The Red Raincoat

Well, Casey, how are you coming along with that crossword puzzle? I'm stuck, Applebird, for a seven-letter name beginning with H, and it's a place in Ohio. That's a tough one, Casey. I'm not for me, boys. Not for me.

Hi, Tony. That fellas. Yes, sir. The word you're looking for is hocking. H-O-C-K-I-N-G. The Hocking Valley. Hey, that's it. Hey, I get it. Anchor hockey. Oh, you said it, Casey. Anchor hockey. The world's largest makers of household glass.

Prime photographer brought to you by Fire King of Inglast. Anchored glass containers, anchor caps enclosure, all products of anchor hocking, a great name in glass. Good evening ladies and gentlemen, this is Tony Marvin. Every week at this time, the Anchor Hocking Glass Corporation brings you another adventure of Casey, crime photographer, ace cameraman who covers the crime news of a great city.

Written by Alonzo Dean Cole, our adventure for tonight, the Red Raincoat. MUSIC Night, about 9.30. Rain, hard-celting rain that has driven people indoors and left the streets deserted. At the corner of a bus stop, a woman alight from it.

She wears a red hooded raincoat that covers her head most of her face. She turns into a side street lined with a keep walk of a apartment house. Midway of the block is about to pass the entrance to an alley.

When from its darkness there's a gunshot. Then another, another. A woman falls. On the street breaks her hastily applied or ruled exactly. As it comes to a skidding halt, the driver... Police! Police! I didn't see no one.

Oh, this same gun in the back. Free bullet hole. Stay here, fellas. Don't let anybody touch her. I'm going to look in that alley. Get back you people. Get back. This ain't a free show.