All language subtitles for Dragnet S02E06 The Big Frustration.DVDRip.NonHI.cc.en

This is the city, Los
Angeles, California.

Translation, the
city of the angels.

3 million people
work and play here.

When you get that
many people together,

pressures can mount,
and tempers wear thin,

and sometimes a halo slips.

That's when I start
earning my pay.

I carry a badge.

It was Monday, February 11th.

It was fair in Los Angeles.

We were working the day
watch out of Homicide Division.

The boss is Captain Hugh Brown.

My partner's Bill Gannon.

My name's Friday.

We reported in for work.

We checked to see what
the night watch had left us.

One thing we knew for sure,

there hadn't been
any shortage of trouble.

The story you are
about to see is true.

The names have been
changed to protect the innocent.

Sure are a raft of
them, aren't there?

Yeah.

5 80S, W6 wife beatings,

nine rapes, two
suicide attempts.

Busy night. Must
have been a full moon.

Yeah.

Who was it wrote that song,

"Sunday Night is the
Lonely Night of the Week"?

That's "Saturday Night
and it's the Loneliest Night."

Not according to this report.

Well, I've had a gut full.

I'm sick and tired
of trying to do a job

and butting my head
against a stone wall.

I've had it, Captain!
Up to here, I said!

What's eating Maxwell, Skipper?

The Halter case.

Liquor store heist in
Hollywood, owner was shot.

Yeah.

The case got
thrown out of court.

Halter made a full
statement, didn't he?

Yeah, but his attorney
claimed undue use of force.

Force? I remember when
Maxwell brought him in.

Couldn't shut him up.

Kept screaming he was
guilty and wanted to cop out.

Lawyer claims Maxwell
worked him over

before he brought him in.

Why? Because Halter was
trying to blow a hole in his belly?

Maxwell would be a dead man
if Halter's gun hadn't misfired.

DA covered all of that.

Said Maxwell should
have been commended

for knocking him down
instead of shooting him.

Judge agreed.

- That's not why
he dismissed it.
- Yeah?

Judge felt Maxwell didn't
have enough cause to bust him.

We knew Halter was on the run.

By the time a
warrant was issued,

he could have been in Mexico.

Yeah, I know.

Well, it's been a
busy couple of weeks.

Carl is tired, we all are.

I'd like to give
him a day or two,

but I just can't spare
anybody right now.

Yeah, I guess we
all blow a little steam

once in a while.

He'll be okay.

I hope so. He's a good man.

I'd hate to lose him.

Thursday, February 14th.

For the next three days,
it seemed as though

half the people in Los Angeles

were trying to kill or
maim the other half.

If they weren't
beating each other

with blunt instruments, they
were stabbing each other

with sharp ones or using guns.

The calls kept coming in faster

than we could fill out reports.

Joe, Bill, see you a minute?

Sorry, you're going to have to

take over Maxwell's
workload for a while.

Did he come down with something?

Yeah, an occupational disease.

- What's that?
- Frustration.

He hasn't shown up,
he hasn't called in.

How long has it been, Skipper?

He didn't check
in for his watch.

Maybe we can run
out and see him.

No dice, Joe. He
called in sick Monday.

I sent Myers and Veroni to
see if he needed anything.

He wasn't home.

They found him in a
saloon, half bombed.

Too bad.

We can't allow a man
carrying a badge and a gun

to jump into a bottle, no
matter what the reason.

No, sir.

He hasn't caused
any trouble, has he?

Not yet, but I can't
gamble he won't.

I talked to him, Joe.

I told him I was setting
him down for two days.

When he came back,
we'd forget about it.

He told me loud and clear

what I could do
with my two days.

I didn't hear it.

But when he didn't
show this morning,

that's as far as I could go.

I had to turn it over
to Internal Affairs.

Well, it's no secret

that Carl has got personal
problems, Skipper.

Know anybody who doesn't?

3:17 p.m.

Sergeants Frankie
Isobel and Taylor Serci

of Internal Affairs Division
wanted to talk to us.

One of IAD's main
responsibilities

is to check on the conduct

of all officers in
the department.

So far, they had been unable
to locate Sergeant Carl Maxwell.

When is the last
time you saw him?

Saturday morning about 8:30.

Did he say anything
that might indicate

he was thinking of taking off?

No, we didn't talk to him.

He usually do a lot of drinking?

I never knew him to
take more than a couple.

Said he didn't like
the flavor of liquor.

According to the
bartenders we talked to,

he's changed his taste
in the last couple of days.

Maxwell's not a lush,
if that's what you think.

Maybe not, but we still have
to pick up that badge and gun.

You know, you're making
him sound like a bum.

He's been on the force 12 years,

he's only fired that gun twice.

How many times has he been
wandering around drunk with it?

Are you sure you can't think
of any place we might find him?

If we knew, we'd tell you.

We don't like this
any better than you do.

Department orders.
We understand.

What's going to happen to him?

He's got a trial
board on Monday.

He'll get a fair shake.

But if he doesn't
show up for it...

- Yeah?
- He's brought in.

We better talk to the old man.

- Right. Joe?
- Yeah?

You're the one that
ought to ask him.

- Why?
- You've got the rank.

Well, you want to look
for Maxwell too, don't you?

Certainly. It was my idea.

We'll both talk to him.

I'll wait right here
outside the office.

If you need me,
why, you just holler.

Oh, I couldn't do a
thing like that to you.

- Why not?
- It was your idea.

Captain, Joe would
like to talk to you

if you got a minute.

Come on in the
office, both of you.

What makes you think you
can dig him out when IAD can't?

Huh?

You've been talking to
Internal Affairs, haven't you?

Yes, sir.

You've piled up a lot of
accrued days, haven't you?

Yes, sir.

So has every
man in the division.

How much have you got coming?

46 days.

I asked you before,
Gannon... Yes, sir?

Internal Affairs can't find him,

what makes you think you can?

Well, we'd like
to give it a try.

And you would like four
or five days to run it down?

Yes, sir, that ought to do it.

Two ought to do it.

That's all I can
give you right now.

You know how tight things are.

Two will be fine.
Don't waste them.

No, sir.

Just one more thing.

Yes, sir?

I want you to know
I had the same idea.

4:10 p.m.

Bill and I met with
Sergeant William Riddle,

the police department counselor.

Riddle is the department
chaplain as well.

Carl Maxwell was
an ex-serviceman,

and, like a lot of us,

we took our troubles
to the Army chaplain.

Maybe Maxwell talked some of his

over with Chaplain Riddle.

Sorry, Bill.

Maxwell never came to
me with any of his problems.

You think it was the Halter
thing that did it to him?

I'm only guessing, but I've
seen these things before.

I think having that
case thrown out of court

was the final straw, but
this blow-up appears to me

that it's been
brewing for some time.

How do you mean, Bill?

You've seen it happen before.

How many officers
do you know about

that have gone
into traumatic shock

after having been
wounded in the line of duty?

This wasn't Maxwell's
problem, of course,

but there is a similarity.

His wound is of
a deeper nature...

A mental laceration,
you might call it.

Something like we
knew in the service,

called it combat fatigue.

Yeah, could be.

Just as surely as
some of the men

who get shot on the job
and fall apart due to shock,

others break down due
to the pressures of the job.

Some of the men who
are wounded never recover

and have to be relieved of duty.

Some who suffer what
we call combat fatigue

- are no different.
- I see.

Now, please understand,
I'm not implying for a minute

that Carl Maxwell should
be or will be relieved of duty,

but one thing is certain.

If he has taken to the bottle,

his life expectancy
as a working detective

in this department
is relatively short.

You'd have a hearing
before a trial board

and be dismissed.

That's generally the way
these things go down, isn't it?

Yeah, if we just had
a thread to pick up,

someplace to begin.

You figure Internal Affairs

has covered all
the obvious places?

No question there.

Sometimes I think those guys

are better investigators
than we are.

I won't comment on
that. I used to work there.

I'm prejudiced in their favor.

But let me give you a thought.

Anything is more
than we got now.

Maybe you're too close to it.

How do you mean, Bill?

You're looking for a
friend, not a suspect.

Try approaching it the same
way you would any other case,

even if Internal
Affairs has been there.

- Yeah.
- Start at the beginning.

4:55 p.m.

We decided to take
Bill Riddle's advice.

We would start from scratch.

Since we were on off-duty time,

we checked my car out of the
police personnel parking area.

Los Angeles is a big
place to lose yourself in.

Undoubtedly that's what
Carl Maxwell had in mind.

We knew Maxwell lived
in an apartment building.

We drove over and
talked with his landlady.

She told us the same story

she had told Internal
Affairs Division.

She hadn't seen
Maxwell in three days

and she had no idea
where he might have gone.

1:00 a.m. For the
next eight hours,

Bill and I covered every bar,

restaurant and bowling alley,

within a 10-mile radius
of where Maxwell lived.

We batted zero.

Nobody had seen
or heard from him

for at least three days.

2:18 a.m.

Before we called it a night,

we decided to stop
and see Champ Ridgley.

Ridgley is an ex-light
heavy we used to follow

when he fought at the
Olympic Auditorium.

Maxwell and he used to
box in the Golden Gloves

before Ridgley turned pro.
They were good friends.

Hi, Sarge. Hi, Gannon.

- Champ.
- How's it going, Champ?

Ain't seen you
fellows for a while.

How about some
doughnuts and coffee?

No, no doughnuts. Too fattening.

Just coffee, Champ.

Anything you say, Gannon.

- Sugar and cream?
- No, no thanks.

No sir, never use
it. Too fattening.

Gannon.

I got a new kind
since I saw you last.

Chocolate orange
with marshmallow,

toasted almonds
and peanuts on top.

Well, I guess I'll
try one after all.

Give it a little shot of
whipped cream, too,

if you like, Bill.

No.

Well, all right.

Sure you'll like it, Gannon.

They've been
selling like hotcakes.

Business been good, huh, Champ?

Can't complain.

It ain't like when I
was going ten frames

every Friday night,

but I ain't bleeding
as much, neither.

Tell me, you seen
Carl Maxwell lately?

Not for a week or so.

Something bugging him, Sarge?

What makes you say that?

Well, it's like he's been,
you know, kind of down.

He ain't in any trouble, is he?

No, no trouble.

I hope not. He's a good guy.

How's your girlfriend?
What's her name, Flora?

Oh, that dame.
Picked her up again.

What was it this
time? Shoplifting?

I told her a thousand times,
I said, "Flora, you gotta stop.

"How does it look
to the neighbors,

"cops coming around all the
time looking for the hot stuff?

"They don't even go to
the hock shops anymore.

They come here first."

Who picked her up
this time, Morelli?

Yeah.

He spends more time with
her than he does with his wife.

You know what he found
on her this time, Bill?

No, what?

A pair of water skis.

When did she learn to ski?

What ski?

She don't even
know what they're for.

Once she blew it on a lawnmower.

Well, what was she going
to do with a lawnmower?

I didn't ask.

I was afraid she
might steal a lawn.

- You finished?
- Yeah.

That was great, Champ.

You'll sell a lot of those.

You ought to try one,
Joe. Nice and light.

- No, thanks.
- Real taste sensation.

I'm sure. We got
to be going, Champ.

Yeah. We'll see you, Champ.

Thanks. Sarge, do
me a favor, will you?

- I'll try.
- Stop in and say
hello to Flora.

It will cheer her up.

I sure will. The next
time I'm by the county jail.

Thanks a lot, Sarge.

If she hasn't stolen it.

Friday, February the 15th.
- 30 a.m.

I picked Bill up early
the next morning

and we headed for
the Ventura Freeway.

Like a great many officers,

Carl Maxwell came
from a police family.

We drove over to
see his brother Al,

a sergeant working uniform
out of Van Nuys division.

He lived in Reseda.

We knew Internal Affairs would
have already checked with Al,

but we figured it wouldn't do
any harm to talk to him again.

Well, what brings you two out
here so early in the morning?

We'd like to talk to you, Al.

Morning, Sergeant
Friday, Mr. Gannon.

Hello, boys.

Okay, gang. Time for school.

Don't forget your lunches.

Oh, yeah.

Nice kids.

Mary and I might keep them.

If you change your
mind, Eileen will be glad

to take them off your hands.

You just try
telling that to Mary.

You called me, Sergeant?
Good morning, Joe, Bill.

Good morning, Mary.

You're just in
time for breakfast.

No thanks, Mary,
we've already eaten.

- Sit down, please.
- Thank you.

Al, we were hoping
you'd have some idea

where Carl might have gone.

I told IAD everything
I know, Joe.

It didn't help them much.

How about you, Mary?

I wasn't home when they came by,

but I'm afraid I can't
help much, either.

Carl is in a lot of
trouble, isn't he?

Yeah, I'm afraid so.

Unless he appears
for that trial board,

he could be dismissed.

Poor Carl.

You working this
on your own time?

- Sort of.
- Nice of you guys.

We've worked with
Carl a lot of years, Al.

You know him better
than anybody, Al.

What's suddenly got to him?

I don't think it
was sudden, Bill.

I have been worried
about him for quite a while.

How's that?

He hasn't been the same guy.

Didn't laugh as
much. Wouldn't talk.

Couldn't seem to think
of anything but his job.

I can't remember when
he took his last day off.

Did you ever try to get him to
see the department counselor?

Yeah, but he brushed it off.

Said he was in great shape

and that I was imagining things.

How long has this been going on?

Ever since Ellen died.

For two years now,
Carl has been walking

around as though
part of him is missing.

That's why he works so hard,

to fill up that empty
space his wife left,

- so he won't have
time to think.
- Yeah.

He's put all his
emotions into the job.

That's why things
hit him so hard.

If he gets kicked
off the department

he'll really have nothing left.

Yeah, I guess.

Are you sure he
didn't say anything

about where he was going?

Nothing, Bill.

No, I've been wracking my brain.

Wait a minute.

I don't know if it
means anything.

Go on, Mary.

When he was here last week...
You were on night watch, Al...

He talked about the
happiest time of his life.

Said he supposed
he ought to be grateful

for at least that
much happiness.

- Yeah.
- On his honeymoon.

Did he say where?

Someplace up near
Big Bear, wasn't it, Mary?

A Swiss place. No, a
place that looked Swiss.

Kind of a chalet-type hotel.

Worth a try. Wish
I could go with you,

but I've got night watch
the rest of the month.

I think we can handle it, Al.

If we can find him, that is.

Are you policemen?

- That's right, son.
- That's Carl's son Matt.

He's been staying with us
since Ellen passed away.

My daddy is a policeman.

I know. We're friends of his.

He's not here. He went away.

Well, we're going
to find him for you.

I better come with you.

I'm afraid not,
not this time, Matt.

What if you can't
find him yourself?

It's never clean
and simple, is it?

No.

There's always an
innocent by-stander.

1:37 p.m.

Bill and I drove out the
San Bernardino Freeway

and headed east
for the 100-mile trip

up to Big Bear Mountain Resort.

Big Bear is 6,750 feet up

in the San Bernardino Mountains.

It's about a two-hour
drive from the city.

3:43 p.m. We
drove into Big Bear.

It had been snowing,
but the sun was out

and it was a fairly warm day.

We started looking
for chalet-type hotels.

4:26 p.m.

The third place we hit was
called the Summit Lodge.

It turned out to be the jackpot.

Carl?

You're a little out of
your territory, aren't you?

A little.

You came up to
look at the scenery?

No. We came up
here to look for you.

How about a drink?

No, thanks.

Have a drink, Friday.

Not now, Carl.

Oh, on duty and
all that jazz, huh?

Come on, Carl, it's
been a long drive.

Talk to us.

Yeah, well, that's a long story.

Let's just say I've had it.

That wasn't worth the trip.

It's the best I can do.

No, it isn't, Carl. We
want to know why.

Why you're throwing 12
years of good police work

right out the window.

Where do you want
me to start, Joe?

Takes quite a while
to cover 12 years.

We've got the time.

12 long years, tried and true.

Yeah, well, they
were a total waste,

how's that for openers.

You don't really
mean that, Carl.

Don't I?

You tell me, who cares
about all that good police work?

We do.

Mary cares, your
brother Al, and Matt.

Sure, let's talk about Matt.

You know how much
money I could have made

in any other job in 12 years?

Enough to send
him to a good school

by the time he was ready.

Maybe set him up in business.

Or don't I owe him anything?

A lot more than you're
giving him doing this.

He's your son, you
owe him a father.

A sober one.

Neither of you understand
what I'm talking about, do you?

Oh yeah. I read you real good,

but all I can hear is
a loud cry of self-pity.

Is it self-pity
breaking your back

trying to do a job that nobody
seems to want you to do?

You had a case
thrown out of court.

You've had it happen
before, we all have.

It doesn't seem to be
enough to be a cop anymore.

You gotta be a
Philadelphia lawyer,

a diplomat, a psychologist,

an expert on social behavior.

Just part of the job,
Carl, it always has been.

Yeah, you tell me
about it, Gannon.

When I first signed
on for this job,

I was given to understand
that my primary function

was to enforce the
laws, not make them,

not question them,
but to enforce them.

Sure, I know a certain
amount of diplomacy is required,

along with tolerance
and understanding.

The old hat squads are gone,

along with the hot
lights in the back room.

The blue-jacketed bullies

who used to slug a
confession out of a man

are a thing of the past.

Look, when police work
became a profession

instead of a male fist,

I knew I wanted
to be part of it.

I believe in equality
and fair play,

the right to descend
in an open society,

the right of privacy,
all the inalienable rights

guaranteed under
the constitution.

Now it seems to me

the pendulum has swung
too far the other way.

Nobody ever told you that
badge was a ticket to paradise.

No, Joe, nobody
ever told me that,

but they did tell me that
people make the laws;

we don't, and that they
pay us to enforce them.

Well, it seems like somehow,

nobody really wants you
to do the job too good.

Look, you pick up a suspect.

If you don't treat
him like a VIP,

he'll be out on the streets,
screaming police brutality.

He can confess to rape, murder,

child molesting,
arson or assault,

but unless you've given
him a five-minute speech

that tells him
not to talk to you,

you're the one
who is in trouble.

You take away a
policeman's right to interrogate,

you cut off his hands.

A while back, the President
of the United States

came to the city.

He couldn't even walk
in the front door of a hotel

to make a speech.

He had to use the rear entrance

because 10,000 people
were guilty of poor deportment.

They refused to share with him

the self-same
constitutional rights

they were claiming
for themselves,

the right of free access, to
come and go as you please,

the right of free speech.

And those are the same
people who pay our salaries.

The same people who cry foul

when we try and
enforce their laws.

Look, there a 5,200 of
us in this city of 3 million.

We're a minority group, too.

Well, you tell me, Joe.

Is it worth it?

Depends on what you want, Carl.

If you're looking
for applause, no,

you should have been an actor.

If it's money you're after,
truck drivers make more.

If you expect 100% gratitude

for doing a job
that's got to be done,

then somebody
goofed 12 years ago

when they let you get by.

You're right, Carl, we
are a minority group,

but not by an act of
God or an accident.

The only way you become a
member of this minority group

is by asking for it.

And only about 4%
make it, you know that.

Maybe you've forgotten
what you went through to join.

The physical endurance tests,
the psychological evaluations.

Are you suited to
be a police officer?

Can you be objective?

Will your emotions
affect your job?

Can you take orders?
Can you give them?

Does carrying a gun and a badge

give you a feeling of power?

Now, if you don't
measure up properly

in all of those qualifications,

you don't get into
this minority, Carl.

Only the best men do. The cream.

And what about those
three solid months

hitting the books,
going to school?

Have you forgotten
your probationary period,

where you really started
learning to become a policeman?

Nine long months to
make sure you did learn

because if you didn't, you
could still be eliminated.

And after all that,
if you were still

in the handful that lasted,

then, Carl, you
could say "I'm a cop."

You earned your way
into this minority group

and now you're frustrated.

Well pal, join the club.

Gripe about it,
that's your privilege,

but while you're sitting
there on your bottom,

sucking on a drink,
try to remember

why you signed
on in the first place.

It's a fine profession,
of all professions,

and there aren't
enough to go around.

When does the
trial board convene?

Monday morning.

What do you think, Joe?

Will they bounce me out?

Maybe not. If you
can convince them.

Of what?

That you deserve
to be a policeman

and you still want to be one.

If I can't?

You don't belong on the job.

Kind of hard on
him, weren't you?

I don't figure he
needs sympathy.

Maybe not.

What he needs most
is time to think it out.

Yeah.

And maybe to remind himself.

Of what?

That he's a good cop.

The board found
Sergeant Carl Maxwell

guilty of conduct
unbecoming an officer

and of having been absent
from his post and duty

without proper
leave or just cause,

and suspended him without
pay for a period of 60 days.