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About this Episode
Step into the world of classic crime with "The Dragnet Collection." Featuring iconic radio episodes from the golden age of detective drama, this collection brings you the methodical investigations, sharp dialogue, and thrilling cases of Sergeant Joe Friday and his team. If you love true crime, classic noir, or vintage radio, this is a must-listen!
Hosts & Guests
Transcript
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Ladies and gentlemen, the story you're about to hear is true. Only the names have been changed to
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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. A murderer was
heartless, cold-blooded. Your job. Get him.
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Drag net. The documentary 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. Drag net 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
on homicide. My partner has been Romero. The boss is Ed Backstrand Tivity Techies. My name's
Friday. It was 3.35 pm when I got to room 42. Homicide.
Long distance. This is Friday in Homicide. I'd like to place a call to Mr. Frank Renard
and Murphy Idaho. Number 7-6-1. Frank Renard, Murphy Idaho, 7-6-1.
Yeah, that's right. The call has 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. With your Frank Renard, Murphy Idaho.
Murphy, 7-6-1. Okay. You ready? I'm going to do it.
You want another case?
Judge, all the matters in the 7-9-6-1. Thank you.
The time and time is in the call, so it's cleared with operator.
Raid operator?
Raid operator, man. Yes, Murphy Idaho, rooting and person-made.
Okay.
And I am seeing her.
Okay.
You should have heard.
Fourteen.
Three.
One-six-one.
One-six-one, thank you.
Welcome.
Through-boys-ing.
I'm calling now, please.
I'm calling now, please.
Okay, thank you.
Okay, thank you.
Okay, thanks.
Hello?
Mr. Frank Wiener, please, Los Angeles calling.
Who do you want?
Mr. Frank Wiener, please, Los Angeles calling.
I am Frank Wiener.
Going at you.
All right, target, go ahead.
Hello.
Hello.
Hello, Frank Wiener.
Yeah, who is this?
This is Sergeant Friday, Los Angeles Police Department.
We've got an urgent message for you.
For me?
Or what's the matter?
Your wife Delora has 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.
But what's this all about?
I can't leave my job now.
You better come.
Your mother's been murdered.
Talk to the skipper, Joey.
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. Renard.
What am I going to say to Frank?
We always sighted him with his mother.
He never believed me.
What can I tell him?
You're even giving more trouble than your husband can.
What you're going to tell him?
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. Renard.
We can hear you.
Sit down, please.
I won't sit down.
You're not beating 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.
Cheaping me and you're 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. Renard, how long have you and your mother-in-law
been living together in the house on Shavas Road?
Since Frank took the job of it all.
Love 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.
I 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.
And I hated her like everything.
I didn't kill her.
Once more, Mrs. Renard.
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.
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 washing.
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.
I asked him.
What time did you leave the dentist's office?
About quarter after ten.
Maybe twenty after.
You can ask him.
What'd you do after that?
I walked around window shopping.
Did you buy anything?
Talked anybody?
I told you no.
What time did you get home?
At first twelve.
I went in the bedroom.
The old lady was on the floor.
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 story already.
You still can't account for your time between ten to twenty this morning.
You found a body and called the police at twelve thirty.
I told you.
I left the dentist.
I went window shopping.
Then I walked home.
And that time you didn't talk to anyone and no one saw you.
Lots of people saw me.
People on the street downtown.
I'm not trampled.
I don't talk to everybody.
None of your neighbors saw you come home, is Renard?
Of course they didn't see me.
I cut across the back a lot up from San Jose Avenue.
I came in the back way.
The lady was next door to you.
She said she was in the back yard about noon time.
She stayed there the 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, Ms. Renard?
Sure it is.
What about it?
$5,000?
Yeah, so what?
You know a man by the name of George Martino?
No.
You better tell the truth, Ms. 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, Ms. 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 fifth 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 key of Ben and I were questioning George Martino
in the interrogation room.
Ben and I stood by.
Martino admitted only two things.
She 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 Batrin.
It was 5.15 p.m.
You get everything but the murder weapon, huh?
That 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 you 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 is he of an Alabama?
Solid.
What was the cause of death?
Strangulation, multiple fractures of the skull.
All voters are with Mrs. Renard Chief.
Pretty clear cut job.
No evidence of robbery or burglary, I guess.
A couple of dresser drawers in a bedroom were emptied on the floor,
and flows toast all around.
Pretty obvious plan to make it look like burglary.
Maybe.
We found three $1 bills in plain sight.
They were on the floor near the body.
If a burglary went through the stuff, he wouldn't have missed that money.
It shouldn't be too much trouble hanging up.
Shouldn't be scared of her.
Friday in 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 evidence of the crime lab.
Yeah.
He thinks Mrs. Renard's innocent.
There they are, fellas, back to the line.
But she had every reason in the world to kill all that.
In my book, she couldn't have killed it.
All right, let's have it, Lee.
How does the evidence add up?
It's just it.
Joe, it doesn't.
Take a look.
The best, Mrs. Renard, is 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.
I mean, first of all, the man in which the old lady was killed.
Head was better than.
Must have blood 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.
How can you tell what difference?
Maybe these are drop stains on her desk.
And now, I check them with a microscope.
Only the higher ribs of the cloth are stained.
The smears, nothing else.
But the drop forms its own definite drop pattern, and permeates the cloth.
Soaks in.
No signs of that underdressing.
I don't want them.
Now, here's the silk scarf, the old lady was strangling it.
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 your boyfriend.
That's what I mean.
This blonde hair is one of two things that didn't belong at that murder seat.
What else you got?
This hair.
Amazingly.
Small piece of plastic.
A gun, but I'd say.
Yeah.
This cross surface, then a little smooth area.
Yeah.
The killer could have hit the old lady with the butter we got.
And the piece of the stock could have chipped off like this, huh?
Mrs. Renard doesn't own a gun.
Did your mother know?
What does that leave us?
I don't know, Joe.
There's a stuff.
You can't disregard it.
Maybe you can explain it.
Yeah.
How?
Well, first prove this dress isn't the one Mrs. Renard was wearing this morning.
Then find the dress she did.
And we know she wore this when the dentist identified it and so did the neighbor.
That's what I mean.
The dress is too clean.
Doesn't belong.
Yeah.
And this blonde hair, this piece of gun butt.
They don't belong either.
When you think she's innocent.
You're looking at the evidence.
What do you think?
6 p.m. Saturday, November 5th.
Ben and I went back to the office and met with Brennan Wiseman and head back strand.
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 light 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.
Back strand Ben and I waited outside.
How about Mrs. Renard's husband getting down yet?
He's doing run news, give her.
Got a smoke?
Thanks. Time's it now.
11.25.
Yes, Berger now.
That's it, Ed.
Now 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.
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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 Lysman 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 Shavas Road neighborhood
where the murdered woman lived and started pushing doorbells.
We canvassed the neighborhood for three days
and we uncovered one slim lead.
We're selling magazines officer.
We went door to door right up the street here.
A young fellow.
Could you describe them at force police?
Nothing to talk about.
Pasty face, pimply complexion, blonde hair.
5.30 p.m. Wednesday, November the night.
Ben and I met with Brennan and Lysman
and had backstrands 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 six feet, 170 pounds, pimply complexion, blonde hair fast-talking.
About 25 years old.
As far as we know, Skierbury was the only stranger
in the neighborhood last Saturday morning.
Only one in people remembering.
How close did you trace him to the Renard house?
You got your list there, Brennan.
Yeah.
There you are.
Thanks.
Let's see.
When we picked up his tracks down on Floresta Street,
sold a couple of descriptions there,
then he headed up Landers Avenue on the Shavas Road.
Yeah.
The Renards lived at 2280 Shavas Road.
That salesman talked to the woman at 2274 Shavas.
That's three doors away from the Renards.
Hmm.
When was he seen then?
Let me see.
Where is that Brennan?
On the 1577 sheet show.
Didn't have enough room on the report.
Oh.
Yeah.
Here it is.
Mrs. John Rico, 2274 Shavas.
The guy was there about 1145 Saturday morning.
Yeah.
And it puts him in the running.
The first time he ever showed in that neighborhood.
The 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 him?
No, they're closed for the night.
We'll call him a first thing tomorrow.
Good.
He's something else for you.
And a call from Frank Renard this afternoon.
What do you 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 radio.
It's in the bedroom where the old lady was killed.
Well, that ties in with the robbery motive.
They're missing a ring too.
Belong to Mrs. Renard.
Topaz Ring.
It's supposed to be worth a little money.
But she didn't notice it was gone until the day.
That's right.
You got the serial number on the radio?
Yeah, it's in here.
Yeah, let's see.
Yeah, I've been in here with you.
The Emerson Model 511.
180,000, 277609.
Let us all radio them down.
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 pretty 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, 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.
Checked the cards in every known criminal
who was cataloged in the oddity file
having a pimply complexion.
None of them matched.
That night, we got out on APB in a radio gram.
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.
1420A?
1430.
Here it is, Jill.
Yeah.
This is not a gas station, huh?
Come on.
Tarsam, 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 the hand of the land lady
and Mrs. Catherine Hoffman
who show us the apartment
which Berry and his wife had occupied.
It was still vacant.
And 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, Jill.
Look, some kind of an identification tag.
Yeah, let's see.
Is that right here?
It's a tool disc.
It looks like that.
Jamison Larabee,
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 is 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'd put...
Yes, here they are.
Three of them, Sergeant.
From her folks, I think.
Mrs. Berry's from Fresno.
Oh, that's great.
I want to copy down this return address, ma'am.
Oh, yeah, go ahead.
Okay.
That's C.K. Ulrich.
U.L.R.I.C.K.
525 North Lomona, Fresno.
Yeah, I got it.
Very arm is often.
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 Berry's 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 a Jamison Larby 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
taking 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
and 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 I say, Joe?
It was a tool disc, all right?
Jamison Larby company issued 18 months ago to one of their workers.
A given name?
Albert Berry.
11 a.m.
early 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 stake out at the apartment house.
We checked back in at the office at 5 minutes to 1.
I got it.
I'm aside, Friday.
This is Mr. Ulrich Sargent.
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, you know?
The wife said it was December 3rd, day before yesterday.
It's your code on Ulrich.
We'll be right over.
Then 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 pass key.
In the bedroom, we found a small yellow radio.
We checked the serial numbers.
They maxed.
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, you know?
Here we are.
Look at these.
What are they, Sargent?
Paraplastic gun bites.
That's a deal.
One of them has been chipsing.
Sargent.
Somebody coming up the stairs?
All right.
Let's get in the living room.
Be quiet.
What are you doing here?
Who are these men?
Police Norma.
They want Albert.
He kills woman.
It's all right Norma.
It'll be all right.
Did you know your husband killed a woman and his Berry?
He didn't told me last Saturday.
We've been running away for a month now.
Moving all the time.
I didn't know why.
We told him.
He said I was in it as much as he was.
And I'm tired of running.
Why did he kill her?
Did he tell you that?
He said it broke in the house.
He didn't know anyone was home.
All the women was in the bedroom.
Started to cry out.
He had a gun.
He had it with it.
Where's your husband now?
I don't know.
I said it.
Come home for dinner.
About five.
About the groceries.
What time you got in?
I have five three.
That ring, you worry, Miss Berry.
I can give you that.
Yes, why?
What kind of a stone is that?
To a pest.
It gave it to me.
Why?
Nothing.
We'll wait.
Five o'clock came and went.
Berry failed to show.
Five thirty.
All right, 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.
At six forty-five, a light green,
nashed and pulled to a stop in front of the apartment house.
A man got out and went into the main floor entrance.
Bird.
I'll let him in.
All right.
How long have you had the new car?
A couple of days.
Bird got it.
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.
Yeah, yeah.
You cover me.
Right.
Hi, Bird.
Look out, Joe.
All right, stop it, Berry.
Okay, Ben.
Yeah.
He's fast with a gun.
Nice looking, isn't he, Fat?
We've never think he'd kill anybody.
Come on, let's take him in.
I love him.
I still love him.
It's your 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.
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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 Dragoneth, a new series of authentic cases from official files.
Technical advice for Dragoneth comes from the Office of Acting Chief of Police,
W. A. Worton, Los Angeles Police Department.
Tonight's program is dedicated to private Ubert W. Estes
of the District of Columbia Metropolitan Police Department.
who, on the night of May 16th, 1947, gave his life so that yours might be more secure.
Fatima cigarettes, best of long cigarettes, has brought to dragnet,
portion transcribed from Los Angeles.
Be sure to hear songs by Martin Donney tonight on NBC.
