Ladies and gentlemen, the story you are about to hear is true. Only the names have been changed to protect the innocent. Fatima cigarettes, best of long cigarettes, brings you Dragnet. You're a detective sergeant. You're assigned to homicide detail. A vicious killer has taken the life of a 62-year-old woman. Suspicion points in only one direction. The murderer was heartless, cold-blooded. Your job, get him. If you want a long cigarette, smoke the best of long cigarettes. Smoke Fatima. It's the long cigarette that contains an essential ingredient of all the very popular cigarettes, Turkish tobacco. That's why you see the Turkish symbols on the attractive golden yellow Fatima package. That's why Fatima has a much different, much better flavor and aroma than any other long cigarette. That's why Fatima doubles and redoubles its smokers. Yes, if you want a long cigarette, smoke the best of long cigarettes. Smoke Fatima. 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 from official police files. From beginning to end, from crime to punishment, Dragnet is the story of your police force in action. It was Saturday, November 5th. It was foggy in Los Angeles. We were working the day watch out of homicide. My partner is Ben Romero. The boss is Ed Backstrand, chief of detectives. My name's Friday. It was 3.35 p.m. when I got to room 42, homicide. Long distance. This is Friday in homicide. I'd like to place a call to Mr. Frank Granard in Murphy, Idaho, the number is 761. Frank Granard, Murphy, Idaho, 761. Yeah, that's right. The call's been cleared with the business office. All right. Do you want me to call you back, Sergeant? No, I'll hang on. Okay, I'll place it for you. Long distance. To Frank Granard, Murphy, Idaho, Murphy, 761. Thank you. Your number, please. Charge the call to Madison, 7961. Thank you. The time in charge is when the call's completed, operator. Raid operator. Yes, Murphy, Idaho, rooting and person raided. I'm calling Napa. N-A-M-P-A, Napa. Hi. The number is 9. Boise. Hi. 160 plus. 160, thank you. You're welcome. Through Boise. Boise. I'm calling Napa. Murphy, 761. Thank you. Keep ringing, 761. They're ringing the number, Sergeant. Okay, thanks. Hello? Mr. Frank Granard, please. Los Angeles calling. Who do you want? Mr. Frank Granard, please. Los Angeles calling. I'm Frank Granard. Go ahead, please. All right, Sergeant, go ahead. Hello? Hello? Hello, Frank Granard? Yeah, who's this? This is Sergeant Friday, Los Angeles Police Department. I've got an urgent message for you. For me? What's the matter? Your wife, Dolores, asked me to call you. Something's happened to your mother. What do you mean? What's happened? I better let your wife tell you. She wants you back in Los Angeles right away. Look, what's this all about? I can't leave my job now. You better come. Your mother's been murdered. Talk to the skipper, Joe. He's on his way in. That's good. Did you call my husband? Did you? He's flying down from Idaho tonight. Be here in the morning. You tell him about me? The trouble I'm in? I told him his mother was murdered. That's all I told him, Mrs. Granard. What am I going to say to Frank? He always sided in with his mother. He'll never believe me. What can I tell him? Jury can give you more trouble than your husband can. What are you going to tell them? Are you stupid or something? How many times do I have to say it? I didn't kill her. I didn't kill her. It's a small room, Mrs. Granard. We can hear you. Sit down, please. I won't sit down. You're not pinning this on me because I didn't do it. Anybody could have killed the old hag, but I didn't. Will you sit down, please? I don't have to take this. I'm no tramp. Keeping me in here, asking me questions, I told you all I know. Look, you're in a bad spot. I hope you realize that. I didn't kill her. Mrs. Granard, how long have you and your mother-in-law been living together in the house on Chavez Road? Since Frank took the job up in Idaho. About six months. He said it'd be better for me while he was away living with her. Your neighbors told us you didn't get along very well with your mother-in-law. That's right, I didn't. She hated me, I hated her. You used to fight with her, is that right? You hit her. Only a couple of times. She called me dirty names. I hit her. She pulled me by the hair. I hit her. I hated her like everything. I didn't kill her. Once more, Mrs. Granard. Would you mind telling us how you spent your time since early this morning? Where you went, what you did, everything? I told you already everything. Will you tell us again, please? I got up about quarter to nine. I had a cup of coffee and then I got dressed. The old lady was on the back porch doing the washing. What did your mother-in-law do for a living? I told you. She took in washers. After I got dressed, I left the house. About ten minutes after nine, I went downtown to the dentist. He filled a tooth for me. It's right here, you can ask him. What time did you leave the dentist's office? About quarter after ten. Maybe twenty after. You can ask him. What did you do after that? I walked around window shopping. Did you buy anything, talk to anybody? I told you no. What time did you get home? Half past twelve. I went in the bedroom. The old lady was there. Blood all over. I felt her heart. It wasn't beating. Is that when you got the blood on your dress? Yeah. Now that's all I'm going to say. Three times I told you the same story already. And you still can't account for your time between ten, twenty this morning and the time you found the body and called the police at twelve thirty. I told you. I left the dentist. I went window shopping. Then I walked home. And during that time, you didn't talk to anyone and no one saw you. Lots of people saw me. People saw me. People on the street downtown. I'm no tramp. I don't talk to everybody. None of your neighbors saw you come home, Miss Renard? Of course they didn't see me. I cut across the back lot from San Jose Avenue. I came in the back way. The lady who lives next door to you, she says she was in the backyard about noon time. She stayed there until after one o'clock. She didn't see you come in the back way. Then she's a liar. She's a dirty liar. You and your husband took out an insurance policy on your mother-in-law last year. Is that right, Miss Renard? Sure it is. What of it? Five thousand dollars. Five thousand dollars? Yes, so what? Do you know a man by the name of George Martino? No. You better tell the truth, Miss Renard. All right, so I do. He's a friend of mine. You've been running around with him since your husband's been away. None of your business. I do what I want. Your mother-in-law found out about Martino. That's what you fought about most of the time. Oh, she was crazy. He's a friend of mine. That's all. Are you telling the truth, Miss Renard? Martino's a boyfriend of mine. I told you. That's all. Your mother-in-law found out you were running around with him. She warned you if you didn't shake Martino, she'd write your husband. You said you'd kill her if she did. That's a lie. That's what your mother-in-law told one of the neighbor ladies. I said it just to scare her. One night I was drinking. We had a fight. She was yapping at me all night. I said it just to scare her. But she wrote the letter anyway. That's what she said. But I didn't kill her. You had the time, the motive, and the opportunity. It wasn't me. I didn't kill her. Interrogation room, Friday. This is Brennan, Joe. Yeah, Bill. Where are you? Santa Monica. Picked up George Martino. Ben and I drove Mrs. Renard to Lincoln Heights Jail, 5th floor, and had her booked on suspicion of 187 PC. When we checked back in at the office, Brennan and Wiseman, the other two men on the case with Ben and I, were questioning George Martino in the interrogation room. Ben and I stood by. Martino admitted only two things. He had been running around with Mrs. Renard since her husband left town, and he had heard Mrs. Renard express a desire to do away with her mother-in-law. After the questioning of Martino, Sergeant Brennan, Ben and I met with Chief Ed Backstrand. It was 5.15 p.m. You got everything but the murder weapon, huh? That and Mrs. Renard's confession. She ought to come through, huh, Joe? I don't know. She's scared, but she's still got a smart mouth. What about Martino, Brennan? You think he had a hand in it? I don't think so. We spent most of the afternoon talking to him. He hasn't got the guts. We took a statement. And does he have an alibi? Solid. What was the cause of death? Strangulation, multiple fractures of the skull. All the motives are with Mrs. Renard, Chief. Pretty clear-cut job. No evidence of robbery or burglary, I guess. A couple of dresser drawers in her bedroom were emptied on the floor and clothes tossed all around. Pretty obvious plan to make it look like burglary. Maybe. We found three one-dollar bills in plain sight. They were on the floor near the body. If a burglar went through this stuff, he wouldn't have missed that money. And it shouldn't be too much trouble tying it up. Shouldn't be skipper. Friday and Romero, you follow the case through. Just a minute. Hello. Backstrand. Yeah. What? All right, I'll send him over. Lee Jones. Just finished checking the evidence at the crime lab. Yeah. He thinks Mrs. Renard's innocent. There they are, fellas. Facts don't lie. But she had every reason in the world to kill old lady. In my book, she couldn't have killed her. All right, let's have it, Lee. How does the evidence add up? That's just it, Joe. It doesn't. Take a look. The dress Mrs. Renard was wearing when she found the body. That's it. Blood smears near the hem. Two smears, that's all. Now, if she murdered her mother-in-law, there should be more blood on this dress. It shouldn't be smeared. How do you mean? First of all, the man on which the old lady was killed, head was battered in, must have bled profusely. No question about that. All right, go ahead. Whoever murdered the old lady must have stains all over their clothes. Here's the important part. Because of the nature of the wound, it would have stained in drops, not smears. Well, how can you tell the difference? Maybe these are drop stains on her desk. They're not. I checked them with the microscope. Only the higher ribs of the cloth are stained. The smears, nothing else. But a drop forms its own definite drop pattern and permeates the cloth, soaks in. No signs of that on her dress. Not a one. Now, here's the silk scarf the old lady was strangled with. Yeah? Here's what I found in the knot tied in the scarf. A blonde hair, wavy. Old lady had dark hair. So does Mrs. Renard. So does her boyfriend. That's what I mean. This blonde hair is one of two things that didn't belong at that murder scene. What else you got? This hair. What is it, Lee? Small piece of plastic from a gun butt, I'd say. See here? Crisscross surface, then a little smooth area. Yeah? The killer could have hit the old lady with the butt of a gun. And a piece of the stock could have chipped off like this, huh? Mrs. Renard doesn't own a gun. You didn't murder no one. Where does that leave us? I don't know, Joe. There's the stuff. You can't disregard it. Maybe you can explain it. Yeah. How? You'll first prove this dress isn't the one Mrs. Renard was wearing this morning. Then find the dress she did wear. And we know she wore this when the dentist identified it, and so did two of the neighbors. That's what I mean. The dress is too clean. It doesn't belong. Yeah. And this blonde hair, this piece of gun butt, they don't belong either. Well, and you think she's innocent. You're looking at the evidence. What do you think? Six p.m. Saturday, November 5th. Ben and I went back to the office and met with Brennan Wiseman and Ed Backstrand. The open and shut case against Mrs. Renard was up in the air. But we still weren't sure that she was innocent of the murder of her mother-in-law. Ben and I drove to the Lincoln Heights jail and interviewed the suspect again. She agreed to submit to a lie detector test. We drove back to the office, contacted Sergeant Berger, the department's polygraph man, and set up a special test for the following day. The next morning we met with Berger and formulated a list of key questions. And then we picked up Mrs. Renard and brought her to the third floor of the Old City jail building, the polygraph room. At 10.33 a.m., the test got underway. As usual, Sergeant Berger conducted the interview alone. Backstrand, Ben, and I waited outside. Well, how about Mrs. Renard's husband? Get in town yet? He's due in around noon, Skipper. Got a smoke? Yeah. Here you are, Ed. Yeah, thanks. What time is it now? 10.25. Here's Berger now. That's it, Ed. What'd you get? I can study the chart a little more. The results are pretty well defined, though. How's it look? No reaction to the key questions. What's your opinion? I don't think she did it. You are listening to Dragnet, authentic stories of your police force in action. And in leading magazines this week, you'll see this authentic story. Headline. Fatima's sensational growth sets a record for long cigarettes. Then you'll read the actual reasons smokers give for changing to Fatima. Fatima is different. It's mild and has a wonderful flavor. Fatima's best. These are the words of Miss Pamela Bookman of New York, where Fatima has increased its smokers 132%. Fatima tastes much better than any other long cigarette. It's the best. Says Mr. James S. Winterhalter of Detroit, where Fatima smokers have increased 348%. I like the flavor, and Fatima is mild. It's the best long cigarette. That's the statement of Mrs. Mary C. Werdeman of Los Angeles, where Fatima has increased its smokers 545%. Yes, more and more long cigarette smokers every day agree. A change to Fatima is a change to the best. Enjoy Fatima yourself. Best of long cigarettes. 8 a.m. Monday, November 7th. Mrs. Renard was released from custody. We questioned her husband, Frank Renard, briefly. He could tell us nothing more than we already knew. Brennan and Wiseman were called back on the case, and together the four of us started over again from the beginning. We had a dead body, two pieces of physical evidence to work with, no idea how to fit them together, and no suspects. We went back to the Chavez Road neighborhood, where the murdered woman lived and started pushing doorbells. We canvassed the neighborhood for three days, and we uncovered one slim lead. He was selling magazines, officer. Went door to door, right up the street here, young fellow. Could you describe the man for us, please? Nothing to talk about. Pasty face, pimply complexion, blonde hair. 5.30 p.m. Wednesday, November 9th. Ben and I met with Brennan and Wiseman and head Backstrand's office to compare notes. Together we had more than a dozen reports of the magazine salesman's presence in the neighborhood just prior to the murder of Mrs. Renard's mother-in-law. The various descriptions of the man, which we obtained from the people in the neighborhood, tallied closely. About 6 feet, 170 pounds, pimply complexion, blonde hair, fast talkum. About 25 years old. As far as we know, Skipper, he was the only stranger in the neighborhood last Saturday morning. Only one the people remember, anyway. How close did you trace him to the Renard house? You got your list there, Brennan? Yeah. There you are. Thanks. Let's see. Well, he picked up his tracks down on Floresta Street, sold a couple of descriptions there, then he headed up Landers Avenue onto Chavez Road. Yeah. The Renards live at 2280 Chavez Road. That salesman talked to the woman at 2274 Chavez. That's three doors away from the Renards. When was he seen there? Let me see. Where is that, Brennan? Oh, on the 15-7 sheet, Joe. Didn't have enough room on the report. Oh. Yeah. Here it is. Mrs. John Rico, 2274 Chavez. The guy was there about 11.45 Saturday morning. Well, that puts him in the running. First time he ever showed in that neighborhood. First time, Skipper. Fresh kid. Not a very good salesman. Here's the name of the company he's working for, the Harrison News Distributors. Did you check with them? No, they're closed for the night. We'll call them the first thing tomorrow. Good. Here's something else for you. I had a call from Frank Renard this afternoon. What did he have to say? Seems in the excitement, just after the murder, Mrs. Renard overlooked a couple of things. What's that? They're missing a yellow table model radio. It was in the bedroom where the old lady was killed. Well, that ties in with the robbery motive. They're missing a ring, too. Belonged to Mrs. Renard. Topaz ring. Supposed to be worth a little money. But she didn't notice it was gone until today. That's right. You got the serial number on the radio? Yeah, let's see. Yeah, Ben, here we are. It's an Emerson model 511-180-000-277609. Not a small radio in town. There's only one with that serial number on it. Track it down. A complete description of the Topaz ring and the serial numbers and description of the yellow table model radio were sent to the pawn shop detail. The information was then placed on the stolen property list and relayed to every pawn shop operator in the city. The next morning, Ben and I interviewed the manager of the Harrison News Distributing Company. There, the suspect had given his name as Sam Bricker. We checked out his home address. Turned out to be a gas station in North Hollywood. We took the suspect's job application blank with a specimen of his handwriting, and then we drove back to the office. Sam Bricker. We were unable to get a make on the name from the record bureau. We checked the cards and every known criminal who was catalogued in the oddity file as having a pimply complexion. None of them matched. That night, we got out an APB and a radiogram. The suspect's trail led from one salesman's job to the next. On his last job, he gave his name as Albert Berry. His address is 1430 Palo Alto Drive. It was in the Echo Lake District. Ben and I drove out to check it. 1428. 1430. There it is, Joe. Yeah. At least it's not a gas station, huh? Come on. Tiresome, huh? Yeah. I could stand a change. Yes, what is it? We're looking for an Albert Berry, ma'am. Does he live here? Mr. Berry, I'm sorry. He and his wife moved four days ago. We identified ourselves as police officers and had the landlady, a Mrs. Catherine Hoffman, show us the apartment which Berry and his wife had occupied. It was still vacant. In one of the closets in the apartment, we found a cheap overnight bag. The lock on it was broken and one of the seams had ripped. I forgot about that old bag and Mr. Berry told me I could throw it away. Take a look. I'm in. How long has Berry been married? Do you know Mrs. Hoffman? No, I don't. But the way they acted, lovey-dovey all the time, I don't think they've been together long. Hey, Joe. Look. Some kind of an identification tag. Yeah, let me see. Look over here. It's a tool disc. It looks like it's down here. Jameson Larrabee, Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. You're not after Mr. Berry, are you, officer? Yes, ma'am, we are. Did he leave a forwarding address? I wish he did. I'm holding three letters for Mrs. Berry in my apartment right now. May we see them, please? Certainly. Would you step this way, please? My apartment's just across the hall. Yes, ma'am. Would you like a bottle of beer or something? No, ma'am, thanks. Let's see. I thought I... Yes, here they are. Three of them, Sergeant. From her folks, I think. Mrs. Berry's from Fresno. Oh, that's good. I want to copy down this return address, ma'am. Yeah, go ahead. Okay. That's C.K. Ulrich, U-L-R-I-C-K. 525 North Lamona, Fresno. Yeah, got it. There you are, Ms. Hoffman. By the way, did the Berry say they'd call for their mail? Mrs. Berry did. That's why I'm holding on to it. All right. Just one more question. Do you remember if Mr. and Mrs. Berry had a radio? Yes, they did. A small one. Do you remember what brand it was? No, I don't. It had a yellow case. That's all I remember. Before we left, we called Ed Backstrand, and he had an immediate stakeout placed at the apartment house in case the Berries returned to pick up their mail. Ben and I went back to the office and placed a call to the Pittsburgh Police Department. We gave them the description and the number of the tool disc which we'd found in Berry's old suitcase. They said they'd check with the Jamison Larrabee Company in the morning, and then they'd call us back. That night, Ben and I drove to Fresno and checked in at the police station up there. Two officers were assigned to stake out the Ulrich home. We interviewed Mr. Ulrich, who identified himself as Albert Berry's father-in-law. He told us his daughter had married the murder suspect eight months before, and he gave us pictures of Berry taken at the wedding. Ulrich told us that he'd catch a Santa Fe train out of Fresno the next morning. He wanted to be in Los Angeles to take his daughter home when Berry was apprehended. It was almost 2 a.m. when Ben and I left Fresno and started back for Los Angeles. We checked in at the office at 10 minutes past 8 the next morning. At 8.35, the call came through from the Pittsburgh Police Department. What did they say, Joe? It was a tool disc, all right. Jamison Larrabee Company issued 18 months ago to one of their workers. May I give a name? Albert Berry. 11 a.m. Monday, December the 5th. One month to the day since the 62-year-old woman had been beaten to death. The pictures of Berry and his wife, which had been taken at their wedding, were printed up in wholesale lots and distributed to all points. Mr. Ulrich, Berry's father-in-law, arrived in town and got himself a hotel room. We waited. There was no report from the stakeout at the apartment house. We checked back in at the office at 5 minutes to 1. I'll get it. I'm a side Friday. This is Mr. Ulrich, Sergeant. I just got a call from my wife in Fresno. I thought you'd want to know. What's that? The wife got a letter from Norma. They're living in South Pasadena, an apartment. You got the address there? Yes, sir. That's what the wife called about. It's 134 Norway Terrace. When was the letter mailed, do you know? Wife said it was postmarked December 3rd, day before yesterday. Get your coat on. Ulrich will be right over. Ben and I picked up Mr. Ulrich at his hotel and drove to the South Pasadena address. Berry and his wife had the apartment on the top floor. Neither of them were at home. The landlord let us in with a passkey. In the bedroom we found a small yellow radio. We checked the serial numbers. They matched. It was the same radio stolen from the Renard house. In the bedroom closet we found two suitcases. We checked through them. Nothing in this one, Joe. Here we are. Look at these. What are they, Sergeant? A pair of plastic gun butts. Let's see, Joe. One of them's been chipped, see? Sergeant, somebody coming up the stairs. All right, let's get in the living room. Be quiet. Ben, what are you doing here? Who are these men? Police, Norma. They want Albert. He killed a woman. Oh, Dad. Dad. It's all right, Norma. It'll be all right. Did you know your husband killed a woman, Miss Berry? He told me last Saturday. We've been running away for a month now. Moving all the time. I wanted to know why. He told me. He said I wasn't in as much as he was. And I'm tired of running. I'm coming with you. Why did he kill her? Did he tell you that? He said he broke in the house. He didn't know anyone was home. The old woman was in the bedroom. She started to cry out. He had a gun. He hit her with it. Where's your husband now? I don't know. He said he'd come home for dinner. Bought five. Bought the groceries. What time you got, Ben? Half past three. That ring you were wearing, Miss Berry. Did your husband give you that? Yes, why? What kind of a stone is that? Topaz. Britt gave it to me. Why? Nothing. We'll wait. Five o'clock came and went. Berry failed to show. Five-thirty. Ulrich started to get nervous. Six o'clock. Six-thirty. No sign of Berry. I went to the window and kept an eye on the street below. At six-forty-five, a light green Nash sedan pulled to a stop in front of the apartment house. A man got out and went into the main floor entrance. It's Bert. I'll let him in. All right. How long have you had the new car? A couple of days. Bert got it in credit. What do you want me to do now? Does he have a key to the apartment here? He lost it. Okay, when he rings, let him in. Just act natural. Ben, you cover me. I'll get the cuffs on him. Right. Hi, Bert. Look out, Joe! All right, drop it, Berry. Okay, Ben. Yeah, he's fast with a gun. Nice looking, isn't he, Sergeant? You'd never think he'd kill anybody. Come on, let's take him in. I love him. I still love him. But you're a cop. You wouldn't understand. That's right. I wouldn't understand. I'm a cop. The story you have just heard was true. Only the names were changed to protect the innocent. On February 16, 1947, trial was held in Superior Court, Department 82, City and County of Los Angeles, State of California. In a moment, the results of that trial. Earlier tonight, you heard the reports of amazing increases in Fatima smokers from New York to Los Angeles. Yes, all over the country, Fatima is doubling and redoubling its sales. And here's reason one. Fatima is the long cigarette that contains an essential ingredient of all the very popular cigarettes, Turkish tobacco. Reason two. Fatima has a much different, much better flavor and aroma than any other long cigarette. Reason three. To millions of smokers, the name Fatima has always stood for the best in cigarette quality. Smoke Fatima, the best of all long cigarettes. Albert Ralph Berry was tried and convicted of murder in the first degree. His wife Norma Berry was found innocent of the charge that she harbored a criminal. She was returned home with her father. Berry was executed in the lethal gas chamber at the State Penitentiary. You have just heard Dragnet, a new series of authentic cases from official files. Technical advice for Dragnet comes from the Office of Acting Chief of Police, W.A. Wharton, Los Angeles Police Department. Tonight's program is dedicated to private Hubert W. Estes of the District of Columbia Metropolitan Police Department, who on the night of May 16, 1947, gave his life so that yours might be more secure. Fatima cigarettes, best of long cigarettes, has brought you Dragnet, portion transcribed from Los Angeles. Be sure to hear songs by Morton Donnie tonight on NBC. Thank you.
