Original subtitles

This is the city— Los Angeles, California.

It's a city on wheels, constantly on the move.

There are three and a half million cars in Los Angeles,

over 132 miles of freeways.

The maximum speed limit is 65 miles an hour.

This is Central Receiving Hospital.

On an average day, there are 1 6 1 accidents.

Every month 37 people die.

It's a high price to pay to get somewhere in a hurry,

especially when they never get there.

This is where their cars end up, what's left of them.

This is where the victims end up, what's left of them.

When they do, I go to work. I carry a badge.

It was Thursday, June 26. It was clear in Los Angeles.

We were working the day watch out of Felony

Follow-up Section, Accident Investigation Division.

The boss is Captain Janes.

My partner's Bill Gannon.

My name's Friday.

A t the request of Public Information Division,

Bill and I had a breakfast meeting with Herald-Examiner reporter Norm Jacoby.

We met at a place across the street from the police building called The Shield Cafe.

The story you are about to see is true.

The names have been changed to protect the innocent.

You sure I can't buy you two some breakfast? No, thanks, Jake. We've eaten.

Mmm. Kinda hungry. Bacon and eggs sure smells good.

Did you get that art for me? Right here, Jake.

Good. We'll look at it in a minute.

As I mentioned to Cooke in P.I.D., paper wants a rather broad piece on accidents.

- Like to take in the entire state, not just L.A. Okay? - Right. What do you need?

In the state of California, what makes traffic the big problem?

Well, for one thing, there are over 18 million people in the state.

There are over 10 million registered vehicles.

- How does that compare to other states? - Far more, Jake.

One out of every nine automobiles in the nation is registered here in California.

What can you give me on the number of traffic accidents in L.A. last year?

Fifty-eight thousand, nine hundred and ten.

- How many people killed? - Four hundred and fifty-two.

- And injured? - Forty-nine thousand.

You two remember your figures pretty well, don't you?

You do when you live with them every day and watch them go up.

How about tailgating— the guy behind you who rides your rear bumper all the way?

Probably the single major cause of pileups.

If people would just apply the basic rule of following...

Allow one car length behind the car ahead of you

for every 10 miles of speed you're traveling.

If you're going 60, allow six times the length of your car in order to stop safely.

All right, let's get to the art.

You'll notice that most of these photos were taken on the freeways.

- A great many of them were head-on collisions. - Yeah.

Most people are driving them at 65 to 70 miles an hour.

But let's just take a speed of 55 miles an hour, and there's a head-on.

- Do you have any idea what happens in that first second of the impact? - Suppose you tell me.

Well, among others, Cornell University has done

quite a bit of study on the nature of auto crashes.

- Yeah, I know. - Their people have taken that first second of impact...

and they've broken it down into tenths.

You're driving 55 miles an hour and you have a head-on.

This is what happens.

In the first tenth of that fatal second, the front bumper and grille collapses.

During the second tenth, your hood rises and strikes the windshield.

Fenders begin wrapping themselves around the object of collision.

You slam on the brakes, but your body is still moving at 55 miles an hour.

You stiffen your legs for the jolt, but they both snap at the knee joint.

During the third tenth of a second, your body catapults from the seat.

Broken knees ram into the dashboard.

The steering wheel begins to collapse. The steering column drives toward your chest.

In the fourth tenth, two feet of the car's front end are totally demolished,

but the rear end is still traveling at 35 miles an hour.

Your body is moving forward at 55.

In the fifth tenth, your body's impaled on the steering column.

Blood rushes into your lungs.

During the sixth tenth, the force of impact has built

up so that your feet are ripped out of their shoes.

The brake pedal shears off. The car frame buckles in the middle.

Your head slams into the windshield.

In the seventh tenth of a second, the entire car body is distorted.

Hinges rip off, doors spring open,

the seat flails loose, striking you from behind.

But it really doesn't matter. You're dead.

You aren't around to experience the final three-tenths of this one second.

Neither are your passengers.

It doesn't take long to die.

Bill and I reported back to Accident Investigation Division.

We finished work for the day and were just getting ready to go home.

Captain Janes had another idea. - 45 p.m.

Sorry you have to work late. Hit-and-run on Magnolia and Vermont. Yeah?

Pedestrians were in a marked crosswalk. T-car'll be waiting for you.

Any word on the victims? Both D.O.A.

4:52 p.m.

Because of outbound evening commuter traffic,

it took us 20 minutes to get to the scene of the accident.

The officers who completed the initial report met us at the location.

They filled us in.

The victims were an elderly man and woman. They were crossing

the street from opposite directions when they were hit.

They both died instantly.

The officers had taken statements from half a dozen witnesses.

They gave us their names.

They told us that two of the witnesses were waiting for us in a nearby bar.

Ed Neiman? Norton Bernard?

I'm Neiman. This is Nort Bernard.

Police officers. We're investigating that hit-and-run. I understand you witnessed it.

- Yeah, we seen it. - Did you see what kind of a car it was?

One of those big jobs, you know, like a Lincoln or a Caddy.

Looked like a Buick to me. Dark blue.

Was that the color— dark blue?

Yeah, that's right. You couldn't miss that.

There's got to have been a dent in the front end like you won't believe.

He must have been makin' 60, easy.

- Anybody else with you two at the time of the accident? - Yeah. Talk to Dugan.

- He'll tell you I'm right. It was a Buick. - Who's Dugan?

A buddy of ours. Cabdriver. He saw the whole

thing too. Call him. He'll tell you I'm right.

- What's his full name? - Dugan. Bob Dugan.

You know his home address?

No, but his cabstand's right outside. You might catch him.

- Thanks. - Wanna do me a favor?

- Yeah, what's that? - When you find out what kind of car it is, will you let me know?

5:18 p.m.

A t the cabstand, one of the drivers told us that Dugan was off duty.

He checked with his dispatcher and got Dugan's address.

It was in the neighborhood.

5:25 p.m. We drove to Bob Dugan's address.

It was an apartment house four blocks from the scene of the accident.

Yeah? Who's there? Police officers.

Yeah?

Did you witness a hit-and-run accident at

Magnolia and Vermont this afternoon at 4:15?

Yeah. We'd like to talk to you about it.

I'd invite you in, but the place is a mess. How'd you guys find out I saw it?

- You wanna tell us what you saw? - I got no time for that jazz.

If I had to play witness for every accident

I saw, I'd spend half my life in a courtroom.

You get paid for this kind of work. I don't.

Are you gonna tell us what you saw?

Why not? You're here.

I was dropping off a fare at a bar there and was heading east on Magnolia.

There was a crosswalk right in front of me, and this

old lady stepped off the curb just as I let my fare out.

It was a buck and a quarter with a ten-cent tip.

I heard some jerk squeal his brakes and I looked up just in time...

to see an old lady and an old man get hit, but good, by some joker in a Lincoln.

He was barreling down from Vermont. He took off like the Russians were in Pasadena.

- You say it was a Lincoln? - Yeah. Dark blue.

New, maybe. Well, it wasn't more than a year old.

You were pretty close. Did you get the

license number? Could you describe the driver?

- Nah. He was moving too fast. - You remember anything else about the car?

Bumper stickers, anything like that?

- No, that's all. - Okay. Thanks, Dugan.

- You figure I'm gonna have to go to court? - Maybe.

I gotta lose a day's pay so somebody can collect a big

chunk of insurance money on those two senior citizens?

You'll do better than they did, won't you?

How's that?

You're alive to collect yours.

7:33 p.m.

Before leaving the area we interviewed three other witnesses.

Two of them corroborated Dugan's statement.

We had an Area "C" broadcast put out.

We described the hit-and-run vehicle as a dark blue late-model Lincoln...

with possible damage to the windshield and front end.

7:48 p.m. We returned to the office.

We filled the captain in on what we had.

Lab's checking the victims' clothing for

traces of paint, any other physical evidence.

I'd like to give what we've got to the newspapers, radio and TV. Go ahead.

If I had something to hide, I wouldn't want seven million people looking for it.

Friday, June 27.

As the result of the front-page play the papers

had given the story, we'd had several phone calls.

8:33 a.m. We checked them all out, but they led nowhere.

I called S. I. D. and talked to forensic chemist Ray Murray.

His report was negative. He had found nothing

on the victims' clothing we could go on.

Joe.

Might be somethin'. Yeah.

Woman over on Magnolia claims she saw the accident. Yeah?

Says she knows where the hit-and-run vehicle is.

The woman who called lived in an apartment

house on the corner of Magnolia and Vermont.

8:48 a.m.

I'm glad you could come. It's bothered me ever since

I saw it and didn't call the police right away.

When I read about it this morning, I knew I couldn't

live with myself if I didn't tell everything I knew.

I saw the whole thing right here from my window.

But I didn't know it was him until this morning.

I waited until he left, and then I checked.

- You didn't know it was who, ma'am? - Mr. Stuart, with a "U" in it.

He lives in the building, practically next door.

I spotted him right away. From the day he moved in I knew he was strange.

Claims he's an architect. But I checked. You know

what he does? Makes dolls. Builds toy houses.

He was the one ran over those people.

This Stuart, what's his first name? Would you know?

I would if he'd put his first name on his mailbox.

But he doesn't. People like that never do.

What makes you so sure that Stuart's the man that ran those two people down?

I saw it happen right out my window.

I thought he looked suspicious when he came in last

night, and this morning he didn't take his car to work.

I went down to the garage— We have indoor parking in

this building— and there it was— his car, all covered up.

What kind of car does he drive? Oh, I don't know about things like that.

But it's the same car that hit those people. I bet there's blood all over it.

The car's parked in the garage?

If he didn't sneak back in and slip it out.

But I've been watching. I can see the driveway from here.

All right, Mrs. Bronson. Thank you very much.

We'll check it out. It's my duty, isn't it?

I mean, as a good citizen and all. It's not

like I was meddling in other people's business.

No, ma'am.

I don't like to mix in other people's affairs.

- But when I smell something wrong, I keep my eyes open. - Yes, ma'am.

More people do that, be a better world.

A blue Lincoln it ain't.

9:20 a.m. Bill called the office to fill the captain in.

He told us that a garage owner on Pico Boulevard had called in.

He said that the previous night he had replaced

a shattered windshield in a blue Lincoln sedan.

The garage was located on West Pico, near La Cienega Boulevard.

It took us about 20 minutes to get there. - 40 a.m.

The owner's name was Gus Archer.

He showed us the windshield he had removed from the blue Lincoln sedan.

Pulled it out of a blue '64 Lincoln. Fella said he'd hit a dog.

Seemed pretty shook up when he came in. What time was that?

About 6:30, 7:00 last night. Somewhere around

there. Said he needed the car this morning.

I told him I'd make him a good deal on taking

the dents out, doing the rest of the body work.

He said he'd check with his insurance man

first and maybe he'd get back for an estimate.

- You have his name, address? - Sure.

I keep good records. License number,

registration, all that right on the job sheet.

Had to charge him overtime for the labor. I

was here till 9:00 last night getting it done.

We're gonna have to impound this windshield.

Sure. I read in the paper about those two old people getting killed.

You figure maybe this guy done it?

- Well, one thing's sure, isn't it? - What's that?

He's gonna have to come up with a better story on that windshield.

10:15 a.m.

We took the damaged windshield along with us. It would be booked as evidence.

The registered owner of the suspect vehicle was Clayton Filmore.

The address was on Bradbury Street in West Los Angeles.

Yes? We're police officers.

We're looking for a Clayton Filmore. Yes?

May we come in? All right.

I hope this won't take long. I have an appointment, and I'm late.

You're Mrs. Filmore, are you? Yes.

Your husband at home? No, he isn't. What's he done this time?

- We'd like to talk to him. - He's been drinking again. Is that it?

- We're investigating a traffic accident, ma'am. - And Clay's involved.

Do you or your husband own a blue '64 Lincoln sedan?

Clay does, yes.

- The car here now? - He drove it to work.

- Where's that, Mrs. Filmore? - The Craig Building on Wilshire.

All right. Thank you, Mrs. Filmore.

- You'll forgive me if I don't appear too interested in all this. - How's that, Mrs. Filmore?

Nothing, absolutely nothing that Clay does would surprise me anymore.

He hasn't always been this way.

- He wasn't when I married him. - Is that right?

- Are you men married? - I am.

Then maybe you can tell me— What happens to a man after five years of marriage?

Seems to be the magic number, doesn't it? Five years.

What makes him change?

How can two people feel they're so much in love, and then fall out of love so easily?

- Oh, I wouldn't know, ma'am. - Clay's rarely home these days.

This house is just a way station for him,

a place to change his clothes, park his car.

We go for days at a time without seeing each other.

I wish I knew.

- I wish I knew what I've done wrong. - Sorry, Mrs. Filmore.

And again, thank you. I'm sorry too.

I guess all women become over talkative at a time like this, don't they?

- How's that? - When they're on the way to see their lawyer about a divorce.

The Craig Building was less than

eight blocks from the scene of the hit-and-run accident.

10:46 a.m.

It was a new high-rise office building. Filmore had an office on the 28th floor.

May I help you? We're police officers.

We'd like to see Clayton Filmore. One moment.

There are two policemen here to see you.

Go right in, please. Thank you, miss.

Well, I've been expecting you.

Coincidence you should come just now. My attorney, Paul Bateman.

My name's Friday. This is Bill Gannon.

My car's parked in the garage of this building on the second level, space 36.

My attorney tells me you'll probably impound it as evidence.

He further advises me to make no additional statement. That correct, Paul?

That's right. I've informed my client of his

constitutional rights. Please state the charge.

All right, sir. Mr. Filmore, you're under arrest for 20001 V.C., hit-and-run felony,

and 192.3A P.C., felony manslaughter.

- All right. Suppose we have to go downtown, huh? - Yes, sir.

Uh, Marjory, cancel my appointments for the rest of the day.

Yes, sir. Anything else?

Uh, you might call my wife and tell her I won't be home for dinner.

1 1:05 a.m.

Before we left the Craig Building, we checked Clayton Filmore's car.

It was a blue '64 Lincoln sedan.

We made arrangements to have it towed in to the Central Property Impound Garage.

Filmore would be booked on two counts of hit-and-run

felony and two counts of felony manslaughter.

How much longer is this going to take, Paul?

- We should have you out on bail in time for lunch. - Fine.

Sergeant Friday, lead the way.

Don't look so hang-dog. How old did you say those two were that you say I hit?

The woman was 67. The man was 73.

Well, I'm sorry, but it isn't as if they were

going to live much longer anyway. Isn't that right?

I suggest that you don't say anything more, Clay.

But it's true. I am sorry.

Well, sorry won't bring 'em back, Filmore.

A dedicated cop.

You have a right to remain silent, Clay. I advise you to do so.

- There's no rule against him listening, is there? - Depends on what you say to him.

Yeah, well, I'll try to be careful.

Filmore, maybe as far as you're concerned those two

people lived all the life you figure they should.

But what gives you the right to end it for

'em? It doesn't really bother you, does it?

You were in a 30-mile zone. You were doing 50, maybe 55 miles an hour.

Those two people you hit were knocked 77 feet, six

inches down the street from the point of impact.

We believe you'd been drinking this time too. This isn't the first time for you.

You've got a drunk driving record that goes back to your high school days.

Every time you've beaten it, haven't you?

Down the hall there is Traffic Enforcement Division.

We've got good laws and they try to enforce 'em, but they've got an impossible job.

There are 130 miles of freeway in this city,

better than 6,000 miles of surface streets.

Every 10 minutes there's an accident.

Every 10 minutes somebody like you tries to kill himself or somebody else.

You blew 20 minutes of that time all by yourself.

Mister, you killed two human beings,

two people who were alive and breathing seconds before you ran 'em down.

And you've got the monumental gall to stand here

and say they wouldn't have lived much longer.

You may be out on bail in a couple of hours,

and if so, you take this to lunch with you:

Two people are lying over there in the County Morgue, and you put 'em there.

You were in a hurry the night you killed 'em. You're

in a hurry now to see how fast you can forget.

I wanna wish you a lot of luck. I hope it takes the rest of your life.

Now have a good lunch.

1:15 p.m.

Bill and I began putting all the paperwork together on the Filmore hit-and-run.

Joe. Bill.

Thought you'd like to know. Yes, sir?

Clayton Filmore just walked out. He made bail.

1:35 p.m.

Forensic chemist Ray Murray in the Scientific

Investigation Division wanted to see us.

1964 blue Lincoln sedan.

Found a small piece of leather adhered to the front bumper.

Matches the shoe the male victim was wearing. Mm-hmm.

Cloth imprint on the vehicle matches his clothing. Anything else, Ray?

Yeah. Blood on the windshield matches the female victim.

Hair embedded in the glass matches up too.

No doubt about it, Joe. Yeah?

Filmore's car killed 'em both.

A complaint against Clayton

Filmore was issued by the district attorney's office.

Three months later, the case came to trial.

3:15 p.m., Friday, September 15.

Well— Well...

Suspended sentence, three years’ probation, $250 fine.

That doesn't seem like much, does it?

Oh, I don't know. That's $125 for each life.

Thursday, February 18.

Five months had gone by since the Clayton Filmore trial.

6:00 p.m. We were just getting ready to go home for the day.

Got one for you to go on. Traffic wants us to cover. They're shorthanded.

Two-car pileup at Sixth and Bixel. A rough one. Yes, sir.

Four victims involved. Yeah?

Two D.O.A., two critical.

We left the office and

headed across town for Sixth and Bixel Streets.

Friday and Gannon, A.I.D.

Wheelock, 2-Mary 139.

Pretty bad, Sergeant. Two of 'em didn't last

five minutes till the ambulance got here.

Couple of teenage girls. Man and wife in the impact vehicle, both critical.

- You check with witnesses? - Yeah. Wrote down eight of 'em.

- What'd they do, run a signal? - Yeah. Man and his wife ran it on red.

Must have been doing 50, according to the

witnesses. You got the victims' names, Wheelock?

- Right, Sergeant. - Thanks.

Bill. Man and wife driving the impact vehicle?

Yeah. Mr. and Mrs. Clayton Filmore.

- Sure is a mess, isn't it? - Sure is.

6:48 p.m.

After checking with various witnesses who saw the accident,

Bill and I drove over to Central Receiving

Hospital to make the usual follow-up report.

We talked to the doctor in attendance.

He told us that Clayton Filmore was under heavy sedation and could not be talked to.

Mrs. Filmore was in better condition.

What at first appeared to be a critical condition

was further diagnosed as traumatic shock.

She had seven broken ribs and was suffering from contusions.

The doctor said we could see her for a few minutes.

Mrs. Filmore?

Clay— Have you seen Clay?

No, ma'am. He's under sedation.

Oh, dear God, dear God. How did it happen?

How did it happen? Clay promised me.

- What's that, Mrs. Filmore? - He said if I'd drop the divorce proceedings, he'd straighten out.

- He hasn't, has he? - Doesn't look like it, ma'am.

He killed those two young girls, didn't he?

Yes, ma'am.

I wish I were dead.

Oh, how I wish I were dead.

Try to take it easy, Mrs. Filmore.

Did they tell you what happened to Clay?

He's going to lose both his legs.

- Both his legs. - Yes, ma'am.

He was in a hurry to get to this cocktail party.

He had a few drinks in his office before he left.

I tried to tell him not to have any more to drink, but he wouldn't listen.

He never does.

- Those drinks cost him his legs. - Yes, ma'am.

We were late leaving his office.

I tried to tell him.

He said not to worry. We'd make it on time.

He was in a hurry, Sergeant.

He won't be anymore.

The story you have just seen is true.

The names were changed to protect the innocent.

On May 20, trial was held in Department 185,

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 two counts of felony manslaughter.

Felony manslaughter is punishable by imprisonment

in the county jail for not more than one year...

or in the state prison for not more than five years.

Since this was his second offense,

Clayton R. Filmore received the maximum sentence.

However, because of his permanent disability resulting from the accident,

the sentence was suspended.

He was also forbidden to ever drive a vehicle again as long as he lived,

despite the fact that artificial legs would have made it possible for him to do so.