 Only the names have been changed. Fatima, best of all, king-sized cigarettes brings you dragnet. You're a detective sergeant. You're assigned a homicide detail. An elderly man is found dead in the living room of his home. There's a single bullet hole in his chest. On the surface it appears the man took his own life, but the evidence points to the opposite. Your job? Investigate. More and more smokers coast to coast are saying this about king-sized Fatima every day. They're different. Better. They are different. So pleasing. Yes, in Fatima the difference is quality. You see Fatima contains the finest domestic and Turkish tobaccos superbly blended. And Fatima is extra mild with a much different, much better flavor and aroma. Compare Fatima with any other king-sized cigarette. You'll find Fatima gives you all the advantages of extra length plus Fatima quality, which no other king-sized cigarette has. Yes, in Fatima the difference is quality. Next time by Fatima. Best of all, king-sized cigarette. 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, January 10th. It was cold in Los Angeles. We're working a day watch out a homicide detail. My partner's Ben Romero, the boss is Fat Brown, Chief of Detectives. My name's Friday. It was 8.25 a.m. when I got to the police academy. The doctor's office. Morning. Morning. Can I help you? I'm checking in for my annual physical. Oh, okay. Your name? Joe Friday. Okay. Friday, just like the day in the week? Yeah, that's right. Friday. Anything to find? Are you sure you were notified? Yeah, the tele-type was posted in the office a couple of days ago. Annual physical exams. My name was right near the top of the list. F-R-I-D-A-Y. Oh, yeah. Can I hear you, all right? Joseph Friday. That's it, yeah. Well, all right, Friday, let's get your name down here. Okay. Age? 34. What are you wearing? Central homicide. Your number? 2288. 2288. Okay, Friday, you want to step this way? All right. Step off your shoes, your coat and shirt. Okay. How are they keeping you busy? Oh, pretty busy, yeah. 4500 men in the department. Everyone has to have an annual physical. I've got to get you weighed and send you along inside. Doc's probably ready for you by now. Over here. Never for you. Dr. Vance's office. Is that it? All right, just a minute. It's for you, Friday, your office. Friday talking. No, not quite. I haven't seen Doc Vance yet. What's the matter? No one else in homicide to handle it? Not right now. Have that pad, Doc. Thank you. 9320 Laurel. I got it. What's the story? 45 AM. I left the doctor's office at the police academy and drove to the Westlake area where I met Ben in front of the cottage where the dead body had been found. We went inside and checked with one of the men from the radio car and was standing by. The dead man was identified as Martin Latimer, age 68, a retired owner of a couple of neighborhood grocery stores in the city. He was lying sprawled on his side on the floor. There was a bullet hole in his chest just above the heart where the slug had entered the body. There was another larger wound in the back through the left shoulder blade where the bullet had emerged. Approximately eight feet across the room from the body was another chair. There was a windchester rifle wired firmly to the top, its muzzle pointing directly above the spot where the body lay on the floor. A thick white string was found wound firmly around the trigger of the rifle. It ran through a metal ring on the stock of the gun and stretched across the room where it had been tied to the dead man's right index finger. At first glance, it seemed like an obvious suicide arrangement. Officer Harkness, one of the men in the radio car who had answered the call, took the exception. I know, Sergeant. Maybe I'm all wet. Just doesn't gel right for me. Who discovered the body, Sergeant? Next to our neighbor, Mrs. Donworth. My partner's with her now. Do you fellas call the crime lab? Yeah, they're on their way out. Was the old man the only one who lived in the house here? Yeah, that's what the neighbor told us. I'd sure like to see what the crime lab crew's going to think of it. What's the big question, Sergeant? Well, I know it's none of my business, Sergeant. You fellas are the detectives. I just couldn't help but notice, though. What's that? Well, come here. Over here, this rifle wired to the back of the chair. Yeah. I'd take a sight along the barrel of the rifle. See what you think. Right through the sight, huh? Mm-hmm. I pointed right above the armjure over there. Yeah. It's in a straight line with the body. Uh-huh. How much fist the old man pulled the string tied to his index finger and it set off the trigger. It took the slug through the chest, didn't it? Yeah, that's what I figured. Now, here, take a look at the wall directly behind the old man. Yeah. The slug went clean through the body. We know that. It threw the chest above the heart, then out through the shoulder blade. Let's see what you mean. Oh, here, now, take a look at this wall here. Got a mark on it. Yeah. One thing, sure, if the old man was shot in that position, the slug had to come this way. Yeah. That's through his body, right about this height here. Uh-huh. We ought to find the bird on this wall, right? Right around here. Yeah, it ought to be. Not a trace of a slug there. Not much chance it could have been deflected, do you think? Well, that's what I thought. It's a 30-30 winchester. Enough power to go through a couple of plaster walls. Well, we know the slug went through the body. It's got to be somewhere on one of these four walls. Uh-huh. Uh, take a look over here and see what you think. All right. Uh, down here, near the corner of the wall. Where? Well, right here. Yeah, it looks like it, man. Something's out of kilter. The rifle never could have thrown a slug this far down on the wall. Not the way it's wired to the charity. Besides that, it's way out of line, at least four feet, the way I figured here. Well, I know it's none of my business, Sergeant. I couldn't help but notice it, though. Uh, you want me to stand by outside? Yeah, OK, if you will. Would you mind checking with your partner to see if we can have that neighbor lady brought over for questioning, would you? Right, I'll check with him now. Thank you. I'm going to take another look at that rifle. Well, it sure doesn't add up too well, does it? Even if the old man jerked the gun when he pulled the trigger with that string arrangement, the slug couldn't have passed through his chest, out his back, and then hit the wall where it did. I'm standing just behind the body, would you, Joe? See if it's possible to line it up. All right, what about here? Look about it to you. Uh, yeah, that's good. Let me see here. No, not a chance, Joe. It's way out of line. That's the gun that killed him. The old man didn't pull the trigger. Not from there, anyway. There's one other chance, huh? Somebody pulled it for him. Lieutenant Lee Jones arrived with his crime lab crew and went to work. We put in a call to the coroner's office and the dead man's neighbor, Mrs. Elsie Donwood, was brought over for questioning. She was a chubby matronly lady, about 45. She told us she'd been a neighbor to the aging Martin Latimer for more than 10 years. I take it you knew Mr. Latimer pretty well, ma'am. Yeah, I suppose. He didn't have any relatives, poor man, all alone. He was in the grocery business for years. He made some nice money, I guess. Retired about eight years ago, sold both his stores. And then come from a mortgage on one of them. $150 a month. Yeah, he was very comfortable. Uh-huh. Wasn't a penny-painter at all, but he was thrifty. It was the same way with my husband, Claude. He used to say, take care of the dimes, and the dollars will take care of himself. Well, Mrs. Donwood, can you think of any reason why Latimer would want to take his own life? Oh, I suppose. Poor old man is getting along in years. A long time day with the sight he was going to die with cancer. So did Mr. Latimer have cancer, do you know? Oh, no, he kept thinking he was going to die with it. Could you come next door to my place while I get some of my laundry out? We could talk there. It's just across the yard. All right, ma'am, that'll be fine. If you want to tell Lee Jones we'll be next door, ma'am. I guess you better let Hartness know, too. Yeah, right, I'm telling him. Thank you. About that cancer business officer, Mr. Latimer was always talking about it. Yes, ma'am. He finally went to a doctor about it. That was last week only. He came back and he told me the doctor said for him not to be so silly about it. He was a well man and good health. What was the last time that you saw Latimer, ma'am? Day before yesterday. Oh, we laughed and joked over the back fence. Oh, man. He had such a nice smile. Reminds me of a good deal of Claude. That was my husband. I'd like to have your honest opinion, Ms. Donwin. Do you think Mr. Latimer killed himself? Well, I suppose that rifle in there, that television staff. Joe, I wonder if I could talk to you a minute. Yeah, okay. Would you like to go on ahead over next door, ma'am? We'll be right with you. All right, officer. Thank you very much. We'll be right there, ma'am. Yeah. Crime Lab proves having a field day. They say if the old man shot himself with that rig, it ought to make Ripley's car. Find anything definite? Dusted the rifle for fingerprints. Didn't find a warrant. How about that? Yeah. Makes less sense than that slug buried in the corner of the wall. Sure does. Checked the desk, and the living room found some correspondence Latimer's having with some woman through a lonely heart club. Yeah. Did you find any reason why he'd want to die? Pretty good reason why he'd want to live, huh? Found a photograph. Beautiful girl. Looks to be about 24 or 5. What about it? She was going to marry him. The Crime Lab crew continued their routine investigation of Martin Latimer's cottage. They removed a 30-30 slug from the corner of one wall. Ben and I went next door to question the neighbor, Mrs. Donworth. There didn't seem to be any common ground at all between the evidence in the house and the information that she had to offer. As we continued questioning her, Mrs. Donworth remembered that a month before, Latimer had told her that something might happen to him and he wanted to make out a will. He asked if she would witness the will. A few days later, Latimer's lawyer came to the house and Mrs. Donworth witnessed the signing. At that time, she said, Latimer made the remark, I don't feel like going on much longer anyway. If death means arrest, I think I deserve one. Mrs. Donworth kept busy with the laundry while we interviewed her. Could you let me get by to the main wall where I have to get some of this ironing done? Yes, ma'am. I'm sorry. I'm afraid there's one thing I don't remember you telling us, ma'am. Did you hear anything of the ordinary going on next door or this morning or last night? No. Nothing I noticed, anyway. Officer, did you see that knob on the washer, the one on the left? Oh, you mean that's over here? Yeah, just lift it up and turn it around to all, please. It says all right there in the dial. Yes, ma'am. I see. There you are. Yes, thanks. No, there was nothing I heard from next door remark about. Of course, there's some noise around here that time in the morning. You can't even hear yourself think anyway. How's that, ma'am? The trucks passing by up and down every morning. They're not small trucks either. They start in at 6 a.m. They rattle past for two or three hours, please. The first good explanation we've had on this thing. Could you give us the names of some of the other people on the street who knew Mr. Latimer pretty well, Mrs. Donwood? Yeah, I suppose. I don't think any of them know the poor old man as well as I did. Most of them are younger folks. You know, parties and things. When you got up around 65 or past that like Mr. Latimer, parties don't mean so much anymore. Yes, ma'am. I understand. Yeah. It's a nice, quiet home with a good heating system. Good books on the shelf. Good man around the house. Got all you can ask for. Yes, ma'am. Well, thank you very much. We'll leave our car again in case you want to contact us for any reason. All right. There's one more thing, Mrs. Donwood. We understand Latimer was corresponding with several women to a lonely hearts club. Did he ever mention that to you? No, he never did. I found out from the male man. He's a regular gossip. And Latimer never mentioned any other women that he corresponded with. Is that right? Well, I pretended I didn't even know about it. He never brought it up. Don't understand why he'd want to meet a lady that way. Almost to them are looking for the man with money so they can quit work and lay around the house. Well, thanks again, Mrs. Donwood. It's been very helpful. Yeah. Poor old man. I wonder what made him write letters after silly women. Little good day to Dunning. He wrote letters all over the country. Getting tired of working myself. Could have saved the post, too. Make a part. I was right next door. Would have married him in a minute. We left Mrs. Donwood's house a few minutes past noon. We went back next door to Latimer's cottage. The crime lab crew had finished their investigation and the deputy coroner arrived. He took the body downtown for autopsy. We talked over the crime lab findings with Lieutenant Lee Jones and he felt the same way that Ben and I did. The theory that Latimer had shot himself to death was possible in many respects, but it was far from plausible. We checked through Latimer's correspondence with the women that he'd contacted by mail through the Lonely Hearts Club. Especially the young girl he obviously intended to marry judging from his letters to her. Her picture showed her to be a brunette, dark eyes, young and very attractive. The inscription at the bottom read, with love, Catherine. There was no return address on either the photo or the letter. Ben called to check with the Lonely Hearts Club. Yes, ma'am. No, that's all right. We'll probably be dropping down a talk to you. Yes, boy. What'd they say? Might be it, Joe. Club Secretary says they've been having trouble with somebody who signs a picture just like this one. It was Love, Catherine. I described the picture. The Secretary says it's the same girl. What's the angle? The girl doesn't belong to the club, but somehow she got a list of their members and their addresses. She writes to them. Usually, old men get them set for marriage and they send for them. Her letters come from the East, from different cities. She writes and asks for a train fare out here. Men send her their money for clothes and train fare, and that's the last of it. She's gone. Oh, that's all right. There's one letter here. This one. I hate to ask you, dear, but if you could send me the traveling money and just a little extra for some clothes, I will take the first train and be with you in a week to become your wife for waiting that precious moment and so on. Kind of poor it on thick. What's the date on this? Let's see. December 30th. It's 12 days ago. What do you think? That's possible. She could have showed up, tried to grab all the old man's money she could find. Maybe he caught her at it. She killed him, rigged up this phony set up to make it look like Latimer shot himself. You know more what if we could find out she really came here. Maybe we'd better start ringing a few doorbells. The other neighbors might come up with something. What do you say? Let me see that girl's picture again with you. Yeah, here you go. No photographer's name. Now look in the back here, Ben. No down here in the corner. Right in the corner of the picture mounting. Oh, yeah, yeah. X, X, X, X, Y, 3. Must be some kind of manufacturer's marking. Photography supplier. Guess it stands for the type of paper, huh? You know anything about the photo business? No, I don't. In a derailleur? Let's find somebody who does, huh? Before we drove back to the office, Ben and I covered the rest of the neighborhood and talked to everybody who knew the dead man, Martin Latimer, even remotely. They told us nothing that we didn't already know. There'd been no strangers seen visiting the old man. No one had noticed anything out of the ordinary in Latimer's daily routine. Three o'clock that afternoon, we checked for the police photo lab. They told us that the symbol stamped on the cardboard frame of the photograph signed Catherine were symbols used by a photo supply company up in San Francisco. We went back to the office and got in touch with the San Francisco firm. We were told that the symbols indicated the style and the size of photographic mounting. And further, that this particular type of mounting was distributed only throughout seven western states. They gave us a list of 18 photo studios in Los Angeles who kept that particular mount in stock. It was a long chance, but we started checking them out. Meantime, we'd run the girl through R&I and gotten out an APB seeking information on her. Three days later, Ben and I had checked out 10 of the 18 photo studios on our list. The 11th was the M&Y family portrait son, Melrose. Yes, sir. Can I help you? Police officers, would you mind taking a look at this photograph here, please? Would you like an enlargement? Got a special price on the enlargement this week? No, sir. We'd just like to know if you can identify this girl, that's all. Well, do you recognize her at all, sir? I don't know her. Sure you wouldn't like an enlargement? You're in a cruiser car of a metropolitan police department. You receive a routine radio call. All units, attention, all units. Pick up and hold for investigation of the following vehicle. 1948 Ford, two-door sedan. Black, white-side-wall tires. There are many cars that fit this description. You listen for more facts. This car will have extensive damage to right front end. License number, nine, Robert, nine. 707. In the seven column, nine. Robert, nine. 707. Now you can pin it down to one. It's the same with cigarettes. There are many king-size brands to choose from. But when you know all the facts, you'll make your choice, Fatima. Here are those facts. Fatimas are the same in length and circumference as any other king-size cigarette. 85 millimeters long, one and one-sixty-fourths inches around. And Fatima filters the smoke exactly the same long distance. But in Fatima, the difference is quality. Fatima gives you extra mildness. A much different, much better flavor and aroma. Remember, Fatima gives long cigarette smokers all the advantages of extra length. Plus Fatima quality, which no other king-size cigarette has. Next time, insist on the best. Buy Fatima. Best of all, king-size cigarettes. Saturday, January 13th, 135 p.m. We showed the photograph of the girl to the proprietor of the photo studio on Melrose Avenue, and he identified her as one of his customers. He told us her name was Doris Chambers. She was 22 years old and a post-graduate student in chemistry at the university. She came from a fairly well-to-do family, and her father was the president of a local neighborhood bank. She didn't even come close to the type of girl that we were looking for. We got the address from the photographer, drove out to the home, and interviewed the Chambers girl. She gave a younger appearance than she did in her picture. She couldn't recognize the handwriting on the photo, nor did she understand the inscription with love, Catherine. After questioning her, it became apparent that she knew nothing at all, about 68-year-old Martin Lattimer. I wonder if you had mind taking another look at the handwriting on the picture, Miss? Are you familiar at all? No. No, I couldn't be sure either way. It seemed like I'd seen it, though. When did you say you had this picture made, Miss? About a year ago, at graduation. My mother had extra copies made up. She liked it. I didn't care for it much. Could you tell us how many people have prints of this picture? Mama had two dozen copies made up. She took 12, and I took 12. She sent them to relatives, friends of ours, kept a few. Send them to friends, girls at school, a few of my boyfriend's. Can you remember if you autographed any of them? Yeah, some of them, the ones from my girlfriend. Others, they gave out plain. Can you try and thank who you gave those to, Miss? The unsigned picture? One went to Carl. I know that. Ray and Fred and Don and Warren. I think that's it. I wonder if we could have their full names and addresses, please. Yes, all right. You know what I'm saving all this junk for? Old letters. Could I see that picture, please? Yeah, I hear you. Well, it's the same writing. I thought I'd seen it before. What? This old letter from Warren. See the writing? Doesn't it look the same to you? Hmm, looks close to me. Well, I've done my own handwriting check it over. Who is this Warren in this chamber? Warren Wright. Here's his address right here. Yeah, I'll copy it. Jump fine. Warren and I went to college together. We were engaged to be married for a while, and I broke it off. I see. Warren's a serious boy. He was very thorough and perfectionist. You know, Sergeant, he ever does things halfway. That's him. Never known Warren to do anything in his life halfway, not Warren's. Well, he's going to have a perfect record of that handwriting matches. What can they do to him? I don't know, but they won't do it halfway. 255 p.m. We left the home of Doris Chambers and drove down Beverly Boulevard to 743 North Clairwood Avenue, an apartment house where the suspect was supposed to be living. We talked to the manager and he told us that Warren Wright had moved without giving notice three days before on January 10th. The same day, 68-year-old Martin Latimer was found dead in his home. We got on the phone, talked to Doris Chambers again, and she gave us a lead on Warren Wright's married sister. 7.30 p.m. We met with the sister of the murder suspect, and she told us that her brother, Warren, had phoned that morning and asked for an emergency loan of $200, which he didn't have to give him. The sister gave us Wright's new address, and we checked it out. It was one of those run-down, futuristic-style apartment houses built in the mid-30s. It was on a narrow road high above Sunset Boulevard, overlooking most of Hollywood. Wright wasn't in, and the manager said he wasn't expected back till early the next morning. We had the manager let us in Wright's apartment. We waited. Midnight. 1 a.m. No sign of the suspect. No denying it is sure a beautiful view from here. It's the best in town. It'd be nice for a single fellow's up here when it wouldn't work with a family, though. How about you, Joe? Why don't you get your mother looking around up here? It'd be a beautiful place with a two of you. No, I don't think you might ever leave the house. She's been there for 40 years. I guess she'll stay there until she dies. It would be nice up here, though, wouldn't it? Whatever you, huh? Mm-hmm. Why don't you try to talk me into it? You've got nothing to lose. I might do that. Why don't you slide up one of the windows to get a little stuffy in there? All right. Whoa. Smell that air, huh? That's great. What time you got? 1.45. Oh, it's a long night. We waited. 3 a.m., 4 a.m., 4 30. It was cold, and still no sign of the suspect worn white. 5 a.m., 5 30, 6 a.m. The sky was getting light over in the east. 6 30, 7 a.m., 7 30. We kept waiting. No sign of the suspect. We called the office and arranged for a relief. 8 a.m., we could hear groups of youngsters passing by outside, trooping into the main yard of a grammar school just below the apartment house. We kept waiting. At 8.15 a.m., we heard a car pull up in front of the apartment house. Footsteps came down the driveway, up the path, and stopped outside the door. We heard a key turn in the lock. What is this? What do you want? You want one, right? Yes. The police officer's got some questions we'd like to ask you. It's all right, officers. Why don't you sit down? I'm not going to give you any trouble. What? I killed him. Maybe I'll never know why, but I killed him. Want to tell us about it? You must have had a reason for it, rigging it for a suicide. Do you have anything against him? I hardly even knew him. He used that picture of Doris, the fool, and made some good money doing it I needed. You're willing to give us a statement about the whole thing? I haven't anything to hide, officer. The minute I killed him, I knew it was all over. Right there in that one minute, I knew you'd come and find me somehow. I didn't know when, but you'd come and find me. Okay, Ben, we're about to head downtown. Yeah. What? It's a great sound, isn't it? What's that? This schoolyard. Really? The kids. Got a great sound to it. Good one. Do you want to get your hat? All right. How can anybody figure? You're starting a schoolyard like those kids down there, running around, yelling. I started the same. All right, get going. I don't know what it is. It happens. An eight-year-old red-head kid. Must be one down there now. Yeah, the kids will grow up, get jobs, work, and die. It'll be all right. Yeah. One kid will end up in an alley with a gun in his hand. How can anybody figure? I don't know. A bunch of kids playing in a schoolyard. Someday one of them is a killer. Yeah, let's go. You tell me. What's the answer? It was true. Only the names were changed to protect the innocent. On April 2nd, trial was held in Superior Court, Department 88, City and County of Los Angeles, State of California. In a moment, the results of that trial. And now here is our star, Jack Webb. Thank you. Friends, it's come to my attention that some people have a misunderstanding about the cost of Fatimas. Well, I'd sure like to straighten that out for you right now. The cost of Fatima is the same as the cigarette you're now smoking. Yes, that's right. Fatimas cost no more. But in Fatima, the difference is quality. Buy Fatima in the golden yellow package. Warren Thomas White was tried and convicted of murder in the first degree. He received a sentence of life imprisonment. He is still serving his term in the state penitentiary, Folsom, California. Ladies and gentlemen, to build our strength against aggression, we've got to equip our armed forces with weapons of war and, at the same time, produce plenty of civilian goods so that we can keep prices down. Remember, the better we produce, the stronger we grow. Dr. 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, best of all, King-sized cigarettes has brought you Dragnet, transcribed from Los Angeles. Stay tuned for Counter-Spire next over NBC.