The Big Witness (A Dragnet Fan Fiction Story) -- Chapter Eleven

 The Big Witness

(A Dragnet Fan Fiction Story)

By: Kristi N. Zanker

Disclaimer: All publicly recognized characters, settings, etc. are the property of Mark VII Limited and Universal. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. I, in no way am associated with the owners, creators, or producers of Dragnet. No copyright infringement is intended.

Warning: This chapter contains strong language, violence, and sexual situations.

Chapter Eleven

Joe finally returned to work on Monday, June 7th. During the week he was sick, Ben reminded him about the court date they had for a case that had occurred back in February of this year. It involved a husband and wife senselessly murdered inside of their home. When Joe and Ben arrived at the scene, it appeared as though the man had been listening to the radio and was shot in the back of the head. There had been an exit wound and a shell casing was discovered near the chair he sat in. The radio was still turned on. A window was raised about an inch, giving the murderer a direct line of fire. The wife, most likely upon discovering the husband after not coming to bed, lay by the telephone stand next to the entrance of the kitchen, engulfed in a pool of her own blood. Three shell casings were found near the body that time.

In the next few days, Joe and Ben pounded the pavement, knocking on doors and questioning neighbors if they heard anything. Someone had noticed a car on the street, whereas another thought they heard gunshots, but it could've been a car backfiring. Finally, they came upon a possible witness who did see someone lurking around the murder house about 11 p.m. on the night of the killings. The man gave a vague description due to the darkness, but a few days after that, a neighbor phoned complaining of a prowler around his house. Within hours, Joe and Ben had their suspect.

On Thursday, June 10th, the fifty-five-year-old witness while in the midst of giving his testimony suffered a heart attack right there in the courtroom. The case was dismissed. Joe was fuming when he and Ben emerged from the courtroom. Back in Room 42, they signed out for the day and Ben had left. Joe was thankful for this as he was not in the mood for conversation. To ease his frazzled nerves, he began to think about the date he had with Dorothy in about an hour. They were going to go out to eat around six and then to see The Big Clock. He hadn't seen her since his mother returned from Renton, Washington, only spoke on the phone Sunday evening, telling her of his and Ma Friday's cemetery excursion. He called Dorothy now hoping she was still at work, to see if he could pick her up and then decide where to go for dinner.

"Is Dorothy River there?" Joe asked when the girl on the other end picked up and announced Georgia Street Juvenile.

"Who?"

"Policewoman Dorothy River," he could feel the annoyance slowly go up a notch since the dismissal of the court case.

"Let me see,"

He heard a loud clunk as the dimwitted secretary dropped the phone onto the desk. Why didn't she just put me on hold? The minutes ticked by as he waited. Joe lit up a Fatima. He was almost finished with his cigarette when she finally came back on the line.

"There's no one by that name here."

"What?! Oh, never mind!"

He slammed down the receiver, stubbed out the remainder of the cigarette into the nearest ashtray, grabbed his chenille overcoat as well as his fedora, and quickly made his way out the Main Street entrance of City Hall. Once in his car, he gunned the motor and made his way over to Georgia Street Juvenile.

"Is Dorothy River here?" he asked, doing his best to stay calm.

"Who?"

Oh, not this again! His mind shouted.

"Policewoman Dorothy River." The edge in his voice slowly crept to the surface.

"I'm not sure—"

"What do you mean you're not sure?"

"Well, you see, this is my first day—"

"Oh, skip it!" He whipped around and made his way back to the car. I don't have to deal with this!

Slamming on the brakes right outside the boarding house, Joe sprinted up the steps of the front porch and did his best not to bang on the door too loudly.

"Yeah?" Dorothy's landlady, a stout middle-aged woman wearing a drab gray housedress with a drink in one hand answered the door. "What do you want?"

"Dorothy River there?" Joe asked, as he fished in his overcoat pocket for a cigarette.

"She ain't here," was the tart reply.

"What do you mean she isn't here?" Joe struck a match, lighting it.

"Just as I said."

Well, where did she go?" Joe wanted to shout, but the cigarette began to calm his nerves.

"She moved out the other day."

"Moved out?!"

"Egads, man, don't you hear good?"

"Did she leave a forwarding address?"

"No."

"Thanks!"

Joe stormed down the stairs and briskly walked to his car. Where the hell was she? His mind rumbled. As he peeled out of the driveway, he tried to think rationally. They had agreed to meet for dinner but hadn't decided on a restaurant. She wouldn't have gone to the movie theater already, would she? Had she become ill? Had he given her the grippe? If he had, it wouldn't explain her leaving the boarding house, unless she moved back home with her parents and high school aged sisters. Joe couldn't think of a reason as to why she'd do that, unless she really couldn't stand her landlady anymore. After meeting her for the first time just now, he could see why. Had she transferred to another area in the city? And the inevitable—was she seeing someone else? Was everything moving too fast? He shook his head, trying to clear away the crammed questions and conclusions that swirled around.

The seething belligerence lingered as he drove home. His mind rattled on, now thinking of this afternoon in court. If that son-of-a-bitch hadn't dropped dead in the middle of the courtroom while on the witness stand, the fucking bastard would have been given life in prison or death! Joe hoped it would have been the latter punishment. But, he'll go free now! And it was back to Dorothy. He couldn't understand it. That dimwitted secretary and now her landlady saying she moved out with no forwarding address! He wished he had a nickel for every time he and Ben went to check out an address for a suspect only to find out they had left months ago with no contact information.

He tapped out the Fatima and lit another one, trying to simmer down as he turned into 4656 Collis Avenue.

"Joseph!" Ma Friday approached him as he wrenched open the door. "What's wrong?"

"Bad day, Ma," was all he could say. He wasn't in the mood to again hear her bring up how quick his temper could be these days.

"I have a message for you from Dorothy."

"What?!"

"She called a few minutes ago."

"What did she say?"

"She wants you to go to this address."

Ma Friday pressed the answer into his hand. In her neat penmanship, an address to an apartment, along with a phone number were given. He gave her a kiss on the cheek before turning to head out the door.

"Thanks, Ma!" He called over his shoulder.

The annoyance had not subsided because he kept wondering why she hadn't told him anything about moving. He wanted to feel elated that she finally had her own place now, but the afternoon's unexpected event kept him from it. Joe certainly was glad she hadn't been sick; he would've felt awful had he been the cause of that. As it turned out, Dorothy was only ten minutes from his house. She lived in unit seven, which was on the fourth floor. The neighborhood was decent and the building, although old, looked all right. There were two apartments on each floor. He parked on the street, dabbed out the rest of the cigarette, recovered his hat, and made his way to the front door.

The building opened to the vestibule with the mailboxes. Another door stood securely locked. Visitors had to ring the buzzer to the specific apartment for the tenant on the other end to let them in. He was about to press the number seven when a young mother with her child in tow came through. The boy was whining about wanting a candy bar and to go to the playground. The mother did her best to soothe him and gave Joe an apologetic look. Before the inner door shut and locked, he grabbed it and began the climb. The structure revealed its age as each creak sounded on the stairs with a thin, withered flowered carpet-runner.

With the weather reaching close to 82, the air on the stairwell was stuffy due to no open windows on the landing between each floor. As he ascended to the top, Joe unbuttoned his overcoat, loosened his tie, and unbuttoned the first two buttons of his shirt. He stopped on the second landing to remove his coat and drape it over his arm. He then doffed his fedora carrying it in his other hand. Snippets of conversation drifted by, along with a baby crying, or radio playing classical music sifted through each door he passed. Different smells of dinner seeped through along with the clinking of silverware against dishes. His stomach growled eagerly. One more staircase to go. He would do his best to remain as cool as possible. But when he knocked on the door and Dorothy answered, the first thing that came to his mind was, "What the hell are you wearing?"

He saw her smile fade upon hearing his clipped tone. He couldn't help it now. Just what was she wearing and answering the door in such a thing?

It was a sleeveless, super-short one-piece soft white cotton outfit with a dotted pattern of red roses, blue morning glories, and pink tulips. The pull tab to a zipper sat in the middle of the turned-down collar. The shorts hem was at least three inches above the knee. Joe wished he could feel like any other man at that moment seeing his girlfriend showing so much flesh as a greeting. But not him. He was too miffed. Quickly glimpsing at his watch, he noticed it was now a little after 6:30.

He looked beyond her and glanced inside. Behind Dorothy sat the living room. Oak hardwood floors shined, accented by a large blue and white braided rug underneath the coffee table. The furniture looked like it was ten or twenty years old. From his vantage point, every window was open, and two wire electric fans placed throughout the room whirred in the distance. The floor radio that sat across the living room against the far wall was tuned to KNX with Casey, Crime Photographer. How did she manage to get this place? He did his best to try and ease the petulance.

"Get inside before someone sees you!" As he stepped forward, she moved back to let him in.

"Joe, it's a playsuit," Dorothy said, as she closed and locked the door behind her. Facing him, she continued, "These are worn at the beach. I'm wearing this today because—"

"Well, you're not at the beach!" he interrupted. "What's the matter with you?! Answering the door in that!"

"There was no one else out there."

"What if it wasn't me?!" He threw his coat over the arm of a winged-back chair. The fedora landed right next to it. He knew he was overreacting. Joe wished he could have a drink after what happened today.

"Did you have a bad day at work?"

"You could say that," he mumbled, as he unbuttoned his shirt cuffs and pushed the sleeves up to his elbows. Joe then removed his revolver and handcuffs which Dorothy took from him and placed them on the table next to the door. With a soft breeze penetrating through the windows and the air circulating the room, courtesy of the fans, he noticed it must've been at least five degrees cooler in here than out in the hallway.

"What happened?" Dorothy turned toward the kitchen.

"Never mind that." Joe followed right behind, undoing his tie, shoving it into his pants pocket, and discovered the brightly lit kitchen exhibiting gleaming white enamel with chrome appliances. A well-worn, cracked Formica countertop with a blue geometric design was littered with utensils, bowls, plates, dish towels, and glasses. The appliances were pre-war, but clean and well taken care of. A saucepan of liquid chocolate stood on the front burner. She took a wooden spoon from the spoon rest and glided it back and forth as the pot began to boil. Two other pots stood on the behind burners. One contained simmering peas while the other showed potatoes cut into quarters sitting in milk and butter.

"I have to get this pudding before it burns," Dorothy said, as she turned off the one burner, and began to pour chocolate pudding into two small glass bowls that sat next to the stove. Joe now sat at the rectangular table in a ladder-back chair that stood against the far wall of the kitchen. Square ceramic pastel yellow tiles filled the walls with a teal line design toward the ceiling. There wasn't too much cabinet space, but he noticed the door to a pantry that stood open next to the refrigerator. "This will be our dessert for later on."

"Why didn't you tell me you moved?" Joe demanded as she placed the two bowls inside the refrigerator and closed the door.

"You were sick," she replied, not looking at his grim stare, as she went to the oven, opened it to check on the chicken croquettes inside.

"Don't give me that!"

As the can of peas continued to boil, Dorothy grabbed the potato masher out of a drawer and began to murder the potatoes as she explained the situation.

"This belonged to my mother's sister, who passed away on June 2nd. She died in her sleep. They think it may have been a brain aneurism. Needless to say, it was quite a shock."

"Oh, honey, I'm so sorry." His voice calmer now as utter culpability and disgrace seared. Oh, I'm such a goddamned heel! He scolded himself. No one would expect this kind of an explanation. He got up and put an arm around Dorothy, giving her a kiss on the cheek. "I didn't mean to sound the way I did. I wasn't mad at you, Dot. Please know that—it's just that everything this week went to hell."

"I forgive you," she replied, dropping the metal utensil into the pot to give his hand a squeeze. "Tell me about your week."

"You finish first." After planting another kiss on her forehead, he began to set the table. Dorothy continued to whip the potatoes.

"The funeral was last Saturday. Once she was in the ground, the battle for the apartment began. We weren't very close to her, but it was still a shock. My two sisters wanted this place, but of course Mom and Dad wouldn't let them as they are only a sophomore and junior in high school. So, they surprised me with it. My aunt had already paid for this month. At first, I didn't know what to feel considering the circumstances, but I was overjoyed. I mean, last week you were asking if my landlady at the boarding house was a heavy sleeper, remember?"

"Yes. I—I met your landlady today."

"I'm so glad to be out of there. Joe, I wanted to call and tell you, but you were very sick, and things happened so fast."

"It's all right, honey." Joe placed silverware on top of the napkin that stood next to each plate. "What do you want to drink?"

"There's some lemonade in the icebox. I haven't had time to get any beer or scotch. Next time you come over, I'll have some."

"It's all fine, Dot. Lemonade it is then." Joe retrieved a pitcher of pink lemonade and opened the tiny freezer compartment and stood at the counter to extract one of the metal ice-trays. Once it was free, he plunked a few ice cubes into each glass. . In the meantime, Dorothy turned off the peas and using a dish towel, she pulled the appetizing dish out of the oven. She carefully placed it on a pot-holder and began to fill the plates. As she worked, she continued the story of how she acquired her new home.

"After I got off work each evening, we'd all come here to clean. We gave it a good going over from top to bottom. I didn't have too much to pack, just my clothes, toiletries, and a few kitchen items my mother gave me. I still haven't had time to organize everything yet. I feel so lucky."

"You are…this is a beautiful place. Much better than if anything became available. And it's in a decent area."

Once the plates were filled, Joe took both and brought them to the table. Each sat down and began to eat.

"Thank God for that! It stays pretty cool in here with the fans going and windows open. But I noticed it gets very hot when the oven is on; also we are on the top floor. So, when I got home from work today, I started dinner, called your mother and gave her the new address and phone number, took a cool shower and—"

"That's why you're in your playsuit." He smiled at Dorothy. If I wasn't so preoccupied when I arrived tonight I—"

"What happened this week, Joe?"

Setting down his fork, he began to reiterate the murder case and the week in court all the way up to the witness dying while on the stand.

"Oh, Joe! I can see why you were so upset when you arrived!"

"I'm still mad, but I'll get over it. It's all part of the job."

"I know, but—"

"Let's not talk about it anymore. When we're finished here, I want you to give me the forty-cent tour."

About twenty minutes later, they stood at the sink where Joe washed the dishes while Dorothy dried and put them away. Frequently, they intentionally got in each other's way, bumping up against one another, and stealing a kiss as she made her way back and forth from the pantry to the sink. At one point, Joe grabbed and pulled her close to him, giving her a deep kiss, rubbing his hands up and down her back, instantly realizing she had nothing on underneath. In their moment of passion, a plate slipped from Dorothy's grasp and shattered to the floor.

"Joe!"

She stood barefoot between the shards of glass and they both noticed she had been cut.

"Where's your Iodine?" he asked, once he helped her atop of the table. This gave him a better view of the tiny streaks of blood that gravity continued to pull toward the floor. He wasn't sure how many glass pieces punctured her skin.

"On a shelf in the linen closet."

He took a clean dish towel from the pile on the countertop, wetted it, and dabbed her leg instructing her to press it so the blood could clot. He then carefully eased around the broken dish, trying not to step on and track it across the room. Once he was out of harm's way, he hurried to the closet next to the bathroom door. Joe found the box right away and mumbled, "Oh, for Christ's sake!" at the cavernous array of Dorothy's toiletries. He gave a frustrated sigh as he began to rifle through it. Pushing aside a new jar of cold cream, another of Lustre Creme Shampoo, a comb, hairbrush, gold, silver, and tortoise shell hairclips along with decorative stylish combs, an assortment of lipstick tubes, compact cases, face powder, eye shadow, a couple bottles of Tabu and White Shoulders perfume, stray bobby pins, a haphazard pile of Modess napkins with a new, unopened sanitary belt, an empty diaphragm case, thermometer, box of cold tablets, aspirin, and finally the glass bottle of Iodine. After locating gauze and a roll of adhesive tape, he set the box on the shelf and made his way back to the kitchen.

The cuts weren't too deep, but Dorothy winced as the Iodine was applied to both of them and then secured with a Band-Aid. She was about to slide off of the table when Joe insisted she stay put. With a dampened dishcloth, he wiped up the tiny droplets of blood and rinsed it out in the sink. Turning to her, he asked where the broom and dustpan were. After locating them both in the broom closet, he began to sweep the yellow and teal-tiled linoleum.

He will never forget how Dorothy as well as Ben were there for him when he was at his worst. She took care of his wounds and cleaned up his mess in the kitchen and the least he could do was be there for her now—even though this was minor compared to what he had gone through. The guilt lingered at the nagging thoughts of his actions earlier this evening. At the cemetery, his mother had remarked at the change in Joe when he returned from the war with the quick temper, among other things she had recognized since she had seen it first-hand with his father. Joe wasn't sure how he could ease it. Being with Dorothy helped though. He certainly did not want to lose her. She knew everything about him—the nightmares, his temperament, being on the job and what it entailed, enjoying each other's company, finally being alone for their relationship to grow into something more and move forward. In someone else's eyes, it may have been forbidden, but they even felt lucky having those few days together before he got sick, waking up next to one another, not minding what they saw in the morning. Now they wouldn't need to come up with a scheme to meet in an out-of-the-way place like two illicit lovers, or sneak into the boarding house while the proverbial parent hovered over them wagging a finger in their faces. In his mind, he still berated himself for nearly ruining their evening.

"Stay there," he said again after giving her a kiss, and then put away the broom and dustpan.

He tried to find music on the radio, but all he could come up with were news broadcasts. He left Lowell Thomas droning on in the background as the next show, Mr. Keen, Tracer of Lost Persons came on. So much for romance, he thought. As Joe stood up, his eyes widened at the sight of Dorothy on the kitchen table. She half-way lay in a provocative position, leaning back as she hugged one leg bent at the knee while gripping the edge of the table with her other hand to keep her balance. Her head turned toward him while a huge grin surfaced. The "injured" leg hung lazily over the side swinging back and forth.

"You could be on the cover of Esquire, my pin-up girl."

Two hours later, they found themselves submerged in the claw-foot bathtub with Dorothy leaning against him. The bubbles nearly overflowed to the top with only their heads peeking through the lavender scent. Both felt spent and wholeheartedly satisfied. The bathroom was small, but elegantly decorated with seafoam green tiles on the walls with a black rectangular trim toward the ceiling. Suddenly, Dorothy sat up, causing a little bit of water to spill over the side.

"Joe! I forgot the dessert!"

"Really? I thought we had dessert earlier," he murmured and pulled her back to him, kissing her neck.

"No! I mean the pudding, silly!" She chuckled.

"Oh, that dessert." He gave a lopsided grin.

"Yes, of course!"

"We'll get to that in a minute. By the way, you made a wonderful dinner tonight, honey."

"I wanted our first dinner here to be special." She gave his hand a squeeze and caressed his fingers.

"You certainly made this night special."

"Did you enjoy your forty-cent tour?"

In response, he touched her chin with his index finger, turned her head up toward him and kissed her while gently kneading a breast as his other hand ran up and down her leg, his fingers wandering further causing her to wince.

"Joe, don't do that. I'm…very sensitive right now."

"Three times must've been too much."

She laughed. "For you, too!"

The bathroom door remained slightly open and the lull of the news on the radio wafted through.

Joe's mind drifted back to when he found her on the kitchen table. He had crushed her to him, eagerly kissing, inviting tongues, trying to memorize everything being touched. With one hand on her back and the other cushioning her head, he lowered her onto the table. Her arms circled around his neck as he began to slowly pull the zipper tab of her playsuit. As it went lower, so did his kissing exploration. Standing for only a second to discard her clothing, he picked up where left off and eventually had to sit down to be more comfortable. The further he went, the stronger the gasps and yearning from Dorothy sounded, punctuated with, "No, not here, Joe!" "For God's sake, I'm not a wishbone!" or "Don't stop!" All she could do was grip the side of the table with one hand and first run her fingers through his hair, trying not to pull too hard due to the spasm that cascaded through her body, and soon had a tighter grasp on his shoulder. Her back arched reflexively as he continued his blissful torture. Her insides continued to tremor as he kissed his way back up. As he did this, her fingers busily unbuttoned his shirt.

The occasional moan of approval would intersperse as their mouths met again. She pushed Joe forward as she sat up to assist in removing his clothing, but he was too impatient. After only getting his shirt and T-shirt off, with Dorothy undoing his trousers, he couldn't wait any longer. Again, she gripped the table, this time with both hands as he used her legs and waist as leverage to get into position. This is one hell of a way to release the anger I've been feeling all day! He thought as he thrusted, intensely pumping her full and hard. The table knocked against the wall and finally a resounding, "Ohhhhh…!" erupted as he fell on top of her. As their breathing returned to normal, they lie in an embrace, her hands caressing his back, running through his hair, while he peppered kisses down her face and neck. The weather could not be blamed as the heat had steadily risen quite a while ago. Joe helped her off of the kitchen table and they both removed the rest of his clothing, dropping it on the floor next to Dorothy's playsuit.

Once they cleaned everything up, Dorothy had Joe go into the living room to see what he could find on the radio. He was too exhausted to turn the knob up and down the dial for music, so he ended up with The Aldrich Family on KFI. Suddenly he felt conspicuous in the living room, with the lights burning throughout and a curtain of darkness now covering the windows. He did recall the absence of buildings next door and felt glad she lived on the top floor. He carried a yellow and white crocheted blanket that had been draped over the back of the sofa and pulled it around him once he was situated on his back with his head on a throw pillow. For anyone else, it may not have been possible, but Joe drifted to sleep to the crackling, adolescent-sounding voice of Henry Aldrich.

Toward the end of Burns and Allen, he was woken up by Dorothy returning the favor from what had transpired earlier. Every now and then both murmured phrases and words that feverishly heightened their ardent passion. Only this time, they wound up on the floor due to several springs jabbing him in the back. Finally they made it to the bedroom after resting for about twenty minutes, which they needed. Neither of them could believe the soreness and shakiness they felt as the two of them picked themselves off of the floor, wadding the blanket into a ball and throwing it near the hamper in the tiny hallway. Pulling an extra quilt off of the back of the loveseat, they staggered on to the bedroom. In ten minutes, round three had ended. Before Joe could fall asleep and not wake up until the next morning, she informed him that they should take a bath.

"Let's try it in here," Dorothy purred as she turned on the hot and cold taps and poured in the bubble bath.

"Maybe next time, honey," he said as he stepped into the tub, taking her hand.

The plug was pulled, and the water drained. With the shower curtain surrounded them as the nozzle streamed water rinsing them off. Taking a pastel green towel off of the rack, they each dried the other off. While Dorothy changed into the same nightgown Joe had seen her in when she stayed at his mother's house, he located his clothing in the kitchen and dressed. He was finishing up, slipping on his shoes when Dorothy came in, opened the refrigerator and placed a chilled bowl of chocolate pudding on the table in front of him. They ate it in silence. It was now almost midnight and both had to be at work at eight.

"Next time, we'll go out to dinner like we planned and see The Big Clock," Joe said, as he scraped the remains of pudding in his bowl.

"That's sounds nice."

"Your leg okay?"

"What? Oh, I almost forgot about that. Yes, it's fine," Doorthy replied as she finished her pudding.

"Dot, I'm so sorry about earlier today. I shouldn't have been so irritated. It's just…"

"It's okay, Joe."

They talked for another half hour, each smoking one last cigarette for the night. Before leaving, Joe assisted in collecting the night's evidence, dishcloths, towels, quilts and threw them into the hamper. Dorothy commented that she was glad that there was a washing machine in the basement of the building and that she would have a busy weekend of laundry. Two clotheslines hung in the backyard for tenants to use. As she was telling Joe all of this, she walked him to the door. After he recovered his pistol and handcuffs, he gave her a warm good night kiss.

"You know something, Dot?" His hands were still on her waist.

"What's that?" Hers were around his neck.

"We're both going to sleep well tonight and be very sore tomorrow."

They kissed and embraced once more. Before he descended the steps, Joe made sure he heard the lock turn and chain applied. He could still hear her laughing as he rounded the landing to the third floor. Everything was quiet now.

When he arrived home, his mother, in her robe and pajamas, met him as he closed the front door. She was full of questions.

"Does Dorothy have a nice place?"

"Yeah, Ma." He removed his fedora and placed it on the hat rack prior to placing his pistol and handcuffs on the top shelf in the hall closet.

"Is it in a decent neighborhood?"

"Yes." He then shed his overcoat and draped it over his arm.

"Why are you so late?"

Joe started to walk toward his bedroom. He turned to Ma Friday and said, "I fell asleep listening to the radio. Goodnight, Ma."

It wasn't a lie.

Copyright © 2021 by Kristi N. Zanker