Broadway's My Beat, from Times Square to Columbus Circle, the gaudiest, the most violent, the lonesomest mile in the world. Broadway's My Beat, with Larry Thor as Detective Danny Clover. Winter begins its long dying and Broadway reacts to the process about the same as anywhere else with a kind of joy, with a smile touched off by the little warmth left inside. Except on Broadway, there will be things to remember. The evenings, just as nighttime drifted in when the lights on the translux were winter fireflies and twinkled of how it is to be at war in February. And the coffee smells and the crowd and the time when you delivered the runaway Pekingese back to the girl whose lips quivered when she kissed the dog. And the night's dying and remember how it was as seen through the prism of a cold tear. The night had died in the place where I was and the first light diluted the shadows in the hallway revealed these things. The carpeting rich and carved and the intruding pattern, the blood on it. The man's blood lying on it and the young girl in an evening gown and furs and her sobs. Trying to find out from me as daily as whether you knew this man, whether you've ever talked to him. Well, there's a reason why he should be dead in front of my door. That's right. From what I can tell, this man was beaten to death. The way he's lying, he probably struck his head against this wall here where there's blood. Well, I told you. I told you all I know about it. Tell me again. Like I was on the town nightclub party, you know. Go on. Like I came home, I saw this man, this man who delivers milk. His identification says his name is Raymond Grant. Do you know him? Did you talk to him? You keep asking me that. I told you that. I came home and I saw... You came home alone? Yes. I always come home alone, Mr. Clover. It's a good deed I do myself whenever I go out. I came home alone and I found this man. He was lying just as he is now. You went into your apartment, called the police. Yes, yes. What do you do, Miss Daley? I study history, Mr. Clover. I'm a graduate student at the university. How long ago did you come home, Miss Daley? I don't know. Half hour, 20 minutes or more. I don't know. About that, then. I'd say this man was killed just a little while before you got here. Say that he... Oh, please. Please. Finally, shock, that has drifted on the flow of dawn, ends its search and touches the bare shoulder of the girl. She draws the fur close about her throat and it ripples with her trembling. And death lies still across her threshold, barring the way to her darkened room where sleep is, where there's an end to shock, where night's gaiety can be dreamed again. When the attendants come and take away their dead, the trembling is still on the girl. And the shock, frozen now in her eyes, shapes the wall against further questioning. Try to help her into her room. Be pushed away. So leave her for a later time. And at Crane Dairy's, take a man away from the roar of incoming, outgoing milk trucks from the clatter of crates loaded, unloaded. Take him to a wallboard office slammed against the edge of the loading platform. Question him. Raymond was quite a boy, Mr. Clover. Maybe that's why he had to die like that. You have theories about the way people should die, Mr. Perry? Look, look, will you? Don't try to make me out I'm being a sharpie with you. When you asked me about him, it just spilled out. That's all. Maybe it wasn't the thing to say. But you knew him well, huh? Oh, better than I know my other boys. I'm a foreman, see. After hours, sometimes they nuzzle up to me, tell me things about themselves. So I'll look on them with kindness when rescheduling time comes up. Raymond Grant did that to you, too, huh? Yeah, he did. Well... Look, Mr. Clover, the boy's dead. I won't feel right if I... I just won't feel right. Well, like you said, Mr. Perry, he's dead. Dead by violence, dead by murder. Whatever he was, we owe him his killer. Whatever he was. You'll tell me, huh? What do I know about a boy like Raymond? Comes to me after his route, shows me little notes his lady customers have left in his empty... Oh? No, oh about it, Mr. Clover. Most of our boys get little things like that left in their empties. But with Raymond, there was a kind of different slant. More personal, maybe. Did he tell you who they were from? We got a kind of group loyalty here in this milk factory, Mr. Clover. Things like that. A foreman don't pry into. Makes us all buddy-buddy. The kind of man you tell me Raymond was. He didn't brag a little, give you names? Look, maybe he wrote them to himself for all I know. The boys do that sometimes. Equalize things among themselves. Hey look, he has a wife, a little house on Staten Island. With a lawn. What could a man ever want with... Okay with you if I go back to work now? The Staten Island address, then you can go back to work. And leave there, drive now to lower Manhattan. Staten Island ferry. The day is marked by a boat ride. Get out of your car to enjoy it. Watch the squat bow cut through the mid-morning mists. And near the other side, not be able to resist the hand wave to the sailor lounging against the rail of the tramp steamer. And get a grin in return. The ocean voyage is over. So drive to the address on Staten. Find it, park the car, walk up the short path to the white frame house. The woman who opens the door is small and pale. The expression she wears had been locked there a long time ago. She had no space to go with the house. Only time would change it. One day it would fall apart. Yes? What can I do for you? Are you Mrs. Grant? Yes. Come in please. Oh thank you. I'm from the police Mrs. Grant. I know. Mr. Perry called from the plant I've been waiting for you. In here please. You must sit down if you like. Thank you. It's about your husband. I know. Mr. Perry told you? Yes. I'm trying to find out why he was killed. Yes. So we want your cooperation. Anything you can tell us. Tell you? Yes about your husband. Why somebody would want to kill him. I don't quite understand what you mean Mr. Clover. Well uh. I can't see how anybody would kill Raymond because of what I could tell you about him. Just tell me what you can. Well I guess he was a good husband. I haven't thought about whether he was or not for a long time. He had a good point. I didn't like him very much. Why? Well you know. No I don't. I didn't like him at all. One day a long time ago. We'd been married about eight years then. I got a feeling about him that never left me. I thought to myself one morning. Here I am a woman and the life I lead is because of this man. His husband of mine. Raymond. Did you know anything about his friends? Yes he had some. I guess outside there the people came in contact with. Maybe they liked him. Probably did. He used to come home sometime with more money than he made. He used to say they were for favors. What kind of favors? I used to ask him that. Raymond would tell me something that didn't make any sense at all. I'd forgotten what it was. I stopped asking him a long time ago. Something was a long time ago Mr. Clover. I brought you some tea and bagels Danny for your 410 dunking. You didn't have it yet did you? Yeah I had you know but thanks anyway. It's a strange world. I debated to myself did Danny have or didn't he have? And I come up with this. A tea bag and a bagel gone to waste. Why don't you have them? Well if it really makes no never mind I think I could partake. Go on you know partake. Thank you ever so kindly. Hits the spot. Hits the very spot. You know Danny I will have to walk home to rewet my appetite. You bring me anything else Gino? Goes without saying. Whenever you think it's the proper time. Refreshed and to work. The boys you assigned made a run down in an apartment house where the milkman was killed Danny. What'd they get? Doors slammed in their faces by the elite. Balling kids thrust into their arms while governesses and maids rack their brains for a memory of said milkman. Ergo. Ergo. Ergo. Same as nothing. Oh. All it was known about Raymond Grant is that sometimes the milkman forgot to leave double rich vitamin fortified whipped cream. Did you check the girl who found him Carol Daly? She was out at the time but we have heard from her from another source. You let me in on it too huh? No question. The other source being herself. While you were out she phoned in. Said she was taking a walk for herself. That's very interesting Gino. It promises Danny has all the earmarks. Her apartment being so near to headquarters. Miss Daly didn't inform me she was taking a walk the same. To talk to you and then some new information re-emerged milkman. She then. Danny. An accident Gino. Someone's been hit down on the street. The coat Danny. Don't go out without the overcoat. And out to the street. The swarm had gotten there before I did. The gatherers upon violence shoulder to shoulder. And surround shock with faces. Drink it in make a memory out of it. And tell a friend with only slight embellishments. And elbow your way through and get pushed and muttered at. And finally make it. The girl in the cylinder of street and crowd lies there outstretched. The attitude of her body of infinite grace. Frawled as if in languid acceptance of what had happened. Only her face held a recognition of the moment. Frozen there. The pearl of blood at her lips. Her name was Carol Daly. I did it. I did it. You were driving the car that hit her? Yes. I don't know what happened. I just felt the car hit something. I'll do something for her. Help her. She's dead. I did it. I murdered. I killed. I did it. I did it. I did it. I did it. I did it. I did it. I did it. I did it. I did it. You are listening to Broadway's My Beat written by Morton Fine and David Friedkin. And starring Larry Thor as Detective Danny Clover. Starting tomorrow listen for World News with Robert Trout, something new in CBS radio newsroom coverage. World News with Robert Trout presents us a special weekly feature, an interview with the crack CBS radio news correspondent. This correspondent flies in from his post overseas to give you his authoritative eye witness viewpoint on latest developments. Starting tomorrow on most of these same stations, World News with Robert Trout. The twilight drains off Broadway, flows down the side streets, gathers, slingers for an instant on the sea edges of the steel island, and the neon explodes, the spectacular strike fire. The mists are threaded now with scarlet, and the beckoning to night has begun. The end of a February day, you can go home and die with it, or you can fling yourself into the night time, let neon stun you, let the loudspeaker music sob for you. The little crepe paper man dolls will dance for you at the end of their unseen strings. You have a choice, kid. Make it before the poised shadows make it for you. In the office at headquarters, switch on the overhead light against the waiting darkness. The man's face is more clearly seen now, the sallow light falling on the terror of what had happened to him. The running down of a girl in the street, the killing of a girl named Carol Daly. Do we need the light? Getting dark, Mr. Blair. Oh, of course. I hadn't noticed. You can tell me about it now. Well, I don't know. I don't know. My wife, please call her. Ask her to come to me. We've done that, Mr. Blair. You asked us to before. Oh, I forgot. I'm sorry. I forgot I'd asked you. You see, the shock and the horror of what I've done. She's coming. My wife's coming. She's driving down. It'll only take a little while longer. You see, I depend on her for so many things. I'm not ashamed to say it, Mr. Clover. I'm lost without her. Myra is half my soul, half my being. I'm not ashamed of her. She'll be here. What do you do, Mr. Blair? Business, professional? Well, both, I guess. I think you could call it both. I have a travel agency. It's downtown near the battery. Blair's travel agency. I arrange tours and cruises. Did you know Carol Daly, the girl you killed? Oh, no. I was just driving home. The traffic seemed so slow. I pulled out from the back of another car, and that girl, well, she must have darted right into me. And the sound as if she threw herself against my car. That lovely girl. I didn't see her. I swear I didn't see her. It's all right, Robert. I'm here. Don't cry, Robert. Please don't cry. Mrs. Blair. I want to take him home. What must I do? The charge will be manslaughter, Mrs. Blair. Involuntary. We have our lawyer. You can reach us any time. What must I do to take him home? You can post bond pending the hearing. Arrange for it, please. Don't look that way, Robert. Not in front of us. It'll be all right. You're going home. With me, Robert. And turn Mr. Blair over to Sergeant Ataglia pending the posting of bond. Then leave headquarters, have dinner, go home. Spend the evening in the familiar room with a few familiar things. Pick up a novel you've been promising yourself to read and not read it because of the fleeting thoughts that intrude themselves. The image of a man dead in a hallway. Of a young woman broken and huddled in the street. And in the morning the novel still lies on the arm of the chair where you slept. Back to headquarters now and the phone calls and the tracing back to be done. Background wanted on Carol Daly because Carol Daly had new information about a murder and Carol Daly was suddenly dead. Three hours get enough to satisfy you for now. Carol Daly, no parents, 22 years of age. Carol Daly, student, graduate student of history at the university. Go there, see a student assistant, see a registrar, see a dean. Be told finally that as a graduate student, Miss Daly spent most of her time in the Hayward Memorial Library working on a thesis with a Mr. Pierce, aisle 16, chair 12. Mr. Pierce? Maybe you ought to know something. Hayward Memorial Library frowned on this sort of thing only last week. I'm from the police. The stacks on criminology are down that aisle. You know that one. You have trouble, ask the librarian. She was born to suffer being helped. We could talk here quietly among scholars or at headquarters where they... Watch the card. You were saying... Headquarters, Mr. Pierce, fold a corner of that page or whatever you do not to lose your place. Carol Daly, huh? That's right. Milkman, a killer killed on her doorstep and she dies from the power and action of eight cylinders. Requiem for Carol Daly. That's the size of the tear you shed for her, Hoppiers. Give me the time for a little research and I'll annotate you a lament that'll break your heart. You were working with her on a thesis. Someone blad to have. Did he give you dates? Anti-Carol, post-Carol? No, so you do it, huh? Anti-Carol was all raccoon and hit flasks. Post-Carol was what you said. The platonic mating of scholars, post-graduate type. She worked with you, did research with you, wrote with you. That's all. You say the thing with such regret. Well, I regret it too because with Carol it was strictly the sticking of noses into tomes. No dates, no college proms, no quiet listening to symphonies in Carol's apartment. What you said? Just like that. That's why I was never introduced to a milkman. That's why it can't wound me too much. The girl is dead. All right, Pierce. Never leave college. Some of our boys might like to make a study of you. Hey, let's leave something out. A footnote to our discussion. What is it? This. Try Greenwich Village, Bank Street, number 11. Try Margaret Howard. With her, Carol listened to Bop. Her and the Howard group. Hey, Wood Memorial, we're sure going to miss you. Bye. Miss Howard? Come on, come on, open the door. This is the police. Open it yourself, baby. Hi, baby. Your name Margaret Howard? I'm Margaret. Him there on the couch, Jimmy. She's that one bad. They're gone. All of them gone. Looks like a place you've been having a party here, Miss Howard. You like tequila, baby. I like tequila and no tequila. You bring in... You hear me through the door? I said I was from the police. Lemon and salt and no tequila. And friends who walk out on me. But I got you, baby. Have I got you, baby? Who are you, baby? Look, Miss Howard, I... No reaction, huh? Yeah, it's a lousy party. Hardly worth anything at all. Three-day party to lays an egg in a few hours. No booze. No friends. Who are you? You know a girl named Carol Daly? She's a stinker. Carol's a stinker. Carol's a stinker. La, la, la. She's dead. You're gonna turn pink and green in a minute. Float away under the door, aren't you? She's dead, Miss Howard. Carol? You're a liar. Liar! You're gonna turn pink and green. Get away. Get away from me, you. Get away! We'd better do it this way, Miss Howard. Martin, baby. Baby, you're loaded, honey. This isn't happening to you. Someone's dragging you across the room, honey. Fresh, cold city water, Miss Howard. Won't hurt a bit. Feel better? Sorry I had to do that. I apologize, Miss Howard, but it's important. Is... Is... Carol... there? Yes. Oh. Oh. If she'd been here, it wouldn't have happened. I pleaded with her to come all night long. I pleaded with her. All night? What do you mean? I kept calling her at her apartment last night. All night long I kept calling her and talking to her. Giving her a blow-by-blow description of the mess we were making. Yeah. She should have come. It was really her party and she didn't show up. Her party, huh? Everybody was waiting to see her again. All of us who all took that tour last summer. Tour? Mr. Blair's tour to England. A student tour. Wanted to conduct him. It was a kind of a get-together. Isn't that right, mister? She would have come here, she'd be all right now. Wouldn't have happened to her. Yes? What is it? I'm Danny Clover, Mrs. Blair. We met in my office. Yes? What is it? Is your husband home? He's resting. I'm afraid I have to ask you to disturb him. It's very important. I'll ask him whether he'll see you. Wait here. This way, please. Don't let him upset you, Robert. Oh, hello, Mr. Clover. Mr. Blair. What is it you want to talk to Robert about? About Carol Daly. We told you in your office, Mr. Clover, our lawyer's handling it. That's right, you did. My, I'll be all right. You don't have to stand. I'll just send this man home, Robert. I'm afraid not, Mrs. Blair. If you want to stay here and listen to what I have to say to your husband, that's up to you. Now, Myra, please. I'm going to stay, Robert. What kind of wife do you think I am? What do you want, Mrs. Clover? I told you I want to talk to you about Carol Daly. Well, Myra and I have agreed we'll do everything for a family that we can within our means. Miss Daly had no family. But you knew that, didn't you? Well, I told you. You knew that, didn't you? How could Robert have possibly known that? Tell her, Mr. Blair. Myra, I... Well, how? How? Myra, I knew that. You knew Carol Daly? Yes. That summer, your husband conducted a student tour of England. Carol Daly was one of the students. Yes, Myra, that's right. You didn't tell me that, Robert. You lied to me. I didn't lie. I just didn't tell her. You lied. Why did you do that, Robert? What difference does it make? It can't make any difference. It was a coincidence that I hit someone I knew. What about Raymond Grant, Mr. Blair? I don't know anyone by that name. Who is Raymond Grant, scholars? I just told you. He was a milkman. He was found beaten dead. You knew this man, Robert? No, no. How would I know him? Tell me why my husband should know him, Mr. Clover. I think Raymond Grant was a man who had a sideline. His wife said he frequently got extra money. Sometimes I think he noticed people coming out of the wrong apartment at milk delivery time. He used this knowledge for blackmail. And Robert knew such a man? Myra, do you want to listen to me or do you want to listen to him? You lied to me once, Robert. How do I know what you're going to say? Just listen. He was found dead in front of Carol Daly's apartment, murdered. Robert. Robert. I'm talking to you, Robert. What, Myra? What, what, what? What do you want? He saw you come out of her apartment. Yes. How many times? I don't know. One time? Ten times? Twenty times? Yes, yes, yes. Oh. Oh, Robert. Robert. He found out who you were, that you were married. He blackmailed you. Yes. That girl must have loved you very much, Mr. Blair, to have lied to me, not to have told me that you were the killer. He wanted to tell you then, but I was standing in back of that door when you were talking to her. If you had walked into her room, I would have killed you too. I see. After you killed the man, you made her get into her evening clothes and say she just returned from a party. She never left the apartment. I found that out a little while ago. She wanted to tell you then, but I wouldn't let her. She didn't love me. She got away from me and tried to get to you. That's why I ran her down. Oh. Oh, Robert. Robert. Robert. Why do you cry, Myra? Because a girl is dead? Because a man is dead? You lied. You lied. Well, that's why you cry, huh? Not for the man, not for the girl, and not for me. Oh, poor Myra. I lied to her. Listen to this, Myra. I found a young girl who I loved, and so I lied to you. And be happy. Now you have something to grieve about. Let's go, Mr. Clover. Broadway plumes its lights upward into the sky, and the night bursts open. The swarm starts to dance down the canyon streets, and the little man stalks the heels of a drunkard. The place of darting eyes and crowd and mob and people with empty hands. It's Broadway, the gaudiest, the most violent, the lonesomest mile in the world. Broadway, my beat. Broadway's My Beat stars Larry Thor as Detective Danny Clover, with Charles Calvert as Tartaglia, and Jack Crouchin as Muggerman. The program was produced and directed by Elliot Lewis, with musical score composed and conducted by Alexander Courage. In tonight's story, Paula Winslow was heard as Myra, and Howard McNeer as Robert Blair. Featured in the cast were Mary Lansing, Charlotte Lawrence, and Shepherd Menken. Youthful actor Dean Stockwell plays his original screen role when Luxe Radio Theatre dramatizes Kim by Rudyard Kipling this Monday night on CBS Radio. It's an outstanding story of India as seen through the eyes of a young traveler and a Tibetan pilgrim this Monday night on most of these same CBS radio stations. Remember, it's your next attraction on Luxe Radio Theatre. Bill Anders speaking. And remember, my friend Irma livens your Sunday evenings on the CBS Radio Network. Thank you. You