Original subtitles

This is the city— Los Angeles, California.

Geographically, the biggest in the world...

and still growing.

Every day the population increases by almost a thousand.

It begins to get crowded.

Three million people were here ahead of them.

There are all kinds—

The young and the old,

those who love... and those who hate.

They're the kind who make work for me. I carry a badge.

It was Thursday, September 15.

It was hot in Los Angeles. We were working the day watch out of Burglary Division.

My partner's Bill Gannon. The boss is Captain Mack.

My name's Friday.

It was 7:30 a.m. We were reporting in early for another day.

It got started in a hurry.

A large quantity of high-velocity gelatin dynamite had been stolen...

from a consumer's storage magazine.

We had to try and find it before somebody used it.

The story you are about to see is true.

The names have been changed to protect the innocent.

Here's one to go on.

Night watchman, Donnelly Construction Company. Yeah.

This morning, he flushed two men in a station wagon.

When he got close, they threw something at his car. What's that?

U.S. Army hand grenade.

Captain Mack had told the Bomb Squad...

to meet us at the construction company supply yard...

located at Slauson and Florence, in the southern section of the city.

Civilian possession of a hand grenade is a

violation of the Dangerous Weapons Control Law.

Pulling the safety pin had to be the act of a desperate man or a sick mind.

Either way, the incident had to be investigated.

8:18 a.m. We arrived at the Donnelly Construction Company.

Matt Kemper, the night watchman, met us at the company office.

He pointed out the high-explosives magazine that had been burglarized.

Ray Murray, from S. I. D., and a demolitions

expert were already at the scene.

Them bomb men over there, you gotta

hand it to 'em— Nerves like solid steel.

Kinda gives me the shakes.

Unexploded grenade is somethin' I don't wanna fool with.

Yes, sir. Wanna tell us what happened here?

Just like I said on the phone.

Around 6:00 a.m. I was making my last rounds when I come across this car...

parked right by the magazine.

I didn't think much of it— hardly a night I don't have to chase off a lover or two.

- Yes, sir. - Then I seen they wasn't lovers at all.

- They was breakin' into the magazine over there. - Who was breaking in?

Two men. But you won't have no trouble tracin' 'em.

- How's that, sir? - Took down the license.

- That was the thing to do, wasn't it? - Yes, sir. Do you have the number?

Oh, yes. I wrote it down so it wouldn't get away from me.

I'll run it through D.M.V., Joe. Right.

Now, Mr. Kemper, I wonder if you could give me a description of the man.

Well, young fellas they were. Must've been crazy to throw that grenade.

- Did you notice how they were dressed, anything like that? - Mmm, no, sir.

I'm sorry. I couldn't tell you. I guess I got a little rattled.

Well, were they tall or short? Do you

remember how they were built? Heavy or slight?

No, sir. I just can't help you, Sergeant.

But I'll think on it, and if I can pull anything up I'll sure tell you.

- It'll help if you can remember. - Yes, sir, I'll try.

Joe, this is Gene Ellis, chief engineer on the construction project.

Mr. Ellis. Sergeant Friday.

Would you tell the sergeant what you told me?

- I just finished checking our explosives inventory. - Yes, sir?

We're minus eight cases.

That's 400 pounds of high-velocity gelatin dynamite.

- You mean it's been stolen? - Has to be. Wasn't issued on this job.

You're sure? Positive.

Lock on the magazine door, it's been jimmied.

Looks like a pry job, Joe.

Four hundred pounds. What's that mean in explosive strength?

That's 1,640 cartridges of high-velocity stuff,

one of the most powerful dynamites manufactured.

- Yes, sir. - It'd level two city blocks.

8:30 a.m.

Ray Murray and the men from the bomb squad had

finished their preliminary investigation...

of the unexploded hand grenade.

Murray filled us in while we waited in the construction

company office for a report from D. M. V...

on the suspect's license number.

Fortunately, the primer was damped so it wouldn't detonate.

The dynamite cartridges that were stolen— what size are they?

One and a quarter by eight inches. Two hundred

in a 50-pound case. Eight cases missing.

- Yeah. - Mr. Ellis, have you figured how many blasting caps are missing?

I figure three containers. That's 72 caps.

- I hope the thieves know how to handle 'em. - What do you mean, Ray?

Extraneous electricity. Huh?

These are electric blasting caps, Joe.

A lot of people who don't handle explosives are unaware that unwanted

electrical energy can enter a blasting circuit from the outside.

Yeah. Transmission lines, straight currents, lightning, static.

Even radio or television transmission.

You mean, any radio or TV station in town could set 'em off?

Depends on how close they get to an FM or TV transmitter.

- What about car radios? - If they're used for transmitting, like ours, they're a decided danger.

Yeah, but we can't be sure whoever took 'em will know that.

- If they don't, odds are they'll have the caps and the dynamite pretty close together. - Yeah.

Makes whoever's got the stuff virtually a time bomb. Could go up anytime.

I got a hunch it's not the work of vandals.

Nobody'd steal this kind of thing for resale.

No legitimate concern would accept it. Probably couldn't be fenced either.

Well, that leaves us an alternative, doesn't it?

Whoever walked off with it intends to use it.

- We got just one big question. - Yeah.

Where, and when?

8:45 a.m.

D. M. V. came up with a make on the license number of the suspect's station wagon.

It was registered to a Samuel H. Halpern, legal the same,

7019 San Marcos Street.

It was located up in the Hollywood Hills.

9:10 a.m. We arrived at Halpern's address. We missed him by 10 minutes.

His wife told us he was an insurance adjuster and

had just left for his office on Wilshire Boulevard.

He was not driving the station wagon.

According to Mrs. Halpern, they had traded it in on a new car over a month ago.

Furthermore, she assured us her husband had been home with her all last night.

She furnished us with the name of the car dealer

to whom they had sold their station wagon.

Peterson Motors. It was on Ventura Boulevard in Van Nuys.

We left the Halpern residence and took the

freeway out to Van Nuys to Peterson Motors...

to check out the station wagon used in the burglary.

9:35 a.m.

Charlie? This is Fred.

That blue '61 Comet station wagon we took in trade last month— license JMI 663...

What's with it? Okay, okay. Let me write it down.

Albert Amory.

9025 Poyntelle Street.

Right.

Okay. Thanks, Charlie.

They just mailed the new owner's pink slip up to Sacramento.

That's okay, sir. We have it.

- Oh, you have? - Thanks very much, sir.

- Sounds like you're in a hurry. - We are.

10:15 a.m.

We drove over to 9025 Poyntelle Street.

From the sidewalk, we could look down a short driveway into the garage.

It was empty.

Yeah? What do you want? Are you Albert Amory?

What? Is your name Albert Amory?

Al Amory. That's right. What's the problem? Police officers.

We'd like to talk to you. Look, I just woke up. I'm still a little foggy. Come on in.

The place is kind of a mess.

The wife usually runs a vacuum around before she goes to work in the morning.

Unless I'm asleep. You work nights, do ya?

Yeah. I'm a bartender at a place called the Jade Pagoda down in New Chinatown.

- What kind of work does your wife do? - She's a checker in a supermarket.

Look, is this something about her? Did something happen to her?

- No, not that we know of. - Well, let's have it, huh?

No Mickey Mousing around. Lay it out straight and simple.

You own a station wagon, license number JMl 663?

Does it have something to do with my car? What happened? Was it in an accident?

- Do you own the car? - That's right. But I haven't seen it since 10:00 last night.

- Did you report it missing? - No.

- But I was mad enough to do it last night. - Why didn't you report your car missing?

- I figured the guy'd have it back this morning. - What guy?

A fella who hangs around the Pagoda—Siggie.

What's his full name?

I never heard it. Everybody just calls him Siggie.

Do you know where he lives? No.

- How about where he works? - No.

Are you in the habit of loaning your car to somebody you don't even know?

Look, I know him. He's a regular. There's a whole crowd of them.

- You ever been arrested? - No.

There was a burglary last night. Two men. License

number and description fits your station wagon.

- You figure Siggie was one of 'em? - It kinda looks that way, doesn't it?

- You have any idea who the other man was? - No, I don't.

This Siggie—usually come in your place every day?

As a rule, yeah. But tell you the truth, I don't care if he never comes in again.

Well, now, that's the big difference.

Huh? We do.

Amory described Siggie as being Caucasian,

slender build, fair complexion, about 25

years old, no distinguishing marks or scars.

It still wasn't much to go on.

Bill phoned R&I and checked the moniker file.

There were five Siggies listed. None of them fitted the description.

Bill also checked out Al Amory. He was clean.

10:45 a.m. We drove downtown to Central City, up North Broadway to New Chinatown.

The Jade Pagoda was located in the middle of the block on Ling Ji Way.

We picked out a booth in the back of the

room and sat down to wait for the suspect...

known only as Siggie.

1:55 p.m. We'd been waiting for over three hours.

Still no sign of him.

We continued to wait.

Al Amory relieved the day man.

The suspect had failed to show.

4:00 p.m. Fella standing over there, end of the bar.

Yeah? What about him? Name's Grove.

Might be able to tell you where Siggie is. How do you figure?

I saw Siggie loan him some money last night.

Your name Grove? That's right.

Police officer. I'd like to talk to you. What for?

You mind stepping over here for a minute?

I haven't done anything. Then you've got nothing to worry about, have you?

You mind if I smoke? Don't be cute.

- What's your full name? - Grove. Nelson P. Grove.

- We're looking for a friend of yours. - Oh, yeah? Who's that?

- Siggie. - Siggie.

Come on, mister. You know who we mean.

You hang around here all the time. So does

he. Last night you got some money from him.

Oh, Siggie. I tapped him for a buck. That's how well I know the guy.

Siggie. Is that a nickname?

Yeah. I think his name is Chapman. Donald Chapman. Something like that.

- Where does he live? - Couldn't say. I don't know him that well.

I'll call it in, Joe.

Seems like a decent-enough guy. Sure hope he ain't done nothin' bad.

Depends on how quick we get to him.

4:10 p.m.

I'll leave you one of our cards. If you think

of anything else, give us a call, will ya?

Joe, looks like we struck oil.

Donald Chapman, age 31, 662 Tamarack Street, North Hollywood.

- Fits the description. Out on bail. - For what?

- He's awaiting trial for A.D.W. - Yeah? Go on.

Involved in a traffic accident, Sunset and La Brea.

Locked bumpers with another car. Minor damage. Sounds a little psycho.

Yeah?

The other driver— Man named Leroy Wilson.

What about him? This Chapman jumped out of his car and shot Wilson in the arm.

- .22 caliber revolver. - Why? Because of the accident?

Not according to the report. Chapman gave another reason.

What's that?

Wilson's a Negro.

Thursday, September 15, 5:00 p.m.

We had to move fast.

We were reasonably sure that 400 pounds of dynamite were in the hands of a man...

who had already committed an irrational assault with a deadly weapon.

If he was the same man, we figured he wouldn't hesitate to use the dynamite.

Donald Chapman's address was an apartment in the

rear of a single residence on a quiet street.

The property was owned by a Mrs. Anna Logan.

She told us Chapman was a peculiar person, but very quiet.

She didn't have a pass key. She didn't know if he was in or not.

There was a car in the garage.

The license number confirmed it was the station wagon

used in the burglary at the construction company.

The car was empty, as far as we could tell.

Joe!

Looks like it's all here. Caps too. Yeah.

I haven't touched it. I figure we'd better let the Bomb Squad check it.

Right. I'll call the office.

I wouldn't use the car radio.

5:45 p.m.

Bill called Captain Mack and filled him in.

The Bomb Squad was immediately notified.

D.A.'s office is sending somebody over to advise us of legalities. Yeah.

Cruiser units are working the block, trying to clear everybody out.

Well, that'll tear it. But there's nothing else we can do.

The minute Chapman hits the neighborhood he'll get hinky.

Captain said he'd caution all of our people not to use radio transmitters.

Chapman's description— What about broadcast?

Went on the air five minutes ago to all units.

Phil Masturian, D.A.'s office. This is Bill Gannon. My name's Friday.

We seem to have a legal problem here.

- Murray thinks the dynamite ought to be moved out. - That's right.

You know that evidence can be legally removed only by permission of the owner,

incident to an arrest, or by authority of a search warrant.

- Joe, are the caps in the closet too? - That's right.

- What about just removing those? - Well, we discussed that.

Your case could go out the window. It could contaminate

the evidence. In a way, we're almost as bad off.

What about the people living in this block?

Trying to clear 'em out. Gonna take time.

You know the right radio frequency could take out this entire block.

It's your case, Sergeant.

Get 'em outta here.

Joe? Bill?

Yeah, Ray? How many cases of dynamite were missing?

Eight. 400 pounds. Why?

We're not out of the woods yet. How's that?

I checked the caps. Some of those are missing. Yeah?

And you haven't got eight cases.

What do you mean? Four of these are empty.

7:15 p.m.

With the definite knowledge that four cases of the

dynamite were missing, it became a race against time.

We had to presume that Chapman had removed a portion

of the explosives with a definite target in mind.

Let's face it, Joe. It's hopeless.

That guy Chapman— Look at this junk. Hate literature by the ton.

Yeah, I know. Mind like that, how do you think along with it?

I don't know, Bill, but we gotta try.

How about civil rights activities? Anything

planned here in the city? Rallies or meetings?

No, I thought of that. Nothing that I know of.

If we just had a piece of something, anything we could grab hold of.

Yeah, and that dynamite, no telling where he planted it, if he planted it.

Ten-to-one he did. Four cases.

He's got enough there to blow a pretty good hole in something, hasn't he?

Sergeant Friday? Yeah?

Martin, 1A-29. My partner and I are working the security detail.

- Yeah? - We heard the emergency broadcast on the suspect's description.

- Spotted this guy walking in this direction. - Go on, Martin.

Description checks out. So does his I. D. My partner's bringing him up here.

- What's his name? - Donald L. Chapman.

8:05 p.m.

We placed the suspect under arrest and advised him of his constitutional rights.

He steadfastly refused to tell us anything.

He insisted he didn't know how the dynamite got into his apartment.

You expect us to believe you got a closet full

of dynamite and you didn't know it was there?

How would I know? I hardly ever go in the closet.

Never mind the smart answers. We can bust

you right now for receiving stolen property.

- Then why don't you do it? - Just tell us what you did with those other four cases.

Maybe I'll change my mind. You told me I don't have to talk to you. Maybe I won't.

It's quite a collection you got here, Chapman.

Flags, rifles, hand grenades, machine gun, German helmet.

- You go for this stuff too? - Brought some things back in '45.

You got a Luftwaffe dagger? I been trying to

pick up one of those. Scarcer than hen's teeth.

- I think maybe I do. - What'll you take for it?

- I'll make it easy. - Yeah?

Just tell us what you did with the dynamite. No deal.

What kind of a fool do you take me for? You wouldn't sell it to me anyway.

I might, for some right answers.

Tell us about the dynamite. What time is it?

Why? I gotta know what time it is.

I lost my watch.

8:35. Is that all?

- What do you mean by that? - We got lots of time.

We stayed at it.

The weapons in Chapman's apartment were checked and unloaded.

Other armament was placed out of his reach.

Chapman wanted to talk about everything but the missing dynamite.

The more he talked, the more convinced Bill and

I became that he had planted the explosives,

and it was only a matter of time now where and when it would be detonated.

He showed no outward sign that it had been yet.

1 1:57 p.m.

He did. He really did.

He had the right idea too— Keep the races pure.

No room for troublemaking minorities.

All right, Chapman. We've heard all that four or five times.

Yeah, but you're not convinced yet.

- You oughta read some of this stuff—pamphlets, books. - Some other time.

If you feel the way you say you do, you must have

planted that dynamite where it'd do a lot of harm.

You can bet on that.

Suppose we don't believe you. Maybe you're just lying to make yourself look big.

- What time you got? - 12:15.

Well, pretty soon you'll know if I'm lying or not.

We kept at it all night.

We sent out for coffee and sandwiches.

Bill and I knew our only hope was to get Chapman to tell us

what he had done with the four missing cases of dynamite.

Sunrise was beginning to break.

Chapman continued his hate barrage.

It was beginning to get on Bill's nerves, and mine too.

Chapman continually wanted to know the time.

It was 8:32 a.m.

What'd you do that for? Because we're about to throw up.

Come on, Chapman. Let's go downtown. It's not time yet.

It is for you. Let's go. Do we have to go right now?

Right now. What time is it?

Why? I gotta know. Please!

No dice! Sit down!

You want the time of day so bad, you tell us why.

- I gotta know. - We'll trade. We want to know why.

All right. If it's after 9:00, I'll tell you.

- It's five after. - I knew it. I knew it.

I can tell you now.

- You would've spoiled everything if I'd told you before. - Told us what?

There's a school, see— 48th Street School. It ain't there now.

- What do you mean? - It went up at 9:00 sharp.

- You blew up a school? - Why, sure.

- Wouldn't you if you was me? - What?

Starting today it was gonna be integrated.

8:47 a.m.

I lied to Chapman about the correct time.

The important thing was, it told us part of what we'd been trying to find out.

The 48th Street School would hold its first class at 9:00 a.m.

They were immediately notified of the dynamite threat.

They were instructed to evacuate the school buildings and the grounds...

for a distance of two blocks in all directions.

Ray Murray and the Bomb Squad were dispatched

to the school to try and locate the charge.

You lied. You lied to me.

Where’d you plant the charge?

You figure it out. I'm not telling you anything.

You might as well. The school's being cleared right now.

- You can't do any harm except to destroy an empty building. - We'll see.

- Where is it? - One thing's sure.

- What's that? - They won't be able to go to that school.

You'll never find where I put that charge.

You're just running up a bigger bill. Now, tell us where you put that dynamite.

Not a chance.

Friday. Yeah, Ray.

You did, huh? Where?

Yeah. Yeah, me too.

They found the dynamite. Ventilator shaft. It was rigged to one of the school bells.

Would've gone off at 9:00 a.m.

Don't worry. There's others who feel like me.

Don't make much difference what happens to me. They'll get the job done.

Wait and see. There'll be other times.

You listen to me, you wide-mouthed punk.

We've heard just about all we want from you.

I know my rights. I know the law too. You'll

want to know a lot more. A motive, for one thing.

Hate'll do for a start.

- Put that walnut-sized brain to work on this— You keep harping about minorities. - That's right.

Well, mister, you're a psycho, and they're a minority too.

The story you have just seen is true.

The names were changed to protect the innocent.

On November 15,

trial was held in Department 184,

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 found guilty on a variety of charges...

ranging from burglary in the first degree to attempted murder.

After his arrest, Chapman identified his confederate as one Harry Albert Jones.

After an exhaustive search, the suspect was finally located in Nevada...

where he was serving a sentence in the state prison...

after conviction on another charge.