the Southern California chapter of the Mystery Writers of America. The Edgar Allen Poe Awards of the Mystery Writers of America are made each year for outstanding contributions in the field of mystery. This year, by a nationwide vote of 300 professional mystery writers, the radio award goes to Dragnet for consistent excellence in the use of the medium in the best traditions of our craft. The Mystery Writers of America are happy to present their Edgers, statuettes of Poe, to Dragnet's Jim Moser, and a duplicate statuette to Dragnet. Congratulations, Mr. Moser. Thank you, Mr. Fox. 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. Fatima's cigarettes, best of all, long cigarettes, has brought you Dragnet, portions transcribed from Los Angeles. Stay tuned for Counter-Spire, over many NBC stations.