The Big Witness (A Dragnet Fan Fiction Story) -- Chapter Twelve
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 brief sexual situations.
Chapter Twelve
On January 3, 1949, Betram Flowers’ trial began. His daughter Evie and former girlfriend Gladys Avery were present. Both gave their statements, as did Joe and Ben. The four of them met outside in the hallway once the crowd funneled out of the courtroom. Joe and Ben threaded through the gaggling crowd. The conviction was given. Evie, with her dark blonde hair fastened at the nape of her neck with a tortoise-shell hair clasp, sported a Navy blue dress with white polka-dots. Joe watched as the two women walked toward them. To him, the girl looked exceptionally pretty, innocent, and he hoped one day this would all be behind her. Gladys, with her graying hair and matronly figure, wore a striped hunter green and white frock with a white collar. Clasped in her white-gloved left hand was a matching purse. He heard Gladys voice above the din. “There they are!” And the two women quickened their pace.
“Miss Flowers…Mrs. Avery,” said Joe, moving toward the wall to let others pass. The three did the same.
“Please, call me Evie,” the girl replied, paused for a moment, clasped her hands in front of her, and began to speak again. “Sergeant Friday, Sergeant Romero, I want to thank you for everything you’ve done.”
“It’s all part of our job,” replied Ben, holding his fedora in both hands.
“You both did a marvelous job,” said Gladys. “If it weren’t for my iron stomach or you detectives, I would’ve never found out the truth about Bertram.”
“What do you think my father will get?”
“I can’t say for sure, but probably life in prison,” explained Joe. He held his hat at his side and paused, “What have you been up to?”
“Gladys and I have become very good friends. She’s been helping me clean my father’s house. He left it to me, but I can’t live there. I’m going to sell it. Gladys has been like a mother to me.”
“She’ll come over to my house for dinner often. We’ll sit and talk about things. I am thankful to be there for her since she has no family left now.”
“I don’t plan on visiting my father in jail. In my book, I have no father.”
“I can understand that,” said Joe. “Do you plan on finishing college?”
“Yes. Going to school keeps my mind busy. Helping at the boarding house does too. If it weren’t for you two, I don’t know what I would’ve done. I feel as if a weight has been lifted. I don’t have to fear anything anymore.”
The two detectives and Gladys nodded in agreement. They made small talk and then parted ways.
It had been the second time Joe saw Evie since he and Ben sat with her in the waiting room at Georgia Street Receiving Hospital upon hearing of her father’s attempted suicide.
During the summer of 1948 it seemed as though everyone wanted to kill or maim someone else. On evenings Joe spent at Dorothy’s apartment, she would inform him of the uptake in shoplifting amongst teenagers along with those who wound up in the hospital due to reckless hot-rodders. She mentioned the rise in street gangs as well. Each week, new cases spilled into Room 42 prompting Joe and Ben to pound the pavement and question witnesses and possible suspects.
On more than one occasion Joe would appear at her door exhausted. While she finished preparing dinner he’d immediately fall asleep in the winged-back chair, not hearing her call to him from the kitchen asking how his day went. On evenings like that he’d wake up to Dorothy kissing him and soothingly informing that dinner was ready. Still feeling groggy from the twenty minute deep sleep she’d take his hand and lead him to the table.
There was one evening when Joe did not want to go home because he and Ben getting into a brawl with a suspect. After being released from Georgia Street Receiving Hospital with the cuts bandaged up and the doctor giving him orders to rest for a few days, Joe showed up at her door. She’d gasp at his black eye, swollen lip, bruised cheek, and the cut above his other eye. “I didn’t want to go home to Ma looking like this,” he’d say softly as Dorothy ushered him in and began to remove his overcoat. She’d sit him on the couch and make up a bag of ice to hold over his eye. Sitting next to him she’d rub his back, only stopping when he winced. He then launched into what had happened that night. Luckily, there weren’t too many occasions like this.
They saw one another as often as they could with their hectic work schedules. It was rare that the two of them would both get the same days off, but when they did, they took full advantage of them. Sometimes if Joe got off at a decent hour, Dorothy would have dinner ready for him. Other times they’d take in a movie, walk on the beach, around the neighborhood, stop at a bar for a couple of drinks, or go out to dinner. They always ended up back at her apartment. On nights like that, he’d come home around eleven and Ma Friday would bring up the subject of marriage and he’d tersely reply, “Not now, Ma,” as he closed his bedroom door.
For Joe’s birthday on August 30th, Dorothy surprised him with a chrome lighter. On one side were his initials and hers on the other. At home he’d use the lighter—especially when she was around, but at work he preferred matches. He loved the gift and kept the lighter on top of his nightstand.
They talked about marriage—once. It was early October. Joe had gotten off of work around five and headed directly to Dorothy’s. He could tell something was wrong the moment she hugged and kissed him hello. Lavender soap and Lustre Crème Shampoo permeated from her revealing that she had just gotten out of the shower. Pink roses garnished her ivory satin pajama set. He noticed the puffiness and redness in her eyes.
“What’s wrong, Dot? Did you have a bad day?” he’d asked, still hugging her. He kissed her on the cheek, gently caressing her back.
“No, my day was fine. Dinner’s almost ready. I hope you don’t mind having soup and sandwiches. I wasn’t in a cooking mood today,” she replied, after pulling away from him.
Joe followed as she went to the couch and sat down. In front of her a collection of bobby pins loomed on the coffee table along with a full ashtray.
“No, I don’t mind,” he said, recalling the sandwich and soup he ate with Ben at the Federal Café for lunch earlier. He took the ashtray, carried it into the kitchen and dumped it in the garbage can underneath the sink. As far as he could tell, no food had been prepared unless the sandwiches were in the icebox. He opened the door and located the sandwiches on two plates. He called to her asking if she wanted something to drink, but she declined.
Once he set the ashtray down he observed Dorothy while she stared ahead, combing her hair, and separating a couple swatches of it. She rolled her finger in one of the pieces until it reached the top of her head. Using her thumb, she held the loop in place and grabbed a bobby pin, sliding it through so the hair stayed in place. Before she could reach for another, Joe already had one and handed it to her. The bobby pins made an “X” securing the loop of hair even more. She did this process three more times. It was then Joe realized the radio wasn’t on. This was unusual as it was always playing in the background. All he could hear now was the hum of the icebox.
“You want me to turn on the radio?” Joe asked, hoping that would ease her out of her trance.
“Let me start the soup.” She hadn’t heard him at all. When she went to get up, he pulled her back down onto the couch.
“Something’s bothering you. What is it?” He didn’t mean to sound short just then. He tried to put his arm around her, but she shook him off. He sighed irritably.
“No, Joe. I just…feel weepy, that’s all.” She wrung her hands.
“Did something happen?”
“No, nothing happened. That’s the point.” Her voice was low and derisive.
“What was supposed to happen but didn’t. I don’t understand.”
“Oh, Joe. Never mind…please, just leave me alone.” Her voice caught and immediately she began to yank out the bobby pins throwing them back into the pile.
“Dot, what are you doing?”
Instead of answering him, she took the comb and vigorously ran it through the violated strands. “Don’t be like this, honey. Something happened…you’re usually happy to see me. What’s going on?” He spoke to her softer this time, hoping that would curb her mood.
Most of the time she was overjoyed to see him and vice-versa. However, he learned quickly, once their courtship crossed the proverbial line into intimacy, that at least once a month Dorothy became morose, sullen, and did not want Joe around. Other times, she’d lapse into fits of tears and she’d say to ignore it due to “her time of the month.” During that week, they wouldn’t go to bed together. She surely was not in the mood and nothing Joe did would alleviate her out of her fragile temperament. Instead, the two of them would sit across from one another in the living room, listening to the radio or reading a magazine. Joe was almost afraid to speak at what mood would erupt out of her. As the next week neared, she’d make it up to him and apologize profusely. After a while, he got used to it. If she could put up with his dealings with the war, he could put up with her erratic behavior during the monthlies.
“I missed…I didn’t get…I skipped last month.”
“Skipped? Skipped what?”
She glared at him and then he understood.
“Are you sure?” Stupid question.
She leapt off of the couch whipping around to face him. “How could you be so absurd, Joe!”
“I mean, are you sure you’re not just late?”
“I’m sure! I’ve never missed before.”
“We’ve always…been careful.” Joe said haltingly, more to himself. Doing it was certainly easier than talking about it.
There were times when the spontaneity engulfed both of them. Joe thought back to a time over a month ago where he and Dorothy had had a little too much to drink at the bar down the street from her building. Both felt very amorous and tipsy as they ambled their way home, arm-in-arm. Once they made it inside the vestibule, Joe pulled her to him, kissed her eagerly and undid one button of her blouse. She in turn, repeated the gesture. They’d then make their way up each flight of stairs only to pause, kiss and undo the next button. Luckily neighbors or visitors to the building did not make appearances. By the time they made it to the top landing, hands wandered more freely with bedroom talk ensuing. And oh! When we got inside and locked the door... He had taken her, right there against the door. Could it have been then?
Or was it the time they spent the night together when they had a rare day off? After falling asleep with Joe curled around Dorothy with her back against his chest, he’d wake her up with kisses and caresses, finally entering her from behind. By then, she’d be whimpering, gasping, begging him not to stop. Was it then? She’d wake him up in such a blissful way as well. If there was no access to her diaphragm, he’d pull out early. How many times had I done that?
The shock of what Dorothy just told him began to sink in.
“Goddammit, how could we be so careless!” He stood up and began to pace the living room. If the radio had been on, he would have snapped it off just then.
“I was trying to find the best way to tell you,” Dorothy said, calmer now. “It may not be anything. I could be late. Someone told me you can miss due to stress. You know how our jobs are.”
“What do we do now?” He sat back down next to her, stunned.
“Just wait. I’ve felt this way for three weeks.”
“Now we’ll wait together.” When he put his arm around her this time, she melted into him.
The room fell silent.
“I guess, if it’s true…people will stop wondering when I’ll be getting marred—especially Ma.”
Every day, after the wrench was thrown, Dorothy would call him with an update whether he was at work or home. The call at work would be brief.
“Dorothy?”
“Nothing yet.”
“Okay.”
At home, the conversation would be longer. Joe made sure he answered the phone in his bedroom when the door was shut. He did not want his mother to hear any part of what would be said. Every time she called, he’d ask to come over and she would always tell him no, not until they had an answer. He respected that. But walking on eggshells was nerve-wracking. In an instant, depending on the result, his life could change forever. The thought of marriage terrified him, even though he knew he loved Dorothy.
He never said those inevitable three words to her—at least not yet. And she in turn, had not either. It seemed like it was so permanent if one uttered, “I love you.” The response could be reciprocated or devastating. He liked the way things were now—before she informed him of her possible predicament.
Several nights afterward Joe had trouble falling asleep as scenarios bounced around about how it would be if he did marry Dorothy. Where would they live? At the apartment—with a baby on the way? Or here, at the house where there was more room? The apartment would be perfect for his mother. The only obstacle were those stairs. New neighborhoods were sprouting up like wildflowers around them. Perhaps he could afford one of those? A small one…with two bedrooms.
If circumstances led him down that road Joe realized he would be just like Ben, telling stories about the baby just as his partner did with his son, or brood about an argument with Dorothy. Not that the two of them had many tiffs to begin with but things could change after marriage and especially a child. He winced at these recent thoughts. No, he shouldn’t think about such things now. They really didn’t know the answer. If it were true, he’d do the right thing. He knew he would. Waiting was murder.
Joe did his best to keep his mind focused. At the office, it was easy. He threw himself into the current cases assigned to them. At intervals when not working on a particular case, his mind would constantly think about whether or not he’ll truly become a father. Ben remarked about the ceaseless chain smoking he did throughout the day or the incessant amounts of coffee he drank which led to frequent trips to the bathroom. He’d often pace back and forth until Ben chuckled, “What’s with you, Joe? You’re like an expectant father in the waiting room.” Luckily, no one else was around.
“Just what did you mean by that?!” He barked, now leaning over the table using his hands for balance as he scowled at Ben.
“Joe, what the hell has gotten into you? You’ve had such a short fuse these past few days.”
“Nothing!” And he’d stalk out of the room to get another cup of coffee.
“You’re wound up tighter than a spring,” his partner called after him. “You have been so difficult to work with lately.”
Another day his partner quipped about Dorothy phoning often which caused Joe snarl and curse at him. Every time the phone rang Joe would leap up and answer it. If the caller was Dorothy, he’d peer over at Ben who gaped at him.
“Ben, what’s the matter with you?” Joe asked after he’d hung up the phone. “Let’s get back to work.”
“I should be asking you that,” he’d reply, shaking his head.
At home, it was worse. One evening, he and Ma Friday were in the living room listening to The Great Gildersleeve. In the episode, every time the phone rang, Birdie, Gildersleeve’s housekeeper screeched, “I’ll get it!” to which his mother would pipe, “That’s you, Joseph.”
“What, Ma?” He had not been paying attention to the radio, with the newspaper in his hands. Lowering the paper he looked up at his mother, who sat in the overstuffed chair nearest to the radio sewing a button on one of his shirts.
“The phone. You’re like a bull in a China shop answering it. I don’t know if you realize this but you nearly knocked me over a few times.”
“Sorry, Ma—”
“And when the caller wasn’t Dorothy, your face deflated like a balloon. If it was Dorothy—”
“Ma, please.”
“I keep telling you to watch that temper of yours.”
“All right, Ma!”
He angrily stubbed out his cigarette, threw down the paper, and jumped up from the couch. Stalking into the kitchen, he went to the refrigerator. As he was getting a bottle of beer, he could hear his mother say, “I don’t know what’s with him.”
About a week after Joe received the news, he heard the phone ring as he was leaving for work. His mother had been doing laundry on the service porch and with the noise of the washing machine could not hear the phone. He bounded back up the front stairs and snatched the receiver, but the caller on the other end had already hung up. Dorothy had not called for two days. He had been so busy hunting down suspects to find time to call her. But that uncertain feeling remained.
He found Ben sitting at the table, hanging up the phone just as he walked into Room 42.
“Joe, I’ve been trying to call you!” Ben struck a match to light a Fatima.
“What was that?” Joe asked, as he opened the locker door, discarded and hung up his trench coat. All the while he wondered what kind of story Ben would laud him this morning. He noticed the distant and subdued ambience from his partner, for he was usually in a more jovial mood. Very seldom he would snap at Joe due to the relatives staying at his house again or an argument with Amy.
“Joe…” Ben took a drag of the cigarette.
“What is it, Ben?” He closed the locker door.
“Joe, I need to talk to you.”
He went past Ben to sign himself in. “Well, go ahead,” he said, scribbling his name and time he arrived.
“I need to tell you something.”
“What’s the matter with you?” He turned to Ben, starting to get annoyed.
“Joe…”
“What?!” He yanked out a chair and sat down across from Ben. It was then he noticed the overflowing ashtray.
“Captain Steve told me… He wanted me to let you know that… Oh, I can’t tell you here! Let’s go into an interrogation room.”
“Ben, what did the skipper say?”
“Well—I have some—oh, not here!” He stood up abruptly. “Follow me…”
With a puzzled look on his face, Joe grudgingly got up and followed Ben.
“What the hell is going on? What’s so important that you can’t tell me in the office? He pointed behind him as they neared an empty interrogation room.
“I wish I didn’t have to tell you,” Ben said, shutting the door behind him.
“Tell me what?” Joe sat down, leaned forward with his arms separated and hands splayed in front of him.
His partner remained standing, and finally said, “The hardest part of our job is to tell someone their parent or sibling has been murdered. The worst is when it is a child.”
“Ben, I know all of this…what are you getting at?”
“Let me finish!”
Ben’s sharp tone startled him for a second. Perhaps the fatherly figure was coming out in him just then? But why? Joe watched as his partner fumbled into his pockets, producing a matchbook and then cursing because no cigarettes could be found. Joe felt around in the pockets of his tweed overcoat and located two. He handed one to Ben. Joe held out his in silence as Ben lit them.
“Joe…Dorothy’s dead.”
At that moment, Joe was glad he hadn’t had a drag because he would’ve been choking now. “What?! What did you say?” Had he heard Ben right? To be sure, he asked, “Is she at Georgia Street Receiving—”
“Joe, she’s dead. It happened two days ago.”
“That can’t be. I just spoke to her the other day!” It was his instant reaction. He could feel the color drain from his face and the pit in his stomach opening wider than it had been when he first learned of Dorothy’s possible pregnancy. He smashed his cigarette in the ashtray, stood up and began to pace the room.
Ben remained still, while silently puffing on a Fatima, giving time for the news to fully sink in. “Sit down, Joe. Stop pacing.”
“No, I’ll just—”
“Sit down!” Ben demanded with that authoritative tone he sometimes used with suspects.
“All right, Ben,” Joe said quietly and obeyed, not wanting to argue. “How did it happen?” Joe said just above a whisper, staring right at his partner.
“It was an undercover assignment. What I know is that there were rumors of an impending gang war. A teenage girl of one gang member began seeing the member of a rival gang. There had been some robberies in the area and Dorothy was there to locate the girl and pick her up. A shooting went down. Dorothy got caught in the cross-fire.”
So that’s why she’d hadn’t called me. She was part of an undercover assignment. “I can’t believe that. No…”
“It’s true. I saw the autopsy report this morning.”
“Where was Dorothy shot? Do you know?”
“They pulled out two slugs—”
“Goddammit Ben! This isn’t a fucking case we’re working on! This is—was my girlfriend we’re talking about here.” His voice caught at saying “was”. Not wanting to break down in front of Ben, Joe cleared his throat. “Sorry…”
“It’s okay, Joe. She was shot twice in the stomach and once in the shoulder.”
“Did they get the bastard who did it?”
“Yeah.”
“Tell me Ben, was there anything else?”
“What do you mean?” Ben went around the table to where the ashtray was and put out the remainder of his cigarette.
“Did they find anything—what I mean is—when they took out the—I need to know if—” Joe banged his fist the table. “Shit, why is this so hard to say!”
“What are you trying to say, Joe?” Ben now sat across from him.
“Was she pregnant?”
Ben raised an eyebrow and Joe threw daggers with his eyes at Ben.
“No… She wasn’t expecting, Joe.”
A few days after Dorothy’s funeral, Joe was surprised to see her sisters on the front steps of 4656 Collis Ave. They felt Dorothy would want him to have the amethyst ring, earring, and necklace set he had given her over the summer as a thank you for being there for him during his war outburst when he needed her the most. He had grappled about what to get her and finally settled in the jewelry department of the May Company.
Not long after the sisters’ visit, he found himself at the May Company again, debating whether he should return the jewelry or not. He was standing across from the glass case, as a line moved at a snail’s pace in front of him. It was then he heard someone call his name. He immediately tried to pocket the jewelry case, but it wouldn’t fit. When he turned toward the voice, he was surprised to see Evie Flowers standing behind him. He stepped out of line and said, “Well, this is a surprise, Miss Flowers.”
“Oh, you don’t have to be so formal, Sergeant Friday. Call me Evie.” She gave him a smile. A white button-down blouse layered with a cornflower blue sweater accented a chocolate brown skirt which was nearly hidden by her long medium gray peacoat.
“How have you been, Evie?” His trench coat was draped over his left arm. His attire for the day was a white button-down shirt with an argyle sweater-vest and khaki pants.
“I’ve been busy with school. I’m here with some friends from the boarding house.” She pointed over at two other college-age girls with their heads together, giggling and doing their best not to point at the two of them.
“I’ve been swamped with cases.”
“I see Gladys often.”
“Oh, that’s nice.”
Peels of laughter came from her friends.
“Ignore them,” she said, leaning closer to him. “They’ve been teasing me ever since I noticed you in line. You know, being at the jewelry counter and all.”
“Is that so?” He gave a slight grin.
“For all I know, you could be getting something for your girlfriend or wife.”
“Well, actually, I was returning something.”
“She didn’t like it?” Evie eyed the jewelry case in his right hand.
“No, she did…it’s just that…I…look, Evie…if you…ever want to talk, you can—”
“I still have your card. That’s what started the whole thing with my friends. They saw me looking at it one day and thought you were a boyfriend.”
“Oh.” Joe could feel himself blushing. “Don’t they know about—”
“They just know my parents are dead…I didn’t tell them anything else.”
“Well, I meant what I said. If you need to talk—”
“I’d like that, Sergeant Friday. I just hope your girlfriend or wife won’t mind.”
“No, I’m not married. I don’t have a girlfriend anymore.”
“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that. Things didn’t work out?”
“You could say that.”
She reached into her purse and produced the card. “See? I still have it.”
After placing the jewelry case under his arm to retrieve a pencil from the pocket of his trench coat, Joe took the business card from her and wrote down his home number. “If I’m not at the office, you can reach me here.”
He never returned the jewelry. On a cold January day, a week after the conviction was announced, Joe found himself heading toward the boarding house. What the hell am I doing? He thought as he nosed the car into traffic. We’re just going for coffee to talk, that’s all. After Dorothy’s death he vowed never to get close to a woman again—become emotionally and physically involved. The pain was just unbearable. He didn’t want to open up about the war to someone else either. Nor did he want to recount his time with Dorothy or the pregnancy scare. Joe would keep women at arm’s length. Don’t let them get too close.
Pulling in front of the boarding house he turned off the ignition. It looked the same when he and Ben first arrived here to question Evie some more regarding her mother’s death. Was she waiting there for him? Joe sat there pondering on what to do. He could drive off and never see her again, find a phone booth, call and apologize. But if she saw him just now… The nerves inside him wrangled as he slowly exited the car and began the walk up to the front door.
Copyright © 2021 by Kristi N. Zanker
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