 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 dragnet. You're a detective sergeant. You're assigned to bunco detail. An expert confidence man has resumed operations in your city. His criminal record dates back 35 years. He's a master in the art of the gentle swindle. Your job? Stop him. If you want a long cigarette, smoke the best of all long cigarettes. Smoke Fatima. Fatima is the long cigarette, which contains the finest Turkish and domestic tobaccos, superbly blended to make Fatima extra mild. And that's why Fatima has a much different, much better flavor and aroma than any other long cigarette. That's why Fatima has more than doubled its smokers coast to coast. So enjoy Fatima, the best of all long cigarettes. It's wise to smoke extra mild Fatima. It's wise to smoke extra mild Fatima. 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 from official police files. From beginning to end, from crime to punishment, dragnet is the story of your police force in action. It was Tuesday, July 28th. It was warm in Los Angeles. We're working the day watch out of bunco detail. My partner's Ben Romero. The boss is Thad Brown, chief of detectives. My name's Friday. I was on the way back from the record bureau and it was 10.45 a.m. when I got to room 38. Bunko fugitive detail. Friday? Captain, I'm bringing him in now. Sit down. Thanks. Here's the mama sheet on him. Oh, gentlemen Wallace. I thought he was out of her hair for good. So did I. All this turned up. I heard he was working New York. Look at the package in this guy. It's like a good sized dictionary. Check the date of his first arrest there. On June 2nd, 1913, he's been in and out of jail all over the country. McLean County, Oregon, forgery. Bumcheck, Beef San Francisco, 1914. Besom of Santa Ana. Perot violations, Seattle, Portland. More checks, Reno. Billings, Montana, forgery, 1920. Dayton, Ohio, Pittsburgh, New York, Grand Larson. Bunko wraps, Las Vegas, Cleveland, Chicago. That's only the first page. There's a couple more there. He's like a novel. Just about as long. What's the story on Wallace this time? What have we got? He reached a couple of used car dealers Saturday. Took him for 2,000 each and we can't touch him. Why not? How do you work it? Well, Saturday afternoon, he went to a car lot in the corner of South Third in Washington. He bought a 1948 Lincoln sedan. Showed him his identification, wrote a check for $1,500 for a down payment and drove away. Another bumcheck deal. That's a little more than that. 45 minutes after he left, he drove into another used car lot, two blocks away from the place where he bought the Lincoln. Told the salesman there that he didn't like the car and he wanted to trade it in on another one. Salesman offered him $900 less than he paid for it. Wallace accepted and offered them a personal check to cover the balance. And the salesman went for it? Almost. Wallace seemed so anxious to get rid of the car that the clerk got suspicious. But it was late Saturday and he couldn't call the bank on Wallace's check. So he called the place where Wallace bought the car? That's right. They found out that the sale was made less than an hour before and that Wallace had given them his personal check for it. Then the two used car dealers got on the phone, decided that Wallace was pulling a fast hustle, called the cop and had him jailed. Hold that light of my way. Thanks. Then what? Well, when the banks opened Monday morning, they called about Wallace's account. They had enough money in to cover both checks. Wallace got a lawyer and threatened suit against the two car dealers. He had both of them cold. They settled out of court for $2,000 a piece. Quick deal. Sounds like a master. He's been grifting for 35 years. Knows the con game any way they want to play it. We can't even book him on a vague charge. He's got a job. Who's he working for? Plastic outfit out in Pasadena. Salesman. Has he registered under $52.38? Yes. No, just a minute. Yeah? No, all right. Send him in. Throw a marrow. He's got Wallace with him. Okay. Ben? Wallace, this is Captain Bryce. Captain, I'm very happy to know you. I've heard a lot about you. Yeah. It's out to Friday. How are you? We'd like to talk to you, Wallace. Sit down. Oh, thanks. It's warm out today. Mm-hmm. Perspiring. Now, what is it I can help you gentlemen with? Always glad to cooperate. You don't have to give us a build-up, Wallace. We're not buying. You know me better than that, Sergeant. No point in making this visit an unpleasant one. Cordiality, that's a secret. My mother always used to tell me that. She used to say... Look, mister, you're not here to get the keys to the city hall. You're here for investigation. I'm here out of courtesy, Captain. My lawyer informed me I didn't have to come. I don't believe in making enemies. That's all. You're a guy that's not trying. You've done pretty well, haven't you? How long do you plan to stay here in town? Los Angeles is my home. It's my place of business. That's fine with us, Wallace, just as long as it's honest. Now, let me hand you a piece of advice. You try copying any more jobs in this town than to lean on, you understand? I don't think I do understand, Captain. The incident with the used car dealers, I hope that isn't what upset you. You guessed it, and it better be the last keeper you try around here for a long time. I had every right to take action against those car dealers' false arrests. They humiliated me. They damaged my reputation. Here's your reputation, Wallace. 35 years of it. 10 jail terms, larceny, bunker, forgery. Have you ever heard of rehabilitation, Sergeant? Oh, yeah. I did my time. I don't owe them a day. I've got an honest job. I've been off the grift for years now. And take a hint, Wallace. Stay off. You'll do better. That's all, Wallace. Just remember, the next time we tag you, you're going to fall hard. You got it straight? Captain, I've been square since I got to town. I'm not switching. Is that it? That's all. Well, that wasn't so bad. Would you gentlemen care to have some lunch with me at the club? Just a snack? No, thanks. Sure, I can't persuade you. Clubs just up the street. Some other time, Wallace. Goodbye. Well, goodbye, Sergeant. Goodbye to you, Captain. Yeah. Well, we gave him the word. I don't know how much good it's going to do. What do you think, Skiver? Two things about grifters. They never retire and they never change. Watch him. For the next four months, Charles Wallace was kept under surveillance. From his daily actions, there was nothing to indicate that he'd returned to his former profession of confidence man. From experience, we knew it was too good to be true. For a man who would work the con game from every conceivable angle for as long as Wallace had, chances of his going straight a amount of the less than one in a thousand. Just as a dope addict, as a slave to drugs, the full-fledged con man, or grifter, is obsessed with the idea of swindling for a living. He loves his work and he takes pride in it, just as much as a doctor, a lawyer, or any legitimate professional man. He has a life and a coat of ethics all his own, even has his own language. The grifters' victims are wealthy, middle-class and poor, and many more than the average citizen imagines. Wednesday, December 1st, 1 p.m., Ben and I had lunch and checked back in at the office. Food's getting better at the cafeteria, don't you think? The beef stew is pretty good. You got an extra coat hanger in your locker? Oh, yeah. Yeah, here you are. Thanks. Hi, Conlon. Joe. Do you see this report the post office detail sent over? I mean that lonely heart, Sam. No, this is a different one. Real twist. How do you mean, Harry? Let me look, huh? Here, Barney Grant. That's the name he uses, anyway. A couple of weeks ago, he planted a small one ad in the newspapers around town. Been cleaning up ever since. How'd he work? Here, take a look at the ad he was writing. Mm-hmm. Remember, tomorrow is the last day to send your dollar to Box 565 Main Post Office Los Angeles. Was that all? That's all it took. The last couple of days, it's been getting about 40 letters a day from people in this city. With a dollar in each one? Ad doesn't promise a thing. Just send your dollar. People send them. They picked the guy up, Harry. He called for the last batch of letters two days ago. Probably pulled out. Postal inspectors checked the address he gave when he applied for the box. They never heard of him there. Mm-hmm. Barney Grant. That sound familiar to you, Ben? Little, yeah. Maybe R&I has a package on him. Mm-hmm. Friday, see you in a minute. Right, Captain. Ben, you and Conlon want to check that name through R&I. I'll be in the skipper. Yeah, okay, Jim. Well, Friday, uh, close it all, yeah? Sure. This is Mr. Sawyer. He's with the Western Central Railroad, Sergeant Friday. Sergeant? How are you? It's about Wallace, Friday. Mr. Sawyer has a complaint against him. We've got the crime report. Gentlemen, Wallace? Yeah. You want to fill him in, Mr. Sawyer? Well, Sergeant, I'm employed as a standards engineer for the Western Central Railroad. Wallace first approached me about a month ago. He said he was an inventor and he was working on plans of a new type of air brake for use on railroad cars. Mm-hmm. Go ahead. He said he'd conceive the idea but that he needed more time and money to perfect his invention. He told me I'd share in half of the profits he'd got from his idea. It sounded more than fair. How much money did you give him? All I had in my savings account, 3,000. I talked it over to the wife and the idea looked real good on paper. Yeah. I didn't expect to make too much money for myself out of this, but I thought if I could get a hold of this braking system, it would certainly help the company out. Mm-hmm. He took your money and you haven't heard from him since. Well, I presented the plans to the chief specifications engineer in our Eastern office. Yeah. I got an answer yesterday, Air Mail. Our New York office has been working for two years on exactly the same set of brake plans. Well, how do you get a hold of them? From the patent bureau in Washington. The company has a patent pending on a new device. It's all legal, isn't it? Yes, yes. He simply got the information from them, drew up an exact copy and submitted them to me. He sold you an invention that your company already owned. Yes, sir. And I'm out $3,000. You know where Wallace might be now? We've checked the boarding house where he was staying. He left there last night. No forwarding address, nothing. We've got an all-out points bulletin on him. Do everything we can. Well, thank you, Captain. Sergeant Friday. You have my card. If there's anything I can do to help, please call. All right, Mr. Sawyer. Goodbye. Good-bye. How long were we looking for, Joe? Well, let's see. What's that, Romero? On that phone he had the post office detail reported this morning. Check the name Barney Grant through the crime index. What's the name of the guy you? Yeah. Oh, this is the package on gentlemen Wallace. That's right. His alias list goes for three pages. Read them again. Charles French. Walter Grant. Charles Grant. Barney Grant. That's right. Gentlemen Wallace. Barney Grant. Same guy. We got out a local broadcast and APB and a radio gram on Charles, gentlemen Wallace. For a full month, there wasn't a sign of him. Then we received a communication from the Denver Colorado Police Department. Wallace had cast worthless checks in that city in the amount of $2,500, and then he'd skip town. But before he left Denver, he managed another deal. He sold 30 cartons of electric razors, which one did not belong to him. Two had been stolen from another conman and resold, and three, the razors didn't work in the first place. The mechanisms had been taken out and replaced with lead weights. Another 60 days passed before we got the next report on Wallace from Cleveland, Ohio. By means of forged papers, two well-versed assistants or ropers and a fast line of talk, Wallace had sold a Cleveland hardware concern, a shipment of 10 penny nails, much below the market price. He collected $1,200 as partial payment for the shipment, but it was never delivered. 8 a.m. Monday, March 3rd. Ben and I checked in for work after a weekend off and found a message in the book to report to Chief of Detective Stad Brown. Chief, you wanted to see him? Come in. Yes, sir. Gentlemen Wallace is back in town. Where'd you get that? Drive in the name of Patterson. Sir. All right, thanks. Egan, how Patterson brought to the interrogation room. Is that Mouse Patterson's given? Yeah, a small-time grifter. He was running with Wallace as late as a month ago back in Pittsburgh. When was Patterson picked up? Last night at a big hotel out in Hollywood. He was working a fast deal. You think he came to town with Wallace? I know he did. One of Conlon's informants spotted Wallace and Patterson last night. We nabbed Patterson while he slipped away. We figured we'd been operating him out of the city for about two weeks. Any idea what his angle is this time? I think so. Take a look at this. I'll get you very noticed. I just flipped him a newspaper. How do these tie him? The con artist takes a dead man's name from the obituary list, finds out a little bit about him, and writes him a letter. He writes a dead man a letter. Here's a sample we had reported to us. Read it. Mm-hmm. William Radford, 233 South Bookway, Hollywood. They're Bill. I heard you were sick, and I didn't want to bother you at this time, but believe me, I'm desperate. I don't mean to hound you about the $400 you've borrowed from me, but we're having sickness in our family, and I do need the cash. Wait a minute. Wallace writes a letter like this to a man knowing he's dead, and the family opens it and raises it. And they figure it's some unpaid debt that they didn't know about, which the deceased owed. That's right. And the con man collects. Yeah. The letter's been showing up right in the middle of funeral arrangements. The family's bereaved, restricting, caught off guard. They don't suspect anybody to be that ruthless, so they pay off what they think is a legitimate debt. That's a new load, isn't it? Excuse me. Ron speaking. All right, thanks. I got Patterson in the interrogation room. You have two questioning. Find out everything you can. Right, Chief Patterson. When you're through talking to Patterson, you can start checking on these names. What's this? It's a list of all the names that appeared in the obituary column in today's paper. It's a long list. Donna and Myberg are checking half. You and Romero take the rest. Right. Get to those families before Wallace does. They went down the hall of the interrogation room and questioned Patterson for an hour and a half. He denied that he even knew Wallace. He refused to tell us anything. We had Patterson return to his cell in the county jail, and Ben and I started to check with the relatives of the deceased who appeared in the daily obituary list. Adams, Connolly, Craig, Denberg, Donzetti, Edmunds, Fowler. None of them had received letters claiming payment of secret debts owed by the deceased. Now, there are more pleasant jobs in bothering families with an investigation in the middle of their sorrow. It wasn't easy, but it was necessary. The eighth name on the obituary list was Foreman, Carl Jay. He was survived by his wife, Jean. She lived at 5821 San Diego Street out in the valley. We're sorry to intrude at a time like this, Miss Foreman. We know how you must feel, but it's an important matter. That's all right, Sergeant. Carl was sick for so long, probably better this way. What did you want to know? Since your husband passed away, have you received any letters asking for payments on a debt that he might owed to somebody? It's funny, you should ask. Yes, I have. I got it yesterday. Yesterday, huh? Do you know the man who wrote the letter? No, I didn't. I took it for granted that it was someone Carl knew in the Army, someone he borrowed from. How much money was it? He said your husband owed him. $400. There's a letter over the mantle. I'll get it for you. Fine. Here it is. Thank you. Signs his name, Howard Michaels. Has this man contacted you since? Why, yes, he has. He called me last night and said that he just heard about Carl. He apologized for writing the letter. Said he had some medical bills of his own to pay. I went to the bank this morning and got the money for him. Is there anything wrong? And he's supposed to come here and get the money? He already has about two hours ago. He seemed to be a very good friend of Carl's. Ben, you got that mug shot on. Yeah. Yeah, here it is. I don't understand, Sergeant. Is this the man who picked up the money this morning? Yes, that's Mr. Michaels. Don't you think he was Carl's friend? I don't think so, Ms. Forman. But no one would do that. Who could be that low? You're looking at his picture, Ms. Forman. His name's Wallace. You are listening to Dragnet for the step-by-step solution to an actual police case. Here, step-by-step are the reasons why Fatima has more than doubled its smokers from coast to coast. Step one, the name Fatima has always stood for the best in cigarette quality. Step two, long cigarette smokers discover Fatima has a much different, much better flavor and aroma. Step three, long cigarette smokers find Fatima extra mild. Fatima is the long cigarette which contains the finest Turkish and domestic tobaccos superbly blended to make Fatima extra mild. And that's why more and more smokers every day agree. It's wise to smoke extra mild Fatima. It's wise to smoke extra mild Fatima. Yes, the name Fatima on that golden yellow package is your insurance of an extra mild smoke. So, enjoy Fatima, the best of all long cigarettes. Over the past century, the confidence man here in the United States has earned the dubious title of aristocrat of the underworld. Among small-time thieves, cutthroats, dope peddlers, pickpockets and similar small fry, he's looked up to and respected. The true con man does not consider himself a crook or a thief in the ordinary sense of the word. He's smooth, courteous, fast-talking, and he lives by his own coda rules. He never uses violence. He makes his living by his wits alone. Generally, he's far above average intelligence and he's totally without a conscience. He thinks no more of fleecing a day laborer of his wages than he would of fleecing a millionaire. Because of their carefully planned operations, only a handful of confidence men are ever brought to trial. Monday, March 3rd, 6 p.m. Ben and I completed our interviews with the families of the deceased and returned to the office. Hi, you two having luck? Wallace is the guy we found out that morning. Who identified him? Woman out in the valley, a Mrs. Foreman. Wallace poses an old friend of her husband, and took her for 400 bucks. How about Colin and Myberg, Captain? They get anything? I haven't checked in yet. I'm waiting for him. How does Mrs. Foreman make a payoff to Wallace through the mails? No, sir. He came out and picked up the dough in person. And then there's no chance of tracing him through the post office. Seems like he comes up with a new ammo every day. We checked out the rest of the families of the deceased. On the list, the chief gave us no leads. Don Myers and the handwriting checked the letter Mrs. Foreman got. The writing matches with the others. It's Wallace. Hi. No, Conlon. Myberg with you? Down the hall in handwriting. Checking a couple of letters with Myers. You doing any good today, Harry? Some. We found two families got phony letters through the mail. Same deal, Wallace. Do they pay off to him yet? Neither one. Told him to sit tight and call us if the guy should contact him again. Explain the setup. Who are the people, Harry? Let's see. One's an old fella. Oscar Dunn lives over in Highland Park. Others are a pretty wealthy family. Bell Air. Here it is. Elizabeth Secor. She's the wife. Husband's name, Burton James Secor. Investment broker died day before yesterday. How much of a debt is he supposed to devote? A guy in a letter claims $1,200. Signed with self, William Kilbright. The letters mention anything about how the payoff's supposed to be made. That guy wrote he'd contact him by phone first, then make arrangements to meet him. Both families will call as soon as they hear from. No, if he doesn't change his MO, we're set. Conlon, you and Myberg stick with the family in Highland Park. Make sure they understand perfectly what the setup is. Wallop makes a contact. Be there. Okay, Cap. Joe, you and Ben cover the family out in Bell Air. Okay. You got the Secor's address here? Well, here's a crime report. It's got all the dope good. I'll grab it. Bunko Fugitive Conlon. Yes, ma'am? When? All right, thanks. We'll take care of it. Secor as well as just called him. What's the pitch? Once it pays respect, he's going to visit him tonight. 7.35 p.m. Monday, March 3rd. Ben and I drove out to Bell Air to the Secor place. It was an English-type mansion with a circular driveway out in front. The wake for Mr. Secor was being held in the living room. The butler showed us into the library where Mrs. Secor was waiting. She told us everything that had transpired since she first received a letter from Wallace following her husband's death. She said Wallace had promised to be at her home promptly at 9 p.m. We waited. 9 p.m. came and went. We told her that if the suspect should call to make any concessions, we'd agree to anything in order to set up a meeting with him. At 10 minutes past 10, the phone in the library rang. Mrs. Secor answered it. I listened in on the extension. I'm terribly sorry, Mrs. Secor. I did want to get out to pay my last respects, but I'm afraid that will be impossible. Oh, I'm sorry you won't be able to come. I'd like to settle up that debt. The money that Burton owed you. I do hope you understand, Mrs. Secor. Bring up such a subject at this time of your bereavement, but I do have needed the money. You see, it's my wife. She's quite ill, and well, there are medical expenses to be made. Oh, I understand. When would you like to come for the money? My husband's funeral is tomorrow. At the cathedral on Sunset Boulevard, a rakely amass at St. Mary's at 9 o'clock. Yes, all right. I think that would be the best way. Yes, good night. I'm sorry. No, that's not easy for you. That's all right, Sergeant. It's strange, isn't it? What's that? One man burns out his whole life making money. The next man spends his time trying to steal it. What does it all mean? I don't know. We've got 2,600 men down in the county jail, and we all think they've got the right answer. It's the March 4th, 9 a.m. In St. Mary's Cathedral on Sunset Boulevard, the final rites, a rakely amass, was being celebrated for Burton James Secor. Ben and I were stationed at the rear of the church. Connellyn and Myberg, together with two other men from Bunko Detail, covered the side exits. An extra detail of men were placed at strategic points around the cathedral. The head usher stood a few feet from the main entrance. With him, he carried a plain, manila envelope filled with pieces of newspaper cut to resemble the size of currency along with a single-dollar bill. He had instructions to hand over the envelope without question to the person who asked for it. 15 minutes past 9, Joe. Yeah. You see that head usher all right? Yeah, I got him spotted. Pretty good-sized crowd here. Secor must have had lots of friends, huh? Yeah. Nice choir. Just wondering, Joe. What's that? Bullsie doesn't show up? That's possible. He might have gotten suspicious. Could be. Joe, look. Uniform messenger just came in the door. Yeah, I'm up to the usher talking to him. That's him. Usher gave him the envelope. The messenger's leaving right now. Let's hold it. Give him a lead. All right, let's go. All right, let's go, Ben. Don't lose him. Slide over. You got the cab number? Yeah, let's move. 10.30 a.m., Ben and I trailed the cab to a bus depot in downtown Los Angeles. We followed the messenger in and watched him check the Manila envelope in a key locker. We waited. At 11.45 a.m., another uniform messenger entered the bus depot, picked up the envelope and left. We followed him to the Union Railroad Station where he left the envelope at the Traveler's Aid desk. At 3 p.m., the envelope was still there, unclaimed. No signs, though. What do you think? It's a pretty fancy switch he's got to work down. Yeah. What time's the next train leave? 3.25, Coast Limited, San Francisco. 3.21, no. Wait a minute. See that porter over at the desk? He told me that girl there. I don't know. That's it. She's giving him the envelope. Come on, man. He's heading up the ramp. Yeah. Let's hustle. You turn up the left. Yeah. Passenger platform, Coast Limited. Not much time. Come on, run. Come on, Ben. Where'd the porter get on? Next car. Come on. Run. Jump. This way. Through here. That the same porter? Yeah. He's not going to let the door to that compartment handing in the envelope. That's it. Let's go. It's locked. Knock. What is it? The doctor. Just a minute. What is this? All right, Ben. Now look, Sergeant. There's no need for any unpleasantness. Certainly we can sit down and talk this thing over, like intelligent human beings. Grab the luggage, really, Ben. All right, let's go, Wallace. Oh, look. Wait a minute, please. I'm sure we can come to some agreement. I have plenty of money. Look, right here alone in this envelope, I've got plenty of... There's only a dollar here. The rest is newspaper. Yeah. I've been taken. So have a lot of people. Let's go. The story you have just heard was true. Only the names were changed to protect the innocent. On June 23rd, trial was held in Superior Court, Department 87, City and County of Los Angeles, state of California, in a moment the results of that trial. It's amazing how many long cigarette smokers are changing to Fatima. Here is the actual report. From coast to coast, Fatima has more than doubled its smokers. Yes, more and more smokers every day are discovering that Fatima is the best of all long cigarettes. Long cigarette smokers find Fatima has a much different, much better flavor and aroma. Long cigarette smokers find that Fatima is extra mild because it's the long cigarette which contains the finest Turkish and domestic tobaccos superbly blended to make it extra mild. So enjoy extra mild Fatima. Best of all, long cigarettes. It's wise to smoke extra mild Fatima. It's wise to smoke extra mild Fatima. Charles Gentleman Wallace was tried and convicted on four counts of grand theft and sentenced to the state penitentiary for the term prescribed by law, with holes being placed on him by four other states. You have just heard Dragnet, authentic cases from official files. Technical advice for Dragnet comes from the office of Chief of Police, W.A. Wharton, Los Angeles Police Department. Dragnet wishes to thank the editors of True Detective Magazine for their considerate appraisal of this program. For those of you who may be interested, the behind-the-scenes story of Dragnet appears in the March issue of True Detective. Fatima Cigarettes, the best of all, Long Cigarettes has brought you Dragnet from Los Angeles. Tomorrow, here are the Ronald Coleman's in the charming series, Halls of Ivy on NBC.