The story you are 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 homicide detail.
A woman has disappeared, taken from her home by a man posing as a police officer.
Your job, find her.
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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.
Was Tuesday April 4th, was warm in Los Angeles.
We were working the night watch out of homicide detail.
My partner is Ben Romero, the boss is Thad Brown, chief of detectives.
My name is Friday.
It was 10 minutes past 6 p.m. when I got to the basement of the city hall.
Carpool.
Over here, Joe.
Hi.
Thad Brown will be down in a minute.
Captain will follow us out later.
Okay.
No contact yet?
No, he's still waiting.
You take care of the local broadcast.
It's already gone out.
I put the descriptions on the air every hour.
How's it look to you now?
I don't know.
Nothing more we can do to make a contact.
Oh, here's Thad Brown now.
You want to squeeze over a little?
Oh, yeah, sure.
Hi, chief.
Hi.
Let's go.
Might as well take Beverly Boulevard, huh, Ben?
It's as fast as any.
You got the address there Friday?
Yeah, it's 617 Paris Avenue.
It's out by Echo Park.
Who's covering the house now?
Ross and Pacelli are staked out in a private garage across the street from the house.
Donahoe and Wiseman are on duty inside the Castle Park.
You want a smoke?
Thanks.
I'd need one, would you, Joe?
Yeah.
You got the story from the maid at the Castle's house, is that right?
Uh-huh.
You check it out?
I'm pretty sure she's telling it straight.
If anything...
If anything's wrong, I don't think she's got a hand in it.
Here you are, Ben.
Oh, fine.
You got the call about three this afternoon?
Uh-huh.
A few minutes after, we went right out and talked to the maid.
How'd she tell it?
Well, she said she was fixing dinner about two this afternoon when the doorbell rang.
She answered it, and a young man in a gray suit asked for Mrs. Kessel by name.
He told the maid it was an emergency.
How?
Well, the maid said Mrs. Kessel came to the door, and the man identified himself as a police
officer.
Told Mrs. Kessel her husband had been hurt in an accident, and she was to come right away.
The man show his identification?
The maid said no, said Mrs. Kessel just took it for granted he was a cop.
Yeah.
Go ahead.
Mrs. Kessel got her coat and left with the man.
About an hour later, her husband, Professor Kessel, got home.
He wasn't hurt.
He hadn't been in an accident.
He hadn't seen his wife.
As soon as he heard from the maid what had happened, he got on the phone and called her.
What's the background of the husband, this Professor Kessel?
He's supposed to have quite a name.
He's a professor of philosophy out at Simmons College at a small school out near Glendale.
Oh, yeah, yeah.
He's a devout man, president of one of the local synagogues.
Sure about the maid's story, huh?
Sure as we can be.
She gave us a good description of the man who picked up Mrs. Kessel.
I got it right here.
Yeah.
Here.
A white male, American, 25 to 30 years old, 6 feet, 170 to 80 pounds, gray suit, gray
head, brown shoes.
How about the car he used?
Late model Chevrolet, dark blue, white sidewalls.
That's all the maid could tell us.
She didn't know it was the last one.
You better cut over on the west lake.
That'll take us past the detour, won't it?
Yes, Professor Kessel.
See, you been told what to do?
Yeah, he's been briefed.
We've had a couple of men with him since this thing broke.
He's taking it pretty hard.
How old a man is he?
Oh, he's late 30s.
Wouldn't you say so, Ben?
Pretty close to 40, nice, well, it's quiet.
Two kids in the family, just about school age, boy and a girl.
This next one ought to be Paris Avenue.
Yeah.
There's a big gray house down there, Skipper, a white trim.
Don't park too close to the house.
This ought to do it right here, don't you think?
Yeah.
What time you got?
Man, 6.15.
It's the most dark.
Where's the garage our men are covering from?
Can you see beyond that light pole there, the white stucco place?
Oh, yeah.
Next one here's a Kessel home.
Doesn't look very rich.
Neither do the Kessels.
I don't think they got much money.
Hi, Donahoe.
Come in.
Is that the husband?
Yeah, I just got a phone call a couple of minutes ago.
I listened on the extension.
Who called?
Tried to trace it, the guy wouldn't stay in the line long enough.
What did you say?
Tell the cops to stay away.
Said it twice, tell the cops to stay away.
Said if they don't, I'll kill her.
The Kessel house had already been placed under strict surveillance,
and the victim's husband instructed not to contact the abductors
without knowledge of the police.
To the working detective, there's only one rule to go by
when the job of solving an abduction is put in his hands.
Find the victim as fast as possible, get the victim to safety,
then go after the criminal.
It's not an easy job.
The responsibility isn't light, and the outcome isn't always successful.
The victim is not a suspect.
If you press too hard, the abductor gets frightened and kills the victim.
If you don't press hard enough, the criminal has more time to work for his payoff
and then escape.
Somewhere between the two was the right answer.
We had to find it.
6.30 p.m.
Special details of men were ordered out to the bus depots,
the railroad terminals, and the airports.
Roadblocks were set up at all main arteries leading into and out of the city.
Every branch post office in Los Angeles was covered to watch for possible suspects.
Every branch post office in Los Angeles was covered to watch for possible
ransom notes addressed to Professor Kessel.
6.40 p.m.
We met in the Kessel's living room.
Gee, Wiseman, Professor Kessel will be down in a minute.
He says he's sorry to keep you waiting.
You feeling any better?
A little.
Phone call about his wife shook him up a bit.
How about those people who came in a few minutes ago?
Who were they?
Relatives. Half a dozen of them.
They're waiting back in the kitchen.
How'd they know about Mrs. Kessel?
They didn't. They'd been invited to dinner.
They didn't know anything was wrong until they got here.
He's lasting a stay for the meal.
Wants to keep up appearances for the sake of his kids.
Doesn't want them to worry about their mother.
The dinner that important to him?
Well, tonight's the start of the Pesach, the Jewish religion Passover.
It's one of the big holidays.
Oh, I see.
They started off with this dinner tonight, is that the way?
Yeah, big dinner.
They call them seders. Tonight they have the first seder.
Good evening.
Sorry to keep you waiting.
How are you?
No, please, sit down.
We don't like to intrude on your privacy, Professor Kessel,
but I think you can see it's necessary.
Oh, yes, of course. I'm very grateful.
If there's anything at all I can do to help.
Do you have any idea who might be responsible for abducting your wife?
That's what has me so confused.
How do you mean?
Well, I'm sure I have people who don't like me, who don't like us,
but someone who would take my wife, who says they'll kill her?
No, I don't know who it could be.
How about the voice on the telephone, Professor?
Did you recognize it at all?
No, didn't sound like anyone I knew.
He talked so fast I could hardly understand the man.
Do you think the person who took your wife has some other motive
besides holding her for ransom?
I can't understand that either.
If it's money they want, why go after a teacher's wife?
$1,500 in the bank, that's all I have.
That and this house.
How about your immediate family, Professor?
Well, my wife Ruth, her people have quite a bit.
I guess you would call them rich.
But it's their money, not mine.
I can't understand why anyone would do it.
Poor Ruth, if anything happens to children.
Albert?
I'm sorry.
It's all right, we understand.
Albert?
Yes, Bertha, come in, would you, please?
Gentlemen, this is my sister Bertha.
She's here with her husband for the sale.
How are you?
Albert, it's late.
Sun down, it's time to start the kiddush.
Oh, yes.
All right, Bertha, you tell everyone to come to the table.
I'll be right in.
The officers will have the first sedative with them?
Yes, Bertha, you please set them places.
Yes, Albert.
Say, we don't mean to intrude here.
We can wait outside while you have your dinner.
Oh, no, please.
I'd be honored to have you sit at the table with us.
Nowhere in the house should be without food tonight.
First sedative for Passover, it's the law.
How's that thing?
Oh, excuse me, the Hebrew law.
Would you come this way, please?
Yes, Professor.
He turned and led us down the hallway into the dining room.
A long white cloth covered the table,
and the center was a brightly polished brass candelabra
holding four lighted tapers.
There were a few platters of food already set out
and at the head of the table where Professor Kessel
stood an open prayer book.
In order not to add to the alarm of his two small children
at the absence of their mother,
Professor Kessel introduced us as friends
from Simmons College.
This is Mr. Brown, Mr. Friday, Mr. Wiseman, Mr. Romero.
You do, very well.
Sit down, please, sit down.
Yeah, it all smells good.
Yeah, you got enough room there, Joe?
Well, fine.
Hey, how's it work, Wiseman?
Should we join in the prayers?
Not unless you speak Hebrew.
Chanting in Hebrew
Sorry, sir?
Yeah, telephone call.
Thanks, sir.
Don't know.
All right.
Chanting in Hebrew
Friday talking.
This is Lacey, Joe.
Joe's got a call from the morgue.
Yeah?
He brought in the body a few minutes ago.
They checked the description.
Yeah?
They think it's Mrs. Kessel.
I went back into the dining room
and told Chief Brown about the call.
He told Professor Kessel.
He said he'd finish as quickly as possible
so as not to alarm the children
and then go with us to the morgue
to check the identity of the body.
The prayers continued along with the dinner.
Chanting in Hebrew
John?
Yes, Papa?
Chanting in Hebrew
I'm sorry.
Excuse me.
Please.
Excuse me.
Papa?
What was it, Wiseman?
What was the boy saying?
It's part of the ceremony during the meal.
He's supposed to ask his father certain questions
about the Passover, and then the father answers him.
I guess it was too much for Kessel.
He broke his mind.
What did the boy ask him?
Why is this night different from any other night?
7.30 p.m.
Sergeant Wiseman and Donoho stayed on duty at the house
while Chief Brown, Ben, and I drove Professor Kessel
to the county morgue.
On the way, we called in and checked with Captain Steed
of Homicide.
He told us there'd been no reports on Mrs. Kessel.
7.43 p.m.
Ben and I took Kessel to the basement of the Hall of Justice,
county morgue.
This way, Professor.
Oh, yes.
You sure you feel up to it?
Thank you. I'll be all right.
Cold in here.
Yes, sir.
Hi, fellas. It's back here.
Okay, Archie.
This is Professor Kessel, Archie.
How do you do?
This way.
Jane Doe, number five.
I called over as soon as they brought it in.
Yeah, thank you.
Found the body near Avenue 19, the riverbed,
crossing the auto camp.
No identification?
No.
Here we are.
All right.
Professor.
Thank God. Thank God.
Professor.
No, it's not my wife.
It seemed as if both the victim and whoever had taken her
had vanished completely.
At 11.30, Captain Steed, Ben and I went across the street
for a cup of coffee and a fried egg sandwich.
We got back to the office at 10 minutes to midnight.
Still no word.
At 2 a.m., Ben and I drove back to the Kessel house
to relieve Donahoe and Wiseman.
We stood our watch in the living room.
In the bedroom directly above, we could hear Professor Kessel
pacing the floor most of the night.
At 5 a.m., Captain Steed called.
He told us a letter addressed to the professor
had been reported at the Arcade Post Office.
As soon as the outside of the envelope had been photographed
and checked for prints, it would be brought out
for Professor Kessel to open.
Front door?
Yeah, I'll get it.
Chief.
Morning.
Hi, Lee.
Hi, Joe.
In here.
Did you lift anything off the envelope, Lee?
Nothing we can use, no.
Might have more luck with the letter.
Good morning.
You brought the letter?
It's right here, Professor Kessel.
I'd like you to stand by while we open it.
This is Lieutenant Jones from our crime lab.
Lieutenant?
You check the note for fingerprints.
Oh, yes, I can get you a letter open.
I think this one over here.
Yeah, that's all right.
I could use my pocket knife.
You want to grab one corner of the paper band,
just the tip of the corner.
Use your fingernail.
Okay.
And that does it.
Open it and pin down these corners here.
What is it, Franny?
The words are put together with small printed letters.
They all seem to be the same kind of typeface.
Letters were probably clipped from a book
and pasted together to form these words.
Who sent it? What does it say?
Thanks, Lee.
If you want to see your wife alive,
have 30,000 small bills tonight.
Tell police I kill her.
Instructions follow in mail.
No sign, Lieutenant.
30,000? I haven't got the money.
I can't get it. He'll kill her.
Mr. Kessel, there's still a chance.
But what can I do?
I haven't got that much money. He says he'll kill her.
What can we do?
What we've been doing?
Yes.
Wait.
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the case history of a police investigation
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Music
Wednesday, 7 a.m.
With the aid of an iodine fume gun, Lee Jones checked the extortion letter
for Mrs. Kessel's abductor for fingerprints and other marks of identification.
He found nothing.
The piece of paper on which the cutout printed letters had been pasted
was of a common variety, sold in most stationery and 5 and 10 cent stores.
Jones photographed both sides of the envelope and the letter.
11 a.m., still no word.
None of the special details had anything to report.
At 1.45 p.m. another letter was delivered to the house.
The envelope was opened, the letter removed carefully and pinned down at the corners.
It's put together the same as the last one.
Tonight, 11 o'clock, come along your car.
Tell the police I kill her.
Is there more Friday?
Yeah. Drive corner Lake Shore Charter Street.
Wrap money brown paper, small bills.
Come alone, your car.
Put package by fire plug, then leave.
Tell police and I kill her. No signature.
I haven't got the money.
Lake Shore and Charter, that shouldn't be too hard for us to catch.
Sounds pretty much like an amateur.
It makes it touchy. If he's green, he'll scare easy.
He's scared he may kill her. Not if we reach him.
How can I get the money? You won't need any.
We have a dummy package made up. There'll be a single dollar bill inside.
Must be newspapers cut to the size of currency.
That's what you'll deliver.
But when he gets the package, when he finds out it's not the money, what's he gonna think?
We'll explain it to him.
Starting at 10 o'clock that night, more than a dozen cars from the detective bureau
circled the area around Lakeside Avenue and Charter Street, keeping a distance ranging from
three quarters to a full mile away so as not to scare off the abductor.
Some of the cars were parked in service stations, some in private driveways.
The neighborhood was located in the heart of a new veterans housing project.
For a full five blocks in either direction there were no buildings of any kind
where we could keep an eye on the package of fake ransom money.
The owner of one of the completed houses nearest the spot on Charter Street was contacted
and he agreed to let us use his home as a lookout point for the stakeout that night.
Nine p.m. Ben and I took up our positions on the roof of the lookout house.
We were equipped with two pair of night binoculars and a walkie talkie.
I could think of a few other places I'd rather spend the night.
How well can you see that intersection from here?
Hmm. Comes in fine with these binoculars. The guy shows we ought to see him.
I better check with the captain again. What time you got?
Nine twenty-five. Where's the skipper parked?
Private driveway near Charter and Hayworth.
Friday to 105K. Friday to 105K. Come in.
Yeah Joe. Go ahead.
Got a clear view of the intersection. Nothing yet outside of cramped legs.
You reading me okay?
Yeah Joe. Fine. Over.
Roger. Standing by.
If you're lucky my kid can't see me now.
Why?
He'd never understand. Why should his father be sitting on top of somebody's roof late at night? He'd never get it.
We waited. Ten o'clock came. Ten thirty.
At exactly eleven p.m. as we watched through our night binoculars,
we saw Professor Kessel drive up to the designated location five blocks away,
place the fake package of ransom money by the fire hydrant near the intersection, and then drive away.
Eleven thirty. We waited. Midnight.
Two a.m. Nothing happened. The package was still lying by the fire hydrant undisturbed.
Captain Steed checked with us periodically on the walkie-talkie. At three thirty a.m. we were still waiting.
At a few minutes past six a.m. Professor Kessel was directed to return to the intersection,
pick up the package, and drive back to his home.
His wife's abductor had failed to show. Maybe the suspect had sensed a trap.
Maybe he had no idea of showing up in the first place.
Maybe Mrs. Kessel was dead. We didn't know.
Ten a.m. Thursday. No further contact from the abductor.
A special detail from homicide, including Ben and I, were ordered on a door-to-door canvas of the general area around Lakeside Avenue and Charter Street.
After seven hours of ringing doorbells and asking questions, we came across a Mr. Harold Olander,
one of the longtime residents of the Silver Lake area.
We showed him the general description of Mrs. Kessel's abductor.
Yeah, that could be Thompson. I don't know for sure, though.
Where did you see this Thompson, Mr. Olander?
Oh, I saw him lots of times. He wrenched that cottage of mine down the street there. You see, the white one?
Mm-hmm. Does this Thompson have a car?
Thompson? Yeah, yeah. New one.
I wonder if you could describe it.
Chevrolet. Nice-looking. Blue color, I think.
Could be, yeah. Is Thompson in the house now, Mr. Olander?
Nope. Saw him drive away early this morning.
I can show you the house if it's official police business.
It is.
Come on, then. I got the key right here.
The cottage is just down the block there. See the one I mean? The white one?
Yes, sir.
How long has Thompson been in the house?
Two weeks tomorrow.
You noticed anything unusual about him?
Mm-hmm. Nothing special. Comes and goes at odd hours.
But then a lot of people do. I don't cry. It's this house right here.
Does he usually keep all the blinds drawn?
Yeah, now that you mention it. A lot of people do, I guess.
Want to check back in the kitchen, baby?
Yeah, all right.
Look at the living room, Sergeant.
Yeah.
Looks like a furniture. That's funny.
You sure you didn't see anybody else in this house besides Thompson?
No, no. He's the only one.
Looks like it, Joe.
Found this woman's purse stuffed in one of the kitchen cabinets.
This sales slip was in the purse.
I see.
This is Albert Kessel. Is there a phone here, Mr. Olander?
Out in the hall.
All right.
Is it still connected?
Yeah.
Joe, I'll check back in the bedrooms while you're phoning.
Right, Ben.
No, you better stay with me, Mr. Olander, if you will.
All right.
City Hall.
Homicide.
Homicide?
You any idea where this Thompson is now, Mr. Olander?
No, he comes and goes. I don't like to pry.
Homicide, Steve.
This Friday, Skipper, we got one for you.
I've got one for you.
Mrs. Kessel, she's been found.
Mrs. Kessel was unharmed.
She had no idea where she had been or why she had been suddenly released.
All additional information which she could furnish on the suspect
was immediately relayed to the entire state in an APB.
Two hours later, at a neighborhood garage Thompson patronized,
we got his license number.
We ran it through DMV and found the car was registered
in the name of Charles Cottrell, 10115 Green Oak Drive, 7 p.m.
Yes?
Police officers, is Charles Cottrell here?
Yes. Come in, please.
I knew you'd find him.
I kept hoping that I knew you'd find him.
Where is he, ma'am?
He'll give himself up. I'm his wife.
I talked to him. There won't be any trouble. No trouble.
Where is he?
You've got to understand, he didn't know what he was doing.
We needed money. He didn't know what he was doing.
We'll have to search the house, ma'am.
Charlie! Charlie, come downstairs! Come down!
Get your hands behind your head.
I don't have a gun.
Charlie. Charlie.
All right, Ben. Behind your back.
Tell him, Charlie, you didn't know what you were doing. Tell him.
We needed the money. I thought it'd work.
What'd I do wrong? Come on.
Should have worked. I planned it all out.
Where'd I make a mistake?
When you thought of it.
The story you've just heard was true.
Only the names were changed to protect the innocent.
On August 2nd, trial was held in Superior Court, Department 86,
City and County of Los Angeles, State of California.
In a moment, the results of that trial.
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It's wise to smoke extra mild Fatima.
Charles Cottrell was tried and convicted of kidnapping and received the sentence as prescribed by law.
He is now serving his term in the State Penitentiary.
You have just heard Dragnet, a series of authentic cases from official files.
Technical advice for Dragnet comes from the Office of Chief of Police, W.A. Wharton, Los Angeles Police Department.
Fatima cigarettes, the best of all long cigarettes, has brought you Dragnet, transcribed from Los Angeles.
Next, here's Sarah Burner and Sarah's private caper on NBC.