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A young woman has been run down and seriously injured.
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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.
It was Tuesday, April 7th.
It was cold in Los Angeles.
We were working the day watch out of traffic bureau, couldn't run felony detail.
My partner is Frank Smith.
The boss is Captain Kalfi.
My name is Friday.
We're on our way out from the office and it was 8.40 a.m. when we got to 1784 Byram Street.
Front door.
Better try it again, huh?
Yeah.
Hey, you sound like somebody coming.
Yeah?
Something you want?
Miss Hunter?
That's right.
Who do you want?
Police officers.
We'd like to talk to you.
Oh, about the thing last night, huh?
Yes, ma'am.
That's right.
Well, come on in.
I can't stand around for long.
I'm going to be late for work as it is.
Come on.
Thank you.
This is my partner, Frank Smith.
My name's Friday.
How do you do?
Hi.
Sit down there.
I got to get ready to leave.
There's some coffee there in the carafe if you want some.
No, thank you.
No, ma'am.
Thank you.
You'll find everything right there on the table.
Two sugars.
All right.
What do you want to know about last night?
I told the officers who were there all I know.
Yes, ma'am.
We know.
We read their report.
We'd like to go over it with you if it's all right.
It seems like a waste of time to me.
Spend a little more of it trying to catch the kid that hit the girl.
It'd be better all the way around.
Yes, ma'am.
There's your coffee.
Oh, thank you.
Oh, it's still warm.
Either one of you got a cigarette?
Yes, ma'am.
Here you are.
Here's the light.
Thanks.
What do you want to go over?
Well, according to what you said to the officers last night, you saw the accident, is that right?
I saw it, yeah.
I don't think it was an accident.
If you ask me, I think the kid deliberately hit the girl, deliberately.
Why do you say that?
Well, just the way it looked, that's all.
Kind of feeling.
Wade came barreling around the corner.
He must have seen her.
She was right under the light, didn't even make an attempt to stop, none at all.
I saw the girl step off the curb, right under the light.
He had to see her, had to.
Anyway, she stepped off the curb and started to cross the street.
Harry and me saw her.
She started to cross and then all of a sudden this kid in the hot rod was coming right at
her.
Wasn't anything she could do.
Yes, ma'am.
She kind of looked up at the car and then, well, like she was going to run, but she didn't
have time.
The car hit her and knocked her down.
Did you get a good look at the car?
You mean the one that hit her?
Yes, ma'am.
I did.
It passed right under the light.
Got a real good look at it.
I wonder if you'd describe it for us.
I told the cops all about it last night.
Seems like that'd be enough.
Why do I have to go through it again?
Well, it might be something you didn't think of last night, Miss Hunter.
Something you might have forgotten.
It isn't likely, but if you gotta have it, I guess that's the way it's gotta be.
Hope we can get it over with fast enough.
I gotta get down to the corner so I won't miss my bus.
Well, if it'd help, we can drive you to work.
You can give us the information on the way.
Well, that'll be fine.
Wait a minute.
I'll get my coat.
Uh-huh.
How'd it look when you came in?
Ma'am?
Did it look like it was gonna rain?
No, it was pretty cold, though.
The paper said it might rain today.
Well, better take an umbrella.
What kind of a car was it, Miss Hunter?
A hot rod, you know the kind.
Real low, two exhaust pipes, kind of beat up.
What kind of a car was it, the brand name?
I guess it was a Ford.
Looked like one.
Hard to tell.
It was kind of banged up, you know.
I don't know why the police allow cars like that on the streets anyway.
It couldn't be very safe.
Can you tell us what year the car was?
Well, I'm not real good at that, but I'd say maybe 1940.
Might have been 1941.
It was a pre-war car, though.
Oh, yeah, I'm sure of that.
Uh-huh.
Would you like to get in, ma'am?
Okay, thanks.
All right, honey.
Where can we drop you, ma'am?
Near First and Broadway will be fine.
Just on the corner there.
Okay.
Miss Hunter, was there anything about the car that would make it easier to identify?
Not especially.
Black Ford, all beat up.
I'm sure I'd know it if I saw it again, any place.
Did you get a good look at the driver of the car?
No, not too good.
All I could see was that he was a kid, you know, maybe 19, 20 years old.
Uh-huh.
Would you like to see her get that kid?
Is the girl all right?
She looked pretty bad last night.
No, she's still in a critical condition.
Doctors aren't sure yet whether she'll be all right.
Sure hope she is.
Have you talked to her?
No, we haven't, not yet.
It's a terrible thing.
People like that running around in hot rods, barreling around the city, a person's not
safe on the streets anymore.
Just because a car's got twin tailpipes, Miss Hunter, doesn't have to be a hot rod.
Well, this one was.
It even had the little sort of license plate hanging down from the back bumper.
You mean a state license plate?
No, one of those with a club name on it, you know the kind.
There's not a notation of that on the report that we remembered.
I guess I forgot all the excitement at all.
I must have forgot.
Well, did you see the name on that plate?
Yeah, not real good, but I saw it.
Think you can remember it?
Not all of it.
The last part was wheels, something wheels, two words.
You're pretty sure of that, are you?
Yeah, wheels.
That's the word I saw.
I didn't remember it last night.
I guess it didn't seem important then.
Must be a lot of cars that have those plates on them all over town.
Yes, we know.
Don't seem like it's going to help much.
A lot of cars with those plates on them, lots of them.
Yes, ma'am.
Even if you do find the kid with one of them, how are you going to know if he's the right
one?
Well, it's not going to be too hard.
Huh?
This car will tell us.
It's not going to be too hard.
According to the report, an automobile driven by one male occupant had struck a woman while
she crossed the intersection of Olympic Boulevard and Connecticut Street the night before.
When the ambulance arrived at the scene, the victim, who was identified as Mrs. Helen Chapman,
was unconscious and was removed to Georgia Street Receiving Hospital for emergency treatment.
Members of the crime lab had arrived at the scene and gathered what physical evidence
they could find.
All citizens in the vicinity were interrogated and their statements were taken.
Photographs of the coroner were made and held for evidence.
Because of the hit and run aspect of the case, Frank and I had been assigned to investigate
it.
At 1 14 p.m., we drove over to Georgia Street Receiving Hospital to talk to the attending
physician, Dr. Sebastian.
He said the patient's condition was so critical that she couldn't be moved to her own hospital.
He told us that the victim hadn't recovered consciousness to the point where she could
be questioned.
He went on to tell us that she'd been administered serum albumin to counteract shock.
He listed her injuries for us.
Heart fractures of the femur, rib fractures, and associated internal injuries, including
a punctured lung and brain concussion.
It was not expected that she'd live.
Frank and I left the doctor and walked down the hall.
In the waiting room, we met a tall, thin man who looked as if he hadn't slept in several
days.
On the floor in front of him was a small pile of half-smoked cigarettes.
He identified himself as the victim's husband, Carl Chapman.
I don't know.
I came home from work.
They told me about it.
I didn't even know.
Didn't they try to call you at work?
No, I guess they called the house.
There wasn't anybody home.
They just walked up to the door and there was a note telling me to call her.
Didn't even know about Helen.
I see.
You like cigarette, Chapman?
Thanks.
You talked to the doctor?
Yes, sir.
We just did.
Is there anything new?
Is she going to be all right?
Well, I don't know yet.
You can ask the doctor yourself.
Why don't anybody tell me anything?
All the time I ask how my wife is, they tell me to ask the doctor.
Why won't they tell me?
I don't know, sir.
Can't even find out if she needs anything.
They won't let me see her.
Anybody will tell me what's really happening in there.
It's been over 10 hours.
Nobody will tell me what's going on.
Well, best thing is to try to sit down and take it easy, Mr. Chapman.
That's great to say.
Just sit down.
Easy to say.
It's not your wife who's in there.
It isn't someone you love.
Why are you here anyway?
Why aren't you out trying to get the rotten little plunk that did it?
Why don't you look for him?
We'll get to him, sir.
When?
After Helen's dead?
Is that going to be when you start looking?
We're looking for him now.
We came over in the hopes that we could talk to your wife.
We thought she might be able to give us some information.
What in God's name do you want from her?
The name and address of the kid who ran it down?
Does she have to get out of bed and go find him for you?
It's your job, yours.
All this talk about the police department being so good.
But what are you doing?
Are you standing around here with your toe in the dirt waiting for my wife to come to
her enough to point the kid out?
All right, sir.
Now take it easy.
Take it easy?
Nothing.
You listen to me, both of you.
You listen.
If she dies, if that kid killed her, I'll find him.
I don't know how, but I will.
I'm going to do the same thing to him with my hands that he did with this car.
I'll find him.
I swear I'll find him and I'm going to kill him.
With my hands, I'm going to kill him.
Mr. Chapman?
Yeah.
May I see you for a moment?
Yeah.
Would you excuse us for a minute, Sergeant?
Sure, Doctor.
We'll wait out in the hall.
It's a rough one, isn't it?
Yeah.
I wonder what's going on in there.
I don't know.
Better call the Skipper.
Tell him about that plate on the car.
Get a broadcast out on it.
Check the phone book for the address on the National Hot Rod Association.
Better talk with him, huh?
He might have something for us on the club.
Right.
Well, you better start, cop.
You better find him fast because I'm looking too.
You ought to go home and get some sleep, Mr. Chapman.
You're all worn out.
I'm not going to get any sleep until I catch that kid.
Until I catch that kid.
How is the girl?
She's dead.
She's going to have a baby in a couple of months.
Three fifteen p.m.
Frank and I drove out to the offices of the National Hot Rod Association on Hollywood
Boulevard.
We met with Bud Coons and Wally Parks.
They checked their records for clubs with the last name Wheels.
There were three in their files.
Two were in the eastern part of the United States and one was listed as having headquarters
in Alhambra, California.
We obtained the name and address of the president of the club and we drove out to see him.
We found him in the garage behind the house working on a 1941 Ford.
We introduced ourselves and he asked us to sit down.
What do you want to see me about?
We understand that you're the president of the square wheels, is that right?
Yeah, that's right.
Why?
How many members do you have in the club?
Eighteen.
Eighteen actives.
There was a couple of guys in the service.
What's this all about anyway?
How come the questions?
All your members have the metal plates with the club name on their car?
Yeah.
Get them when they pay the initiation fee.
Why?
Because they're all seven?
Not legally.
What do you mean?
A couple of them out have been stolen from members.
Any of the fellows in the club drive a black pre-war Ford?
Yeah, I guess we got about five of them.
I got one myself as a matter of fact.
Listen, why can't you tell me what this is all about?
Figure if I knew what you wanted, I could help you out.
A woman was run down by a hot rod last night.
One of the witnesses saw a plate on the car that might have been from your club.
No kidding.
That's the way we get it.
What did it look like?
Well, they say it had twin pipes, pretty well beat up, white sidewall tires.
It's not one of ours then.
You sound pretty sure about the plate.
I told you, we've had a couple of them stolen.
It must have been one of them.
Well, how come you're so sure it wasn't one of your members?
Oh, I know the car is in the club.
There isn't a yo-yo in the bunch.
What's a yo-yo?
Oh, yeah, you know, a shot rod, junk heap.
Oh, I see.
I don't know.
It seems like every time there's any trouble with a car over five years old, it's a hot
rod.
Sure not fair.
That's so.
Yeah.
Come here, I'll show you.
Now take a look at that.
I've been working on it for three years.
It's got over 1,200 bucks in it.
Take a look at it.
It's a lot of motor.
Yeah, it's a good car, but what's it prove?
The car that ran that woman down wasn't a hot rod.
Well, how do you figure that?
You said it was a wreck, didn't you?
That's right.
We haven't got a wreck that's allowed on the streets in this club.
I don't know a legal club that has a yo-yo in it.
We got a safety check every month.
Any car that isn't safe has to be fixed or the guy's out.
A lot of clubs operate that way.
Yeah, we know.
Our kids build rods for two reasons.
Because they want the cars to run better, be more efficient, or else they want some
of the things that you can buy in a showroom.
Well, all this sounds good, but a woman was killed last night by a kid driving a hopped-up
car of some kind.
Maybe it had twin pipes, a loud muffler, but I'll give you odds from here to Bonneville
that it wasn't a hot rod.
I know how you guys feel.
We're always getting it.
Every kid behind a wheel in a second-hand car is a potential killer.
The way the paper's pictures, we just roam around looking for somebody to run over.
That's not true.
You check the records.
I think you'll find that the ratio between tickets given out to members of hot rod clubs,
members of the NHRA, and any other group of drivers will make the hot rodders look pretty
good.
There hasn't been a ticket in our club in the last year and a half.
The one before that was for overtime parking.
Oh, I'm sorry, fellas.
That car last night wasn't one of our guys, and you can bet he wasn't a hot rodder either.
You got any way of knowing who could have gotten the plaque?
Well, not right off, but we'll find him.
How?
There's only so many streets in Los Angeles.
We'll find him.
Guys like that make things rough on the clean drivers in this town.
We'll find him for you.
Well, we'll appreciate any help you can give us on this, but it's police business.
If you find him, give us a call right away.
Don't worry.
We will.
How do I get in touch with you?
We'll leave you one of our cards.
Anytime.
You call us.
All right.
I'll get on the phone and get the fellas rounded up.
If you turn anything, call us right away.
Don't try to take care of it yourselves.
Only one thing we're interested in.
Yeah, what's that?
Proving to you it wasn't one of us.
That's what's important.
Showing you we're on your side.
Well, that shouldn't be too hard.
Huh?
There's a lot of room.
We got the names and addresses of the members of the square wheel club and we talked to them.
We checked their cars and each of them volunteered to assist us in attempting to locate the hit
and run vehicle.
6.40 PM.
Frank and I got back to the office.
During the afternoon, the broadcast on the car had gone over the state wire and every
police officer in the state of California was looking for the hit and run car.
When we checked with communications, there had been no replies to our broadcast.
7.15 PM.
We put in a call to Georgia Street Receiving Hospital and we talked again to Dr. Sebastian.
He told us that the victim's husband, Carl Chapman, had been placed under the care of
his family doctor and had been given sedatives to make him sleep.
While I checked with Lieutenant Wolfram on the developments, Frank went over to the crime
lab and talked with Lieutenant Lee Jones.
8.47 PM.
We met back in the squad room.
Any word yet?
No.
Got a call from Al Gibbs.
Hot rod club?
Yeah.
He says all the clubs in the area are looking for the car.
They divided the city up in sections.
Members are checking all the streets.
No luck though, huh?
No, nothing.
Well, they turned a couple of cars but they don't check out.
How'd you do?
Pretty good.
Got the report here.
Had a couple of sandwiches sent in, got your Swiss on rye.
Good.
In the bag there.
Where's coffee?
Right there, carton.
Oh.
The lab sure did a good job on this stuff here.
Here's a scene.
Victim was found 10 feet 4 inches from the northeast corner, 4 feet 8 inches from the
north pedestrian crosswalk.
And put it about here, wouldn't it?
Yeah.
They found particles of broken glass.
Checked on them at the lighthouse.
Lenses from a 1940 Ford.
Here's a picture on it.
Yeah.
In the gutter of the southwest corner they found this.
It was a bumper guard.
Yeah.
I looked at it.
It's new.
Any brand name?
Yeah, but it's not gonna help much.
Distributed all over the country.
Well, how about skid marks?
Any sign of them?
No, not that they could find.
Either the kid didn't have time to use them or else he didn't want to.
They came up with this though.
Yeah, what's that?
Well, some marks from a tire.
Lee says he thinks they were made when the kid dug out to get away, spun the back wheels.
Sure indicate that he didn't mean to stop at any time, huh?
Well, that's the way Lee's got it figured.
Well, it isn't much to go on, is it?
They've come easier.
Yeah.
Well, let's go out and check the neighborhood again.
We might still be able to turn up a decent description.
We start checking the garages in the morning, try to turn a car with a broken headlight
and a missing bumper guard.
Okay, better call communications, get out a supplemental on the tires.
Yeah, I'll take care of it.
Hi, guys.
Getting around felony Friday.
Yeah, that's right.
I'm gonna go get a new one.
Yeah, I'll be right there.
Yeah, that's right.
Anybody there?
No, no, keep it under surveillance.
We'll be right out.
Yeah, don't burn it.
Right, bye.
What do you got?
It's beginning to go our way, maybe.
Huh?
They found the car.
You are listening to Dragnet, the authentic story of your police force in action.
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During a routine patrol of the streets in East Los Angeles, a radio unit had come across
a car parked at the curb on Vancouver Avenue.
We had stopped to investigate and found that it matched the description that we'd sent
out.
On the phone, I'd instructed the officer not to search the car, but merely to keep it under
surveillance and check and hold anyone who approached it.
Frank and I notified the crime lab of the find, and then we left the office and drove
out to the location.
We talked to the officers in the police car, and they told us that they hadn't seen anyone
near the vehicle.
We checked the registration and found that the registered owner was a Jack Moore.
The white slip gave us an address in Hollywood.
While the crime lab went over the car, we drove out to Moore's address to talk to him.
He lived in the large house built in the mid-20s as a private residence.
It had been converted into a boarding house.
Frank covered the rear entrance.
I rang the front doorbell.
Yeah?
What do you want waking me up this time of night?
Police officers.
You have a tenant here named Jack Moore?
What about him?
We'd like to talk to him.
Too late, Mac.
He ain't here.
Where is he?
I don't know.
He moved out this afternoon.
He didn't say where he was going.
A thorough search was made in the suspect's room.
The manager told us that Moore had come home that morning, packed his belongings, and left
the house.
We called the crime lab, and Lieutenant Lee Jones told us that they'd established that
Moore's car was the one that had run down the Chapman Girl.
We talked to the other people in the roaming house.
None of them could tell us where Moore might have gone.
We put in a call to auto records, but the car was not listed as being stolen.
We called his name into R&I, but we found that he had no felony record.
From the occupants of the rooming house, we found that the suspect had no relatives in
this state and no close friends that they could recall.
Layton Prince came out and went over the room, and in going over it, we found a wastebasket
Moore had used to dispose of articles that he didn't want.
In the basket, we found several match folders from a bar out on West 7th Street.
We put in a call to the bar, but we found that it was closed.
From the manager of the rooming house, we got a good description of the suspect along
with the information that he received no mail and that he was apparently unemployed.
The stakeout was set up on the house, and at 3.36 a.m., Frank and I checked out of the
office and went home for the night.
The next day, Wednesday, April 8th, we contacted DMV and asked that they give us all information
on the car.
9.15 a.m., we drove over to the bar on West 7th Street.
Not open yet.
Don't open until 10.
Police officers, like some information.
License is back there on the wall in plain sight.
There's nothing going on here.
Do you have a customer in here named Jack Moore?
We just opened the doors.
We got no say about who comes in.
As long as they don't cause trouble, we don't either.
This guy's about 20 or 21.
5'8", 5'10", 106 to 5 pounds.
Blonde.
Names Moore.
Jack Moore.
What's he done?
We want to talk to him.
About what?
Police business.
Have you seen him?
Nothing that's gonna get the bar in trouble.
That's a simple question, mister.
Have you seen him?
Maybe, yeah.
You tell me what it's all about, and I might be able to help you out.
They're running out of time.
Have you seen Jack Moore?
Yeah.
When?
Last night.
Here?
Yeah, he was in, got liquored up.
I tossed him out when we closed.
Where is he now?
You better ask him.
I'm gonna tell you once more.
If you know where he is, you're gonna save yourself a lot of time by cooperating with
us.
I run a clean place here.
I don't want any trouble with the cops.
My license is on the wall.
I got no choice of the customers who come in here.
I don't want to get mixed up in any.
We're not calling it that way.
That's the way it is.
This is a clean place.
That's not what the book says.
You've been tabbed a couple of times for serving minors.
You run B Girls.
You haven't served straight liquor in here for a couple of years.
Now, if we have to get the information from you downtown, that's the way it's gonna be.
Get your coat.
Now, look, fellas, I was just trying to take care of myself.
You did.
Get your coat.
Isn't there some way we can work this thing out?
I don't want any trouble.
Where's Jack Moore?
I tried to run a clean place a couple of times.
We've been over all that before.
Now, where is he?
I got him up at my place.
You there now?
I guess so.
He got pretty loaded last night.
Told me he didn't have any place to pad down.
I took him home.
What's the address?
1862 and a half Woodworth Court, room 14.
All right, let's go.
Yeah.
And don't try to call him.
I got no phone in the room.
If he's done anything, I had no part in it.
Just trying to help a friend out, that's all.
Just help a friend out.
Yeah, sure.
You tell him that.
Oh, he got me in trouble.
All because I tried to help him out.
You just tell him.
Yeah, we will.
And tell him not to come around here anymore.
Tell him to keep out.
Tell him that, will you, for me?
Tell him not to come back.
Don't you worry about it.
He won't be back.
We called the office and another team of detectives came out to the bar to keep the bartender
under surveillance in the event that he might try to contact the suspect.
It took five and a half minutes to drive to the Woodworth Street address.
It was a large building located at the end of a blind street.
Room 14 was on the third floor in the front of the building.
Frank and I approached the room and we listened.
There was no sound from inside.
You want to try the door?
Yeah.
It's unlocked.
Yeah.
There he is on the bed.
Yeah, looks like the right guy.
All right, let's wake him up.
Come on.
Let me alone, Charlie.
Come on, get up, Lord.
Get up on your feet.
Let me alone.
I told you, Charlie, let me.
Who are you guys?
What are you doing here?
Police officers, you're under arrest.
Wait a minute.
All right, let me go.
Come on, stand still.
All right.
All right, I quit.
I quit.
You want to shake him, Frank?
Yeah.
He's clean.
Where you taking me?
I ain't done nothing.
You got no reason to push me around like this.
All right, let's go.
Where?
I'm going to the bathroom.
You got no reason to push me around like this.
All right, let's go.
Where?
Where are you going to take me?
Downtown.
For what?
Manslaughter.
I didn't do it.
I didn't.
You got the wrong guy.
You got the wrong one.
I didn't do it.
All right, come on, let's move.
But you got the wrong one.
I didn't do it.
I didn't know what you wanted.
That's why I run.
I didn't know what you wanted.
Well, you do now, so let's go.
The suspect was taken to the squad room where he was questioned.
He refused to admit any part in the crime.
He was confronted with the physical evidence and with the ownership of the hit run vehicle.
The witness to the crime came to the office and said that Jack Moore was the man that she'd
seen at the wheel of the car when Helen Chapman had been run down.
Throughout the interrogation, the suspect refused to say anything.
At 1 47 p.m., the door to the squad room opened and Carl Chapman came in.
Where is he?
I know he's here.
I want to see him.
All right, take it easy, Chapman.
I heard you caught him.
I want to see him.
I want to tell him.
Is that the kid?
Are you the one?
Who killed Helen?
Well, answer me.
All right, take it easy, Chapman.
Is he the one?
The evidence points that way, yeah.
Please, I want you to do something for me.
What's that?
Go away.
Out of here, please.
We can't do that, Chapman.
He's in custody.
Please, please leave me alone with him.
Come on, Chapman, you better wait outside.
Now, just a minute.
Listen to me, kid.
When they put you in that cell, you get down on your knees and thank God that they found
you before I did, you understand?
You thank him and every day you live, you thank him.
You do that because I would have killed you.
Take it easy, Chapman.
My wife's dead because of him.
You hear that?
You killed her.
They got laws to save people like you, but none for her.
None for her and the baby.
They didn't have any laws.
None for them.
All right, Chapman, come on, take it easy.
Frank?
Come on, son, yeah.
Pretty upset, ain't he?
I want you to remember something, kid.
In the years I've been in this department, I've seen some bad ones, real bad.
Teenage kids that didn't know any better scraped up off the pavement, sent home to their parents,
drunks who were too loaded to know what went on.
There's been a lot of them go through here, but you finished way ahead of the field, boy.
You talk good.
I bet you're on a lecture team around here.
I'm getting fed up with you kids roaming the streets in death traps.
Now, I don't care about you.
You want to wrap yourself around a post you go ahead.
We'll try and stop you, but don't you take somebody else with you.
Every year the number gets bigger, more people killed.
It isn't the honest drivers that do it.
It's people like you who don't care for anybody else.
Now, we've tried about everything in the books to make you understand.
Doesn't look like any of them did any good, does it?
I'm a bad one, ain't I?
You killed a human being, boy, a woman who didn't even know you.
She never saw you until it was too late.
You threw a ten and a half a metal at a hundred and twenty pound woman,
and then you ran away and left her in the gutter to die.
You've wrecked the family. You tore it right down the middle and rolled over it.
You've ruined the lives of all the people around that woman.
You gave a group of decent kids a bad time because you stole their name.
Now, you get on your feet, young fella,
and you keep that smart mouth of yours closed, do you understand?
Can I ask you something?
What's that?
Hit and run.
How much will I get?
I don't know, but it won't be enough.
The story you have just heard is true.
The names were changed to protect the innocent.
On October 14th, trial was held in Department 97,
Superior Court of the State of California,
in and for the County of Los Angeles.
In a moment, the results of that trial.
Now, here is our star, Jack Webb.
Thank you, George Fenomen.
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Jack Carlisle Moore was tried and found guilty of manslaughter one count
and received sentence as prescribed by law.
Manslaughter is punishable by imprisonment in the state penitentiary
for a period not to exceed 10 years.
You have just heard Dragnet,
a series of authentic cases from official files.
Technical advice comes from the Office of Chief of Police,
W.H. Parker, Los Angeles Police Department.
Technical advisors, Captain Jack Donahoe, Sergeant Marty Wynn, Sergeant Vance Brasher.
Heard tonight were Ben Alexander, Joyce McCluskey, Harry Bartel, Vic Perrin.
Script by John Robinson.
Music by Walter Schuman.
Hal Gibney speaking.
Watch an entirely different Dragnet case history each week
on your local NBC television station.
Please check your newspapers for the day and time.
Chesterfield has brought you Dragnet, transcribed from Los Angeles.
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Music by John Cameron Swayze.
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