Ladies and gentlemen, the story you are about to see is true.
The names have been changed to protect the innocent.
This is the city.
Everybody starts out with the same chances.
They grow up with a chance to play.
The city provides playgrounds.
Big schools give them a chance to learn, high schools, colleges.
They all have an equal chance to obey the laws.
Some of them don't take it.
That's why I have a job, I'm a cop.
It was Wednesday, January 14th.
It was cold in Los Angeles.
We were working the day watch out a homicide division.
My partner's Frank Smith, the boss is Captain Warman.
My name's Friday.
The teletype from the doctor at the police academy had been posted.
My name was on the list.
At 830 a.m. I reported for my annual physical.
Looks fine, Joe.
I'm gonna have to pass you.
You mean I'm okay for another year, huh?
Yeah.
How about that shoulder?
What?
Gunshot wound.
Ever bother you?
No.
When we took the x-rays, it looked like you were gonna have trouble with it.
Chipped bone?
Uh-huh.
You sure you never have any trouble with it?
No.
It's just that once in a while in the wet weather, it kind of aches a little bit, you
know.
Yeah, that happens.
How old are you, Joe?
Thirty-three.
Still Central Homicide?
Uh-huh.
Serial number?
2288.
Two, eight, eight.
Yeah, well, I guess that does it.
You can get dressed.
Okay, thanks.
Keep me pretty busy, are they, Doc?
4200 men, keep you hopping.
Hi, Doc.
Sorry to bother you.
You through, Joe?
Yeah, anything doing?
Dead body call out near Westlake Park.
We got it?
Yeah, better get there.
9320 Laurel Lane.
I'm gonna have to go.
What's the story?
Old man found dead in his living room, bullet hole in his chest.
Yeah?
Boys in the radio car that answered the call thought the old man killed himself.
They're not so sure now.
What do you mean?
I think somebody helped him.
845 AM, we left the doctor's office at the police academy and we drove to the address
in the Westlake area where the shooting had been reported.
The dead man was identified as Martin Latimer, age 68, a retired owner of a couple of neighborhood
grocery stores in the city.
He was lying sprawled partly on his side on the floor.
There was a bullet hole in his chest just above the heart where the slug had entered
the body.
There was another larger wound in the back through the right shoulder blade where the
bullet had emerged.
Approximately five feet from the body was a chair.
There was a Winchester rifle wired firmly to the top, its muzzle pointing directly above
the spot where the body lay on the floor.
A thick white string was wound firmly around the trigger of the rifle.
It ran through a metal ring on the stock of the gun and stretched across the room where
it had been tied to the dead man's left index finger.
At first glance, it seemed like an obvious suicide arrangement.
Officer Harkness, one of the men in the radio car who answered the call, didn't agree.
I don't know, Sergeant.
Maybe I'm all wet.
This doesn't gel right for me.
Who found the body, Harkness?
Next door neighbor, Mrs. Donworth.
My partner's with her now.
Did you fellas call the crime lab?
Yeah, they're on their way.
The old man, the only one who lived in the house here?
Yeah, that's what the neighbor told us.
Sure would like to see what the crime lab crew's gonna think of it.
Why, what's the big question, Harkness?
Well, I know it's none of my business, Sergeant.
You fellas are the detectives.
I just couldn't help but notice, though.
Yeah, what's that?
Over there, that rifle wired to the back of the chair.
Yeah.
Take a side along the barrel, see what you think.
Yeah, pointed right in the straight line with the body.
Well, that much fits.
The old man pulled the string tied to his index finger that set off the trigger and
took the slug right through the chest.
That's what I figured.
Take a look at the wall directly behind the old man.
Slug went clean through the body, we know that.
Through the chest, above the heart, and then out through the shoulder blade.
Yeah, I see what you mean.
Take a look at that wall there.
Not a mark on it.
Well, one thing's sure, if the old man was shot in that position, the slug had to come
this way.
Went through his body at just about this height.
We ought to find the bullet hole in this wall right along here.
Yeah, there's not a trace of a slug any place.
No.
Not much chance it could have been deflected either, is there?
That's what I thought at first too, Sergeant.
Yeah.
Down by your right knee, on the wall.
Take a look.
Yeah, that looks like it.
There's something wrong here, Joe.
That rifle never could have thrown a slug that far down on the wall, wired to the chair
the way it is.
Yeah, besides, it's way out of line, almost four feet here.
I know it's none of my business, Sergeant.
Couldn't help but notice it though.
You want me to stand by outside?
Yeah, okay.
And would you mind checking with the neighbor lady?
What's her name?
Mrs. Donworth.
Yeah, you said she lives right next door?
Yeah, on this side.
Would you mind telling her we'll be over here in a few minutes and ask her to wait?
Right, we'll check with you before we leave.
Thanks, Ardentus.
Now look at that gun again.
It's a 30-30, isn't it?
Yeah, that's right.
Sure doesn't add up too well, does it?
Even if the old man jerked the gun when he pulled the trigger with that string arrangement
there, the slug couldn't have passed through his chest, out his back, and then hit the
wall where it did.
Joe, stand right behind the body, will you?
Let's see if we can line this thing up.
No, a little more to the left.
Little more.
More like this?
Yeah, that's it.
Let me see.
No, not a chance, Joe.
It's way out of line.
If this is the gun that killed the old man, he didn't pull the trigger.
Not from there, anyway.
There was one other chance, isn't there?
Yeah.
I think we'll have to go to the forum.
Sergeant Jay Allen and a crew from the crime lab arrived and went to work.
We put in a call to the coroner's office and asked them to remove the body.
915 A.M., we went next door to talk to the neighbor who had found the body, Mrs. Elsie
Donworth.
I went over to pick up his laundry, officer.
I do laundry for half a dozen people here in the neighborhood.
I don't charge any more than the regular laundries do.
A lot more particular with shirts and things.
I see, Miss Donworth.
Would you go on, please?
I went over about 8 o'clock this morning.
I walked in and called out, but he didn't answer.
Then I went into the parlor, and there he was.
Poor old man looked so sad lying there all alone, that big gun strapped to the chair.
It gave me the coldest feeling.
It was the same way when Claude died.
Claude was my husband.
I understand.
Only Claude didn't shoot himself.
Uh-huh.
I take it you knew Mr. Latimer pretty well, ma'am?
Oh, I suppose.
He didn't have any relatives.
Poor man, all alone.
He was in the grocery business for years.
Made some nice money, I guess.
Tired about eight years ago.
Sold both his stores.
He had an income from a mortgage on one of them.
$150 a month.
Oh, yes, he was very comfortable.
Uh-huh.
He wasn't a penny pincher tall, but he was thrifty.
It was the same way with my husband, Claude.
He used to say, take care of the dimes, the dollars will take care of themselves.
Miss Donworth, can you think of any reason why Latimer would want to take his own life?
Oh, I suppose poor old man was getting along in years.
Used to complain all the time about his health.
For a long time there, he was afraid he was going to die with cancer.
Is that so?
Does he have cancer, do you know?
Oh, no, but he kept thinking he was going to die with it.
Mr. Latimer was always talking about it.
I'm going to check with Jay next door and see how they're making out.
Tell him where we are.
Right.
I'll be right back.
Mr. Latimer was so upset about it, he finally went to see a doctor.
He came back and told me the doctor said for him not to be so silly about it.
He was a well man and good health.
That was last week only.
When was the last time you saw Latimer, ma'am?
Day before yesterday.
Oh, we laughed and joked over the back fence.
Poor old man had such a nice smile.
Reminded me a good deal of my husband, Claude.
I'd like to have your honest opinion here, Ms. Donnelly.
Do you think Latimer killed himself?
Well, I suppose.
That rifle in there, that terrible contraption.
See you in a minute, Joe.
Yeah.
Excuse me, Ms. Donnelly.
Surely.
Anything?
The crime lab's having a field day, Joe.
They say it'd be absolutely impossible for the old man to kill himself with that raid.
Did they find anything definite?
Dusted the rifle for fingerprints.
Didn't find a one.
Makes less sense than that slug buried in the corner of the wall.
Another thing.
I checked the desk in the living room.
Found some correspondence that Latimer had with the Lonely Hearts Club.
Judging from the letter, seems Latimer was getting set to marry the girl.
Big picture of her attached to the letter.
Yeah, did you find out why he'd want to die?
Pretty good reason why he'd want to live.
Yeah.
Beautiful girl, looks to be about 24, 25.
Yeah.
She was going to marry him.
The crime lab crew went on with their routine investigation of the Martin Latimer house
while Frank and I continued to talk to the neighbor, Mrs. Donworth.
There didn't seem to be any common ground at all between the evidence in the house and
the information she had to offer.
As we continued questioning her, Mrs. Donworth remembered that a month before, Latimer had
told her that something might happen to him and that he wanted to make out a will.
He asked her to witness the will.
A few days later, Latimer's lawyer came to the house and Mrs. Donworth read it and witnessed
the signing.
At that time, she said Latimer made the remark, I don't feel like going on much longer anyway.
If death means arrest, I think I deserve one.
Ma'am, did you hear anything out of the ordinary going on next door this morning or last night?
No, there's nothing I heard from next door to remark about.
Of course, it's so noisy around here that time of morning, you can't even hear yourself
think.
How's that, ma'am?
The trucks passing by, up and down, up and down every morning.
Not small trucks either.
They start in at 6 a.m. and they rattle past for two or three hours at least.
Could you give us the names of some of the other people on the street who knew Mr. Latimer
pretty well?
Yes, I suppose.
I don't think any of them knew the poor old man as well as I did.
Most of them are younger folks, parties and things, you know.
When you get up around 65 or past it like Mr. Latimer, parties don't mean so much anymore.
I understand.
Yes, just a nice quiet home with a good heating system, good books on the shelf, and a good
man around the house about all you can ask for.
Well, thank you very much, ma'am.
Here's our card.
If you think of anything else, please call us.
All right.
Frank Smith.
That's you, huh?
That's right, Homicide, extension 2521.
Just one more thing, Ms. Donworth.
We understand Latimer was corresponding with several women through a lonely hearts club.
Did he ever mention that to you by any chance?
No, he never did.
I saw the circulars and stuff around his house, though.
And Latimer never mentioned any of the women that he corresponded with, huh?
Well, I pretended I didn't know about it.
He never brought it up.
I don't understand why he'd want to meet a lady that way.
All most of them are looking for is a man with money so they can quit work and lay around
the house.
Well, thanks again, Ms. Donworth.
Yes, poor old man.
I wonder what made him write letters after silly women.
A little good they'd have done him.
He wrote letters all over the country.
Yes, ma'am.
I was getting tired of working myself.
He could have saved the postage, too.
Well?
I was right next door.
I would have married him in a minute.
We left Mrs. Donworth's house and we went back next door to Latimer's house.
The crime lab crew had finished their investigation and the coroner's deputies had arrived.
They took the body downtown for autopsy.
We talked over the crime lab findings with Sergeant Jay Allen and he felt the same way
Frank and I did.
The theory that Latimer had shot himself to death was possible in many respects, but it
was far from plausible.
We checked through Latimer's correspondence with the women he contacted by mail, especially
the young girl he obviously intended to marry, judging from his letters to her.
Her picture showed her to be brunette, dark eyes, young, very attractive.
The inscription read, with love, Catherine.
There was no return address either on the photo or on any of the letters.
Nine fifty-two a.m.
We put in a call to the mail club.
Yes, ma'am.
We may drop down to talk to you.
Thank you very much.
Goodbye.
What did they have to say?
Well, it might be, Joe.
The club secretary says they've been having trouble with somebody who signs a picture
just like this one with love, Catherine.
I described the picture.
The secretary says it's the same girl.
What's the angle?
Well, the girl doesn't belong to the club, but somehow she got a list of the members and
their addresses.
She writes to them, usually old men, gets them set for marriage, and they send for her.
Yeah.
Her letters come from the East, usually different cities.
She writes and asks for train fare out here.
The men send her the money for clothes and train fare, and that's the last of it.
She's gone.
Well, that adds up all right, doesn't it?
One letter here.
This one.
I hate to ask you, dear, but if you could send me the traveling money and just a little
extra for some clothes, I will take the first train and be with you in a week to become
your wife, awaiting that precious moment with love.
Kind of pours it on thick, huh?
What's the date on that one?
Let's see.
He was mailed December 30th.
That's 14 days ago.
What do you think, Joe?
I don't know.
It's possible.
She could have showed up, tried to grab all the old man's money she could find.
Maybe he caught her at it.
She killed him, rigged up this phony setup to make it look like Latimer shot himself.
It'd hold more water if we could find out she really came here.
Maybe we'd better start ringing a few doorbells.
The other neighbors might come up with something.
What do you say?
Let's take another look at that girl's picture, huh?
Here you are.
No photographer's name.
Underneath here, down the corner of the mounting, see?
XXX6Y3.
Must be some kind of manufacturer's mark.
Photographic supply, huh?
Mm-hmm.
Guess it stands for the type of mounting, huh?
You know anything about the photo business?
No.
I don't either.
Well, let's find somebody who does.
Before we drove back to the office, Frank and I covered the rest of the neighborhood
and talked to everybody who knew the dead man, Martin Latimer, even remotely.
They told us nothing we didn't already know.
There'd been no stranger seen visiting the old man.
No one had noticed anything out of the ordinary in Latimer's daily routine.
Three o'clock that afternoon, we checked with the photo supply firm where we found out that
the symbols stamped on the cardboard frame of the photograph signed Catherine were symbols
used by a photo supply company in San Francisco.
We went back to the office and got in touch with the San Francisco firm.
We were told that the symbols indicated the style and size of photographic mountings and
further that this particular type of mounting was distributed only throughout seven western
states.
They gave us a list of 18 photo studios in Los Angeles who kept this particular mount
in stock.
It was a long chance, but we started checking them out.
Meantime we'd run the girl through R and I and gotten out an APB seeking information
on her.
Monday, January 19th, I checked into the office.
Homicide Friday.
Oh, hi, Fay.
No, no, he's not right now.
I expect him in almost any minute.
Yeah.
Mm-hmm.
Sure, yeah.
I'll tell him.
Oh, handsome.
Okay.
Three pounds of ground round.
Yeah.
Lean.
Yeah.
Mm-hmm.
No, I'll tell him.
Oh, a loaf of rye bread.
Uh-huh.
With what?
Oh, seeds.
With seeds.
Yeah.
Okay.
Uh-huh.
And a quart of cream.
Oh, ice cream.
Yeah.
No, I don't know what anybody want with a quart of cream either.
What kind?
Chocolate.
Okay.
Uh-huh.
That's it, huh?
Right.
Sure, I'll be happy to.
Oh, pretty good, Fay.
And the kids?
Fine.
Well, we've been pretty busy lately, you know.
Uh-huh.
Sure, I'll try to make it next week.
Right.
Bye.
Oh, Fay.
She hung up.
Oh.
Your wife.
Oh, what's she want?
Some stuff she wants you to bring home tonight.
Yeah.
Seeds?
Yeah, for a rye bread.
Oh, I'll bring it.
I'll bring it.
Yeah, for a rye bread, you know.
Well, why didn't you write it down, Joe?
RV's seed doesn't mean anything.
How'd you do it?
Well, I covered seven photographic studios.
On the eighth, I got lucky.
Yeah?
Doris Chambers, age 22.
Monday, January 19th, 1030 a.m. The proprietor of the photo studio on
Melrose Avenue had identified the girl in the picture. He told us she was Doris
Chambers, age 22. She came from a fairly well-to-do family and her father was
manager of a local neighborhood bank. We drove over to talk to her.
She couldn't recognize the handwriting on the photo nor did she understand the
inscription with love, Catherine. After questioning her it became apparent she
knew nothing at all about 68 year old Martin Latimer. I wonder if you'd mind
taking another look at the handwriting on that picture, miss. Take a close look. Is
it familiar at all to you? No, no I couldn't be sure either way. Seems like
I've seen it though. When did you say you had that picture made? About a year ago at
graduation. My mother had extra copies made up. She liked it. I didn't care for
it much. Could you tell us how many people have prints of this picture? Mama had
about two dozen copies made up. She took 12 and I took 12. She sent them to
relatives and friends of ours. She kept a few. What'd you do with yours? Sent them to
friends, girls at school, a few of my boyfriends. Can you remember if you
autographed any of them? Yes, some of them. The one for my girlfriends. The others I
gave out plain. Can you try and think who you gave those to, miss? The unsigned
pictures. One went to Carl. I know that. And then Fred and Don and Ray and Warren.
Yeah, I think that's it. I wonder if we could have their full names and addresses
please. Yes, all right. I'm pretty sure I've got them in here someplace. I don't
know what I'm saving all this junk for. Old letters and... Just a minute. That's
funny. It's the same handwriting, isn't it? I thought I'd seen it before. Ma'am? This
old letter from Warren. See the writing? Doesn't that look the same to you? Looks
close, Joe. Yeah, well they have Don and Myron handwriting. Check it over. Who is this, Warren,
Miss Chambers? Warren White. Here's his address right here. I got it, Joe. Warren and I went
to college together. We were engaged to be married for a while. Then I broke it off.
I see. Warren's a serious boy. He's very thorough. A perfectionist, you know,
Sergeant. Never does things halfway. Is that so? I've never known Warren to do
anything in his life halfway. Not once. Well, he's gonna have a perfect record if
that handwriting matches, isn't he? What can they do to him? I don't know, but they
won't do it halfway.
1102 a.m. We left the home of Doris Chambers and drove down Beverly Boulevard
to 743 North Clairwood Avenue, an apartment house where the suspect was
supposed to be living. We talked to the manager and he told us that Warren White
had moved without giving notice five days before on January 14th, the same day
68 year old Martin Latimer was found dead in his home. We got on the phone,
talked to Doris Chambers again, and she gave us a lead on Warren White's married
sister. The following day we located the sister of the murder suspect and she
told us that her brother Warren had phoned that morning and asked for an
emergency loan of $200 which he didn't have. The sister gave us White's new
address and we checked it out. We had the manager let us in White's apartment. It was
one of those rundown futuristic-style apartment houses built somewhere around
the mid-30s. It was on a high narrow road above Sunset Boulevard overlooking
Rose to Hollywood. White wasn't in and the manager said he wasn't expected back
until early next morning.
We waited. Midnight, 1 a.m. No sign of the suspect. You know Joe you can't beat it.
The view from up here is beautiful. Yeah it's nice isn't it? You ought to look around
and find a place like this for yourself. Be great. Well the rent's too high up here.
Well it's the location I guess. You know people love hillsides, love to be high.
The higher you are the more it's fuss. First the location is great. Public school right down there.
And if you take Sunset Boulevard down to the freeway you're in the city hall in
ten minutes. Doesn't take me much longer. I had about 20 minutes is all. Yeah but
you don't have the view Joe. I don't smell that air. What time you done? 1 45.
We waited. 3 a.m. 4 a.m. 4 30. It was cold. Still no sign of the suspect, Warren White.
5 a.m. 5 30.
6 30. 7 a.m. 7 30. We kept waiting. No sign of the suspect. We called the office
and arranged for a relief. 8 a.m. We could hear groups of youngsters passing by
outside drooping into the main yard of the school just below the apartment
house. We kept waiting. 8 15 a.m.
Come on in. What is this? What do you want? You Warren White? Yeah. Stand still. He's clean Joe.
Well what do you want? Police officers. You been drinking? A little but it's all right.
Why don't you sit down officers? I'm not gonna give you any trouble. What do you
mean? I killed him. Maybe I'll never know why but I killed him. Sit down officers.
Some bourbon in the kitchen you want some? No thanks. Why'd you kill the old man
son? You want to tell us? I don't know. Probably a hundred reasons. Not sure of
any one of them. Something I never realized before. Yeah. I mean killing a
man taking a human life. I guess nobody knows what it is till they do it. Most
complicated thing in the world. There must have had a reason for it. Killing him,
rigging him for a suicide. Do you have anything against him? I hardly even knew him.
I used that picture of Doris to fool him. Made some good money doing it. I needed
it. You're willing to give us a statement about the whole thing? I haven't anything
to hide officer. The minute I killed him I knew it was over. Right there in that one
minute. I knew you'd come and find me somehow. I didn't know when but I knew you'd
come and find me. All right. We better head downtown. Yeah.
That's a great sound isn't it? What's that? Scrooge yard kids. Got a great sound to
it. Good one. Yeah. Could I please go over there for a minute? All right.
All right. How can anybody figure it? You start in the scrooge yard. You like those
kids down there running around yelling. I started the same. Yeah. I wonder what it
is that happens. An eight-year-old redheaded kid. Must be one down there now. Other
kids will grow up, get jobs, work and die. It'll be all right. Yeah. One kid will end up
in an alley with a gun in his hand. How can anybody figure it? I wouldn't know.
Bunch of kids playing in a schoolyard. Someday one of them is a killer. Yeah. You tell me.
What's the answer?
On April 8th, trial was held in Department 88 Superior Court of the State of California in and
for the County of Los Angeles. In a moment, the results of that trial.
The suspect was tried and convicted of murder in the first degree.
Thank you.