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. Of an afternoon in springtime, Broadway stands on a street corner, sips its seltzer, and takes note of its blessings. Baseball scores to discuss, rides getting painted at Coney, and a new taste thrill known as tangerine juice can be found at most hot dog stands for a dime. And across the street, ushers in faded tight pants and gold braid turning green drag air conditioning banners across theater lobbies. Springtime activity, open your collar to it, hold out your hand to it, slip April some skin to touch. And at police headquarters, the trailing edge of afternoon gleamed warmly, making from window silted floor the slant of dust moats, and creating the wish that the clock hands would move more swiftly so that quitting time would happen instead of the intrusion. Danny? Yeah? Oh, uh, please come in. Take that chair there, Miss Fuller. Thank you. This gentleman is Lieutenant Clover. Danny, Miss Myra Fuller. Fuller. How do you do? Uh, you want to tell him, Miss Fuller? All right. Well, go ahead. I told you all right, didn't I? I told you I'd tell him. I was going to be married next week. I don't know now. Oh, what's this guy? Take it easy. Why don't you show him the picture? You said you wanted to tell him, didn't you, Miss Fuller? Why don't you show him the picture? Okay, okay. Take a look, Danny. So? Guy she was going to marry, or is, I don't know. Name's Ernie Lane. Here's the stuff on him. Wanted for murder. Yeah, suspected of having killed his wife June 1950. I can read, Denison. Miss Fuller... Listen, I didn't know what... Just take your time and tell me about it. You want me to help you? Go ahead. Well, about an hour ago, Miss Fuller walked in the headquarters and she was steered to me because of the nature of her request. I see. Miss Fuller said she was going to get married, and she didn't know a whole lot about the guy, his background and all. And before she did, she wanted to make sure the fella didn't have a jail record or anything. Right so far, Miss Fuller? Well, she told me the man's name, Ernest Lane. I went down to record. And you found out he was wanted for murder. What's the matter with you? Huh? Of course, what do you think? What do you think I'm here for? Yes. Yes, now I discover Ernie's wanted for murder. Where is he? Yeah, it starts now, Danny. I tried it too. Miss Fuller? I heard you. Give me time. Give me some time to think. Sure. Cigarettes? No. All right. And I don't want a shot of booze from the bottom desk drawer. What is it with men anyhow? Listen, I've got a decision to make here and I'll make it. I don't want a crutch. I don't want to... Take your time. I informed Miss Fuller of the fact that shielding a felon makes her a party... I'm sure Miss Fuller knows that. Which means if I don't tell you where Ernie is, you'll throw me in jail. Miss Fuller... Yes, what do you want? How long have you known Mr. Lane? Three, four months. About that long. Hadn't you asked him anything about where he came from, his background? Of course. How? When I tried to ask him that, he'd shut my mouth for me. What are you going to do about all this? A man you love has plans to marry and you suddenly find out he's wanted for the murder of another woman. You said the thing, all right? A man I love. Look... Uh-huh? I really love him, Mr. Clover. You can't ask me to tell you where Ernie is. Not now. Not right now. You're wrong, Miss Fuller. That's just what the lieutenant is asking you. If Ernie's guilty, the state will kill him. Possibly. And I love him and I will have killed him. I'm leaving, Mr. Clover. You can stop me if you want, but then I'll think of something. Deny all this, something. Goodbye, Miss Fuller. Follower Denison. The official nightfall of April, glow of spring darkness, and through its crests and deeps and shallows the passage of a woman, and set adrift in her wake the official shadow to blend with darkness to later report the itinerary of night. And at police headquarters, the waiting, place of muted corridors, place of murmurings and ringings of a city's violence. Wait. On office wall, burst, splash, play of reflected lights. And the phone, the report from Detective Denison. Myra Fuller had walked uptown from headquarters, had stopped in a side street bar, bought a drink, talked to no one but the bartender. A man, a drunk, had approached her, touched her shoulder, but Miss Fuller had shrugged him off, left her drink unfinished, paid, left the bar, walked uptown again to a bench in the park at the public library, sat for a while, alone. Then across town, bus to Lexington, and walked downtown to 39th Street into an apartment house, third floor front, lights on for a while, then off. And for 20 minutes, Miss Fuller stared out of her window. So far, no one else in or out. Denison will make a bed for the night against a doorway across the street. Will phone again if anything breaks. Bid Denison good night, and to sleep then on the cot in the squad room. Room also of reflected light, reflected sleep. In the morning, relieved Denison, be offered the spot he's made soft in Brownstone. In a half hour, Myra Fuller out of the doorway across the street, to drug store for breakfast, to magazine rack for newspaper, armful of magazines, and into street, an aimless, drifting walk through the morning riot. The seasons mannequins to observe in shop windows, display of remnants in storefront to be touched, scattered, flung from her, and back to third floor apartment. And Miss Fuller at window, to riffle armful of magazines, stared. At noon, be relieved by Detective Muggleman. And later, the report from him, Myra Fuller had gone out in the late afternoon, had stopped in a delicatessen, had bought beer and a sandwich, had walked her street for a while, caught a Twilight movie, had gone back to her room. No contacts with anyone. No leaving of the neighborhood boundary. And the night report from Denison, not different from the night before. In the morning, third day, take it up again, stake out again. And this time, Myra Fuller boards the cross town bus, gets off of 42nd street, moves swiftly at a subway entrance, downstairs, and follow her at a discreet distance. And suddenly she turns, points finger at you. That man on the stairs, he's following me. Stop him. Somebody stop him. Hey mister. That's him. He's crazy. Stop him. Get your hands off me. I'm not going to let you go any more, Buster. I'll slap you. Me and these other decent citizens. Make a circle, citizens. Let go of me. I'm the police. That's right, Buster. You're a lot of things. You're a molester of that pretty lady. And you're police. And you're sick. And us citizens will see to it. Here, my badge. See? I ate up on police badges. Any citizen here know a police badge when he sees one? You? Show it to the citizen, Buster. Well, yes, but I think... The McCoy, huh? The true thing, huh? Thanks, citizen. Oh, that's all right. Thanks. Sorry, officer. I guess I made a boo boo. Any of you see where that woman went? The woman who screamed? I did. She made that train just pulled out, officer. Which you didn't. Boo boo. It's a day for it, huh, officer? Danny? What do you want now, Gino? I bring you a container of coffee, a chopped liver sandwich, on date, and nut bread. For this, you're going to bite my head off? Oh, I'm sorry, Gino. May help you with prefer on toasted rye. If you so desire, Danny, I could run out and exchange the slabs of date and nut bread. No, never mind, Gino. The sandwich is all right the way it is, and thanks. Use your mouth for eating, not for thanking. Here, partake. It's good. A joy to watch you eat, Danny. It's something new on Myra Fuller. From the time you lost her day before yesterday through the cooperation of our alert citizenry, nothing. She is still in her room on Lexington, where her comings and goings are even now being observed by detectives Muggerman, Denison, et al. So eat. She must have made contact with Ernie Lane that day. So presume she made contact with her fiancé, who was a killer of his former wife, and you missed it. So what's to suffer from it? Gino. What's to kill yourself when that midnight she came home to roost has been there ever since? One day, as I am standing here, the impulse will seize her to make contact again with her killer intended, and you will be there to the telephone, Danny. Thanks. Danny Clover speaking. Denison, Danny, about Myra Fuller. What about her? Half an hour ago, she left her apartment complete with hat, veil, gloves, summer fur, and streamlined traveling bag. She held a cab. Good plan to tell me you lost her. The way I hear it, it's happened. But not this time. This time, a fellow of the police didn't lose her, has got her staked out. Where, Denison? Brownstone, West 29th. 1347 West. I'll wait for you outside, Danny. I'll be the fellow without egg on my face. First floor rear, Danny, is where the guy opened the door to her. He had a long, hello kiss before he let her in. That's how I wasn't noticed. Very true, Denison. I figured you'd think that. Unsolved murder, a couple of years old, and by alertness, stick-to-it-of-ness, sheer grip, a chap on the force. Just knock on the door, huh, Denison? Anything you say. The coy types, huh, Danny? Try again. Open up, police! Open up! No, Ernie! No! Get back, Denison. He shot through the door. Not so coy, huh? Door, right? Yeah, watch me. Okay, Denison. Thing killers forget, don't stand too close to a door. Are you happy now? Are you satisfied now? You did it, didn't you? Take it easy, Miss. You did it. You made me give him to you so he could be like this, like you wanted, so Ernie could be dead, dead, dead, dead. You did it, didn't you? You did it, didn't you? You did it. You did it. You did it. You did it. You did it. You did it. The April Sigh swirls upward over Broadway, drifts, races, sensitive to currents and eddies of nightlight, and composed of diverse things, springtime anguish of a muted trumpet, whisperings against closed doors, the fleet smile, shop for a bargain paid for by the light of the happy April girl of the spectacular. A great sigh mushroom scatters on high winds, then falls, prowls the corners of city. Finally touches you, wherever you are, it touches you. ["The Star-Spangled Banner"] Setting for April violence, facade of brownstone against Side Street, and a room in it where a man was dead of police bullets, where a woman swayed, wept, moved from wall to wall. Not like that. You didn't have to kill him like that. Leisure, Miss Fuller, was him or us. Let's all break down and cry for a dead murderer. Let's everybody do that. I wish he'd killed you. With all my heart, I wish he'd killed you. Miss Fuller. Don't touch me! Ernie! Ernie. Ernie. Ernie, I love you. You through, Miss Fuller? What? I asked a question. I asked if you were through, and if you were, I was gonna ask you to tell us about how much you loved Ernie Lane. Get out of here, leave me alone with it. Leave me alone. We know how you must feel, Miss Fuller, but some things aren't clear to us. What's not clear is dead. You killed him. Me with him. How clear can it get? You came to headquarters to find out about it. Because I loved him, because I was hungry to know everything about him. So you found out Ernie had murdered his wife a couple of years ago. That's nothing, huh? Nothing for a lady in love to worry about her fella, huh? Nothing, nothing, nothing. I was going to run away with him anywhere in the world he wanted, anywhere he could love me. That other time a few days ago, when you screened, got away from me in the subway, this is where you were going. This is where you were going, huh, to Ernie? To plead with him, to reason with him. Maybe it was better if he gave himself up. Then he, he just held me very close, very, very close, and whispered to me, how could it be better than now? And he was right. Nothing in my life was ever like Ernie. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Thank you. No, no, no. Mrs. Fuller, don't. Please don't. Instant then of desolation, small space of time, when suddenly everybody remembers together. Death is here in this room, close, lying on this floor with eyes not yet shut. Suddenly everybody remembers, and for a second stands still, then looks around for something that is alive, movement now, relief. Take Myra Fuller to emergency hospital, turn her over to Dr. Sensky, leave her. Night Street is road home. Home is rented bed plus rented niceties, clean sheets and electric sockets, maid service and keep the radio turned down after 10 o'clock. Place where the world can't touch you, magazine and easy chair that fits well. Place of sleep. Sleep and be done with it. There's a new day which means something or other mostly that you must get out of bed and give the world a reason for your existence. Go to work, look business like. Do the things you've been trained to do. Make your mark, be efficient. Wish you were back in bed. Danny? Yeah? A gentleman to see you by name of Mr. Wayne. Mr. Wayne who? The chap who owns the apartment building and you know what happened last night happened. Oh, show him in, Geno. This way to see Danny Clover. Thank you, Sergeant, that'll be all. Why don't you sit down, Mr. Wayne. Oh, thank you. Thank you. There, who's going to pay for the damage? Oh, I see, that's why you came here. I've got an itemized list here. That door that was wrecked with bullets. It'll be taken care of. And what about Mr. Clark's stuff? Mr. Clark? The gent was using my place for a hideout. The gent you gentlemen shot. What about his stuff? Clark, his name was... Oh, yes, of course I know. Ernie Lane, the papers said. But to me, for the last couple of years, his name was Ernie Clark. He came to me Ernie Clark. He signed his checks, Ernie Clark. To me, he's an Ernie Clark, not an Ernie Lane. I see. So what should I do with those? It'll be taken care of. Oh, my Tashana. That was it. Oh, the girl was broken up. I guess so. She was going to marry him, and finding out she loves a killer. Yeah. Well, I looked in on her this morning. What? I looked in on her this morning. I told her just like this. I said, well, oh, he was no good. Tell me. Forget him. Oh, surely it hurts now, but there are plenty of tomorrows for a nice girl like you. Who did you tell us to? Selma. You know. Well, sure. Where is this? Oh, Selma? Well, she's got apartment 3C. That's my apartment house that I own. You live there too, Mr. Wayne? Oh, yes, surely. Oh, yes, I do. Come on. I'll drive you home. Yes? You're Selma? Miss Reed. Miss Selma Reed. What do you want? Police, Miss Reed. I want to talk to you about Ernie. Mr. Clark, you people shot him dead today. That makes you want to talk to someone about it? Yes. Let's go inside, Miss Reed. All right. Let's go inside. Well? You've heard. You've read the papers. You mean how once Ernie killed a woman, his wife? It doesn't interest me. And what you did to him doesn't interest me either earlier this morning. Now, no, not anymore. Some things we need to know, Miss Reed. This morning I cried. You loved him? Miss Reed. There's something I'll have to show you, I suppose. Here. Marriage license. For Mr. Ernest Clark, for Miss Selma Reed. You want it? Have it. There was something else in the papers about the woman who led us to him. She was in love with Ernie, too. She told us she was going to marry him. You knew about her, about Myra Fuller? Sure, but I knew Ernie. Then you didn't... Mind? Mind about Ernie and all the living dolls, as he called them? Told me about them. The puppet dolls that came running when My Ernie pulled a string. Why should I mind? Other women, like Myra Fuller and you... I think the feeling I finally chose was pride. Uh-huh. It made me proud how Ernie was. Because he was going to marry you? Because he was going to marry me. To which I obtained proof positive, which you now hold in your hand. Which you can frame if you want. This license was dated a month ago. Ernie said, wait. I didn't mind waiting. Because... Go on. Because finally I knew Ernie would marry me. No one else. Me. Because I'm what I am. Plain, ordinary, the type that makes a good wife, builds a nice home and keeps it going in the face of no matter what. Ernie needed someone ordinary to come home to. Someone who didn't make problems. That's me. I don't make problems. And Ernie loved me for it. And now... Now what? Now I just have to find someone else who'll love me for what I am. Like Ernie did. Danny. You got something, Danny. Yeah, what? I made a couple stops for odds and ends. Get off it, will you, Dennison? Technical says no prints on Ernie's gun. Cute? Mind if I go on? Dr. Sinski released Miss Fuller, didn't he? Yeah. Dr. Say anything? I'll try to give her a few pills or whatever to quiet her down when you brought her in last night. Only Miss Fuller got real quiet after you left without any medication. She rested for a while, got up and waved goodbye. What else? Autopsy report on Ernie from Dr. Sinski. Here. Bruise and oxyp... Oxy... New readers. Means skull, Dennison. Yeah, I know that too, Lieutenant. I'm just asking you to help me pronounce a word, Lieutenant. I'll help you in the squad, can I? Let's go. Three days, I case it. Finally, I get into this joint. Proves all you have to do is wait long enough. That's what it does, huh? You hate climbing the steps too, don't you? Dennison... Yeah? Never mind. Ring the bell. Oh. What do you want now? We want to talk to you. You haven't done enough, have you? No. I'm supposed to ask you in, am I not? Well... Thanks. Thanks. How do you feel, Miss Fuller? Tomorrow I'll start to feel better. You made up your mind about that, huh? That's right. Which way are you heading? South. Nearly finished your packing, isn't it? You walked in on the best part. You want to watch? All that stuff, your, uh, truce on? Look, what do you want... Sorry, I didn't want to bring up old memories. Let me ask you something. Sure. How does it feel to kill a man? I don't like it. Well, you killed a man. Yes, he did. A man you wanted to marry. Bingo. And now he's dead. Now you're going to take a little trip. Starting tomorrow, you'll feel better. End of packing, boys. The show's over. I'll drop your card for mobile. You got friends there, Myra? I will have. Make friends easy, don't you? If you were me, wouldn't you? Two years ago, Ernie killed his wife. Why? Because you made friends with him? I wouldn't know. Think about it for a second. Men are mad, impetuous folk. Did you know that? You told us you knew him for three months. You knew Ernie a lot longer than that, didn't you? You think Ernie killed his wife on account of me? Well, I guess he did. See? Yeah. It would be just like Ernie to do that. You don't know the things that took hold of his mind once he brought home a paper mustache and a big black hat. Why, you wouldn't believe it. The little things that made you love him. Yes. Made you want to marry him. Yes. Because he asked you. On his knees, shyly, was a picture the way he looked up at me and asked me, Myra, will you be my wife? I patted him on the head, meaning yes. Isn't that touching, Danny? Very. Except about Thelma Reed, the girl he really asked to marry him. Yeah, this louses up the whole act, doesn't it, Myra? What are you talking about? Look, honey. You trying to convince yourself you didn't kill Ernie, mister? No, I shot him. I killed him. And he was propped up against the door, out, unconscious. What? He was slugged before he died, Myra. You sat him up against that door, waiting for the police to shoot through it. Is this what you want to believe so you and your friend can sleep night? The only way it figures, Myra, no fingerprints on his gun. So who shot at us through the door? You, Myra. No prints. Done up the way you are, real pretty. Hat, fur, and gloves. Gloves. No prints. Listen... So we knocked on the door, you screamed, you shot the gun, and we did what we did. I did. You sure did. Oh, I wouldn't feel guilty. That's your line of work. Now we come to the reason. Reason Ernie was going to get married again, but not to you. Must have touched you real deep, Myra. A man kills for you. Two years later, still hasn't married you. Then meets kind of a plain woman, like Thelma Reed. That's for Ernie. But you? Well? You're the woman who he ducked his wife to meet. Nothing more, Myra. How does that make you feel, honey? He's dead, isn't he? First you came to what? Set it all up. You knew we'd follow you. You ducked the lieutenant and gave Ernie one more chance. Ernie balked. So you let us two. You slugged him and propped him up there behind that door. And I shot him. So what does that make me? Right now, just under arrest. They'll have the rule for you, Myra. Killer. Danny, what do you do with a woman like this? What do you... Ho, ho, ho, ho, ho, ho, ho, ho, ho. Shut up. Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha. Killer. Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha. Killer, killer, killer, killer. It's the hurry-up time on Broadway now. The place that's strung into the night like some phosphorescent alley. And there heaped there, the bright-eyed kids, the voice whispering from the doorway, the stalker, the stroller. It's crowd and it's laughter and a Nickelodeon where you get pie tossed in your face. It's Broadway, the gaudiest, the most violent, the lonesomest mile in the world. Broadway, my beat. My beat. Broadway's My Beat stars Larry Thor as Detective Danny Clover with Charles Calvert as Tartaglia and Jack Crouchon as Muggervin. The program is produced and directed by Elliot Lewis with musical score composed and conducted by Alexander Courage. In tonight's story, Charlotte Lawrence was heard as Myra and James McAlion as Danison. Featured in the cast were Georgia Ellis, Howard McNear, and Clayton Post. Bill Anders speaking. This Monday night on CBS Radio Suspense, Frank Lovejoy stars as a murderer who finds himself being defended in court by the husband of the woman he killed. It's Public Defender, a tale well calculated to keep you in suspense this Monday night over most of these same stations. Don't miss Frank Lovejoy's drilling performance in a play that's power-packed with emotional drama and tension on CBS Radio's Suspense. And remember, the top dramatic show of all, the Luxe Radio Theater is heard Monday nights on the CBS Radio Network. We'll be right back. Thank you.
