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. The time of September was too swift. It whirls now in pools of chill twilight, scans the river for the waters where it will die. And autumn has a good hold on Broadway. And the street gives in, stops fighting it, opens a closet to the top cold and the credit plan died for. And blow the dust away, and here's what is left of the hoarded summer laughter. The budget of dreams for beachwear. Useless now. So call up someone, make a joke about it. It's autumn on Broadway, and the fashion has changed. Because night is colder. Night is longer. On a side street, the autumn violence. The dead man, the murdered man, sprawled against the litter of jewels and watches. The patter is glint. And quick tick of time. Scarlet tracery of some scrubbed wood on the floor. The jewelry shop on West 46. Time 11.30 p.m. And Detective Muggerman there, and me. Made it uptown real fast, Danny. Robbery? It looks to me like robbery. Can't really tell in all this mess. Showcases knocked over, all that stuff, jewelry left on the floor. One thing though. Whatever it was, he put up a fight. Look what it got him. You know who he is? A business license on the wall there made out to a Paul Tracy. Stuff I found in his wallet made out to Paul Tracy. There's something else on the wall I want to show you, Danny. Come here. Bullet hole. I already dug out the bullet. Makes one less for Dr. Sinski. Who called it in? Passerby. He heard shots, looked through the window. Couldn't see anything. Called a cop. Business must have been good for Mr. Paul Tracy. You doped it out, huh? Easy. I'm not a cop. I'm a cop. I'm a cop. I'm a cop. I'm a cop. I'm a cop. I'm a cop. A man in a shop this late at night, business must be good. Customers in a rush for things strive to please. Look what it got him. I know what you told me. Sometimes, not often anymore, sometimes it shakes me that way. There's something else I found, Danny. His inventory book. I'll have the boys check all their stuff against what's in the inventory. Then we'll know if the motor was robbery. I'll get it. Hello? Hello? Who is this? I want to talk to Mr. Tracy. Who's calling, please? Tell him Ellen. Tell him his daughter, Ellen Tracy. Tell him it's late and I've kept supper for him. Oh, tell him I just want to talk to him. Where do you live, Miss Tracy? What's it to you? You just tell my father. It's the police, Miss Tracy. Where do you live? Police? Why, police, something happened. Listen, where's my father? I don't know. I don't know. I don't know. I don't know. I don't know. I don't know. I don't know. I don't know. I don't know. Listen, where's my father? Let me talk to him, you. I'll tell you about it when I get there, Miss Tracy. Where do you live? 1827 East 36. Did you bring Papa with you? Did you hear? If he's in trouble, I want to know from his own lips. I want to know. I'll be there right away, Miss Tracy. That was his daughter, Megaman. She was angry because she kept supper for him because he was late. Explain it to her, Danny. Tell her it won't happen again. Dad? My father? Tell me. Tell me again what you just said about my father. Listen. He's not dead. I'm not going to believe it. You can stand there and tell me whatever you want. I don't care what you have to say. I'm not going to believe it. My father is dead. He was shot, Miss Tracy, the way it looks. Robbers. Yes. Why do you say that? I told him. I told him. How many times did I tell him, don't work late, Papa. You're crazy to work late. A little shop on a side street all by yourself. And now it's happened. Robbers. Thieves and robbers and my father is dead. What do you do, Miss Tracy? What? Do you work? Have a job? Yes. Well, that's what I want to know. What do you do? I take care of my father. He's a baby. I had a job. You took care of him. That's all you did? All. All I did. Listen to me. I'm sorry. I didn't mean it that way. All I did. The child, a 43-year-old baby, my father. Wash for him and darn and wait on him and cook. Now he's dead. Now you don't have to do that anymore. I didn't mean that. What do you mean? It's my fault, all of it. You know why he worked so hard, so long? To make a good home for me for his family. To make a good home for me for his daughter and child. He used to say the greatest pleasure in the whole world was to make a nice home for his child so I could bring my friends here and it would be a pleasure. And did you bring friends in here? I didn't have time. There was too much to do to keep everything neat and sharp and worry about him. And now he's dead. Now I don't know what to do. And in the autumn house, the new sound. The restless walk of a woman, the back of her hand to her mouth. The aimless unheeding walk on the edge of anguish. And then the brief stillnesses as she stopped at the things that were her father's. The robe folded neatly on the back of a chair waiting. On a desk, the photograph of a woman, tinted faded, features blurred. She's dead, Mama. Like you. Now maybe you'll be happy to get her. But private, a can of tobacco laid out for her father's returning. Other things. She looked at them, stared, not touching them. Walked again the restless circle. And leave them. And for a while drifted with ebbing night to crowd, to lighted places, to quiet streets. Then to the room and sleep. And in the morning, it's still with you. The murder of Paul Tracy, jeweler. And that's your side being a big help, Sergeant Geno Tartaglia. Or as he put it... You agree with the verdict, Danny? What verdict, Geno? That I am a good man to have around in a pinch. You agree? You took a poll and that was... So far I have tamed this lonely Mrs. Tartaglia. Last night I put the question to her. I said, what kind of a man am I, Mrs. Tartaglia? She thought about it a while. Then she came up with, you are a good man to have around in a pinch, Mr. P. It was a subject for discussion in the Tartaglia household all through breakfast this morning, I can tell you. Oh, sure it was. Is there anything else you want my opinion on, Geno? I am so inclined, but who's got time? We must go work. Anything you say. That inventory Detective Muggerman found in the shop where the jeweler Paul Tracy was murdered. What about it? Give me a word, edgewise Danny, I'll give you what's about it. The list has been checked against the articles of jewelry, etc., found on said premises at the time of the murder. And these items that are here underlined are missing. No record of sale or other legal type transaction. Just missing. The consensus of the boys is they were stolen. And the motive for the killing was robbery. Such is the consensus. However, Danny, I have a quick thought on the subject. Just put up the list, full descriptions on the teletype, Geno, and to all the usual sources, pawn shops. You need to prompt me, Danny? Goes without saying, I've already done that. Hey, you. One does not just barge in when the lieutenant is in conference. One knocks for permission. It's all right, Geno. You can go now. Goes without saying, lieutenant. Remember that, mister. Next time, one knocks. You wanted to see me? They sent me to you. I am Charles Gower. I have a daughter, Mary. She's been missing from home for three weeks now. They sent me to you. Well, there must be some mistake, Mr. Gower. You may have misunderstood. This is a homicide. I understood quite well. There's death in it now. I told them that downstairs, and they said I should talk to you. Do you care to hear about it? Yes, I do. That jeweler, that man, Paul Tracy, I read of his murder in the papers this morning. What about him? This about him. My daughter, Mary, she was in love with him. An older man, a man with a grown child of his own. Mary said she loved him, made me listen to things about him. And I hated her for that. And your daughter has been missing now for... From the day I told her to stay away from that man, not to waste her youth, her intelligence on him, not to throw away her life on him. I love my child, Mr. Gower. I want her back. I'll try to grieve with her over a man she thought she loved. He's dead now. He won't need her. And she'll come back. Mr. Gower. What? I don't know. I don't... And then there was nothing to say to each other. Space between us and silence, composed of a man's loneliness and mute pleading and heartbreak. It held for an instant, and he broke it, his lips moved as if trying to shape a smile, trying to give notice that he would do what the world expected of him, be brave, be a man. But he was a father with a lost daughter. So he just turned and walked out of my office. Wait then. Sit in a chair. Turn it and look out the window. Make wordless appraisals of what was on the streets, what things, people, circumstance, which conspired with time to make a man be murdered in his shop and a girl missing. What things. And it's interrupted. A real fast one, Danny. What is? A call in from a pawn shop. Someone tried to get rid of Mr. Tracy's jewels in a hurry. Here's the address then. Get me a squad car. Be with you a minute, sir. Yes? What can we do for you today? We're from the police. We've got a call a little bit. Yes. We did credentials. Yes. We are indeed from the police. Forgive us for slamming our safe in your face. Don't mention it. Here is the item we phoned about. Who pawned this bracelet? A young lady. The information we want is on the stub here, attached to the bracelet. Mary Gower, 1717 East Third Avenue, Apartment 2C. And that's who we... What did she look like? Frankly, I couldn't say. Not beauty. I would have noticed if for beauty. Not her, not that one. Oh, indeed. It was a busy time. I didn't particularly notice. Short, fat, tall. What did... It was a busy time. I didn't particularly... I see. The bracelet itself is not of great value, but it has a very good saleability. You know, a few diamond chips in this double heart class. Very good design for sweethearts with insufficient means. Five dollars down, dollar a week type merchandise. Retail value perhaps two hundred and twenty... Why doesn't this go on this bracelet? This morning, about ten, before the police reader came out with the description. We'll want to take this with us, won't we? Yes, then we'll sign this, please. Yes, we want to protect ourselves, don't we? Right to Third Avenue now. Short tour of the city of Twilight. Crowd that tunnels into Subway. Heroes with automobiles. And the jaywalkers who are not afraid of heroes. Turn off Broadway and East. And mostly crowd who walk home. They walk slow. Find an address. The brownstone is tenement. His hallway of damp plaster, naked, where the wallpaper has given up and fallen away. His stairway of curved steps. Don't lean too hard on the banister. His doorways with numbers and marking vents. The blinds were drawn, so the light was poor. So it was necessary to look close to see the splash and bruises on the girl's face. And to see that she was dead. Chopped. Had been murdered. You are listening to Broadway's My Beat, written by Morton Fine and David Friedkin. And starring Larry Thor as detective Danny Clover. In military hospitals here and abroad, even though the war is over, life and death battles are still being waged against hemorrhage and infection. You are needed in these quiet, all-important battles, for fallen fighting men need blood. In America, there is no other way to get it than for you to give it. Won't you call your Red Cross and be a Red Cross blood donor? Help a wounded boy back on his feet again. When September dies and the river wind takes over, Broadway is faced with something new. A sudden, swift change in the world. When the war takes over, Broadway is faced with something new. A sudden, swift chill that races through the clots of cloud. Is lost. Comes again. Comes again and brings to mind the image of wool sweaters and earlier darkness and far-off, frosty sounds. And twilight is brief. It hangs suspended for moments, darkly pink. And is gone, too. So hurry to this place, to that, home, or to a phone booth, a time that forever winks a promise. And where I was, where night has measured in typewriter strokes, in statistics punched in cards, upstairs, for misery, my office at police headquarters walled off from it, until misery walked down the hallway and opened my door. Come in, Mr. Gowell. Please, sit down. I'm sorry. Yes. Well, well, they told me to come up here. I'm doing all the things they told me to do. Come to the morgue because a girl was shot to death. Perhaps it's your daughter Mary and I come to the morgue. And it's my daughter. Now I'm a man whose daughter's been murdered. And they say, now go upstairs and talk with Mr. Clover. And I'm here. And we'll talk. Because of my part of it, Mr. Gower, a policeman. And I have to know why your daughter... In such an ugly way, a dirty way, Mr. Clover, in a dirty room, it's such a small way to die. Let me tell you about my daughter. Yes. It begins with a cliché. I wanted a son. And when Mary was born, her mother died. And there was a girl child. And in a little while, a girl child was what I wanted all the time. And then another cliché. Go on. I wanted my child to be a doctor. A doctor, well, there's something good about that. A parent can say, my child is a doctor. And feel secure that he's been a successful parent. I'm proud. Yes, I know. Next year, Mary was going to medical school. It was good to think about. A parent smiles to himself at thoughts like that. You know what I mean? Yes, yes, I do. And she met this jeweler, this older man. She wanted to marry him. She fell in love. She ran away from home. She forgot my dream. She died. Did you kill Paul Tracy? No, I didn't. I suppose I should have. Danny? What do you want, you know? I got a guy down in the 14th precinct. Caught him with loot from Tracy's jewelry store. All right. Sit here if you want, Mr. Gower. I don't know what else to tell you to do. Look, mister, what makes me such a big party? Everybody around here pokes a finger at me. Says I'm a thief, I'm a liar, I'm a criminal. They even send up Tom for reinforcements. You gonna poke too? Mr. Cawley. I'm nothing, I keep telling them. Now I tell you I'm nothing. I can't do you no good. You were picked up with stolen jewelry on you. Stolen, bought, lost, thrown away. Who knows? Who cares? Happens I was thrown through an alley. Happens I notice several shiny items behind a trash can. Naturally I investigate. I always do. All of a sudden I get lucky. You said several. You were picked up with one. A garnet bracelet. What happened to the others? Let me run it down for you, huh, mister? There was this bracelet you mentioned. There was also a lavalier, a necklace, a brooch, a couple of rhinestone clasps. You know, go here on a girl's dress. What did you do with them? Look, I'm a lonesome type fellow, mister. My name is John Cork, and very often it happens to me I get lonesome. Don't play it too big, Mr. Cork. There's murder in this one. Murder? They didn't tell me. The boys, the polka, they didn't tell me, my dear. The jeweler those things were stolen from, Paul Tracy. And a girl, Mary Gower. I'm sorry for them. I'm sorry they died like that. All right, you're sorry. Did you kill them? What's with you guys? First I'm a thief, now I'm a killer. That's how you get your kicks? That's how you fill in the lonely hours in between? Tell me what you did with the other jewelry. So I tell you then what? How many crimes are you going to accuse me of? Tell me. I found this stuff. I pinched my cheeks how lucky I was. I went to a bar. Three ladies were sitting at a table. They impressed me they were lonely, like me. So I introduced myself. Then what? Then what is we went to the apartment of one of the ladies. We sat around, we talked about life and such. We danced at a gramophone. I passed out prizes to the best couple. That's what happened to the rest of the jewelry. Who were they? Where do they live? I just don't know, mister. It got real loaded. I don't know. If I saw one of them ladies right now face to face, I wouldn't remember. It could cost me, huh? There's laps of memory. Yeah, it could. Let's go, Mr. Cork. Having released into your custody right within the streets of early autumn, and John Cork's running commentary on swift drifting night images of women, and at headquarters book the forgetful man, the lonesome type man for armed robbery, for suspicion of murder. And for an instant he touches your coat, makes a pleading sound. Hey. Gives it up. Yeah. And upstairs to the office. And sit with it in darkness. Because it's a thing of shadows, quiet, grieving, and the beating of a girl, Mary Gowell, about the face, and the killing of her. And the man, Paul Tracy, she had loved. Reflected light dances on dark walls, separate. Danny? What's the matter, Muggerman? Come on in. You got an objection to electric light? Here it don't cost. Well, maybe I shouldn't have turned them on. I wouldn't notice how beat you look. You got something, Muggerman? Yeah, but it could wait a little while if you want. What is it? A couple of things. That room where you found Mary Gowell? What about it? It wasn't hers. Paul Tracy rented it three weeks ago. Paid a couple of months rent in advance. Anything else? Boys from technical have been scrounging around the jewelry shop where we found Paul Tracy. Yes? Blood stains on the floor weren't all Tracy's. They got a slide down the lab with scrapings on it that matched Mary Gowell's blood type. RH factor, exactly. Technician Gordon was very positive about it. Something else, Danny. What? I got on my desk Dr. Sinski's report of his examination of Mary Gowell. You remember that flesh wound on her head? Made by a bullet several hours before her death. Then she was in the shop when Paul Tracy was killed. Uh-huh. And another thing. What? When you found Mary Gowell, she'd already been dead for close to three hours. She was... Danny? I am talking to you. Look up the number for Eve's pawn shop, huh, Muggerman? Sure. Here it is, Danny. Uh, Murray Hill... Call him. Get him down here. In here, Mr. Eve's. Morgue? That's right. Look, sir... It'll just take a moment, Mr. Eve's. But just because we did our duties as pawnbrokers, there's no reason why we should... In here. What is it you want us to do? That girl who pawned the bracelet at your shop, you said her face didn't register. If you saw her again... Oh. Go ahead, sir. We'll try. We never saw this girl before in our life. You're certain of it? Positive. The hair, the color of it. Well, we would have remarked to ourselves about it, I'm sure. This girl was never in our shop. We say it positively. Thank you, Mr. Eve's. That'll be all. I'll still mark them. Yeah. This house. Yes? Oh, what? Mind if we come in, Miss Tracy? It's pretty late. It won't take long. Oh, I'm sorry, Miss Tracy. This is Detective Muggerman. Yes? Just let's go inside. I don't see what... We'll tell you about it. All right. Miss Tracy. Go ahead, stare, look around. I haven't touched the place. Take off my shoes. They stay there in the middle of the room. Cigarette ashes on the floor. See? Dust. Dust on everything. I don't have a father anymore, Mr. Clover, so I'm not a daughter. I want to be a good one. It hits your heart about your father, doesn't it? You see, what's happening at this house, it's happening to me. Now, what do you want? There was an item in today's paper, Miss Tracy, about a girl. Which one? Oh, that one. Oh, that one. Oh, that one. Oh, that one. Oh, that one. Oh, that one. Oh, that one. Oh, that one. Oh, that one. Oh, that one. Which one? The one who wears a fur bathing suit in her shower? The one who had triplets? The one who was shot to death in a room on Third Avenue? No. No, I didn't see it. I'll tell you about it. What for? Listen, Miss Tracy, earlier this evening I found a girl shot to death in the room. There was a bullet wound on her face. And another, the one that killed her. I don't care what happened to her. What's it got to do with me? The lieutenant was trying to explain something to you, Miss Tracy. Let's listen to the lieutenant. Look, it's late and I'm tired and I've been through... Yeah, you've been through a lot, Miss Tracy. We appreciate that. Let's all just be quiet and listen to the lieutenant. The girl I'm talking about was named Mary Gower. She got the bullet wound on her face a few hours before she was killed. She was shot again, Miss Tracy. What's all this got to do with me? The name was Mary Gower and she loved your father and your father loved her. Miss Tracy? She was a young, lovely girl and your father loved her. No! No. No what? No. No, no, no, no, no! That's not going to cut the truth out of your mind, Miss Tracy. He didn't love her! Oh, be sensible. My father was an old man. Forty-three? That's not old. Maybe to you. Not to a man of forty-three. Did you ever see that girl? A young snitch. She didn't even know her own mind. About your age, Miss Tracy. I'll say it, prettier. No more. She's dead. She's been murdered. Last night when your father was killed there were two shots fired. One killed your father. One was found in the wall of his shop. And that's how we know Mary Gower is with your father. She loved him and she killed him. Now cut it out, Miss Tracy. She didn't kill him. If anybody in the whole world knows that better than anybody else, it's you. She killed him. Mary had a bullet wound on her face from the bullet that was launched in the wall. You tried to kill her, then... If it wasn't for her, my father would still be alive. Two girls loved your father. You and Mary Gower. Now he's dead. How come, Miss Tracy? Why did you kill him? I tried to kill her. He grabbed me when I pulled the trigger. She ran out of the store. My father fought me. He fought me. He hit me. Me, his daughter. The way I took care of him. Hit me. Well, there was a struggle and the gun went off. Is that it? No. No, it was no accident. I shot him. I meant to shoot him. All I worked for, the way I worked, nothing, for that girl. He hit me. He hit me. And later you went to the room where Miss Gower was staying and you shot her. I told him my father was dead. She didn't cry. She just stared at me. She shook her head. I slapped her across the face, but she just sat there and shook her head and I killed her. You planted a bracelet in the pawn shop in Mary's name to make it look like she killed your father. And you threw the rest of them away. What did he want with her? He had everything. You? Me. He was happy. And he was alive. Let's go. It's the street of the hunter, Broadway, of the smile that's dropped at the tip of the hat and the lights have flung from windows out of doorways and you walk a pavement strangled with a thousand colors. But between the lights, that's where darkness is. 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 Crouchon as Muggabin. The program is produced and directed by Elliot Lewis, a musical score composed and conducted by Alexander Courage. In tonight's story, Lillian Byock was heard as Ellen, featured in the cast were Herb Butterfield, Billy Hallop, and Junious Matthews. The weather will be perfect for a hoedown tonight no matter what it's doing outside provided you take said hoedown via CBS radio. It's Saturday night country style from coast to coast when the Star's Address takes you to Dallas for the Big Jamboree and to Knoxville for the Tennessee Bond Dance. Don't be a square, be a square dancer tonight over most of these same stations when CBS radio cuts loose with Saturday Night Country Style. Tonight's program was Transcribe and remember you'll find Western Adventure and music with the Sunday evenings on the CBS Radio Network. Thank you.
