["The Star-Spangled Banner"] Broadway's My Beat, from Times Square to Columbus Circle. The gaudiest, the most violent, the lonesomest mile in the world. ["The Star-Spangled Banner"] Broadway's My Beat, with Larry Thor as Detective Danny Clover. ["The Star-Spangled Banner"] Soft night of June, and Broadway's heart loses the beat, pounds to a secret rhythm, because the winds of summer have sewn the pavement with promise and already drift back into the river. The avenue now is echo of glitter, and where on the throats of women with the quick jewels of summer light, there are shadow tracings now. And their perfumed walk had been promise, and a hawker's tune promise, and a neon doorway, it gets late, so go back to it. Dig deep for the buck, buy remnant of a summer night. It's the chance of a lifetime. ["The Star-Spangled Banner"] And where I was, in Detective Muggivin's Summer Pastoral, woman in white robe, woman of white hair, and threads of it drifting with flow and ebb of summer wind across the serenity of her ageless face. Woman, dead, in upstairs room of tenement, room by presence of roll-top desk converted to office, room by presence of death converted to official silences, official searchings. Well, Muggivin? Same things in the desk drawers, Danny, she's got all around the room. More books? Uh-huh, same type too, here's one, Occult Practices of the East. Yeah, very occult, I can't understand one sentence. And this book here, Meta... Let's see. Metaphysics. Yeah? Metaphysics for the beginner. These book shows line with the same type of stuff in categories, philosophy, Metaphysics, primitive theologies, mysticism of the ancients, and this whole row, paperbacks and philosophy. Very studious old woman, I'd say. You find out who... Yeah, had a little chat with the super, knew her long time as Sophie Breton. Says she lived here like this ten, maybe twelve years. He's very broken up about she was shot dead, the super cried. Small wound, looks like. Uh-huh, small caliber gun. Twenty-two, I'd say. Put the call in, huh, Danny? Let's look around some more. You say so. Must have put up quite a battle, the old woman, the way things got tossed around, and all this litter, junk on the floor. Books, magazines, more books. Danny? What? Found something. See, cigarette lighter. A nice lighter, maybe twelve buck lighter. Initials on it. H.M. No way to cut it to make it spell out Sophie Breton, huh? Call it in, Muggerman, we'll have tech... You... you people... What do you want, mister? You got here, didn't you? You people finally got here, and so late. So much too late, and she's dead. And I tried, I tried real hard... Danny, man needs help. Yeah, he really does. And Muggerman lifted him, carried him to the bed, and laid back his shirt. There was not much blood, and the lead slug of a bullet could be seen through the film of it. But over the man, the pallor and features of shock, when the entire body has been made aware of what has happened, that somehow and suddenly an attempt has been made to turn it into clay. Siren now, and the men who come with it, squad of the black bag, composed of technicians, interns, photographers, and a small silent man who sniffs. Dead woman and injured man in competent hands. Leave. And the new morning comes around through a bedroom window, causes an alarm clock to ring, causes the world to happen to you again. Dress, breakfast, and work. Check into headquarters, then down to emergency hospital, and Dr. Sinski. Here's the bullet from his shoulder, Danny, a.22 caliber. Send it through to ballistics for me, will you, doctor? Of course. You may go in and see the patient if you like. Here's a shot. Name's Harry Madison. Address. Pist ligamentous attachment of the sternocleidomast. Don't look like that, Danny. He's all right. He's getting ready to go home now. Thanks. Good morning. Hello. I'm Danny Clover. I'm from the police. I'll give it to you fast. I've got to get out of here. Good. Okay, nurse, the shirt's in that package there. Unwrap it. I've had to send out for a shirt, Mr. Clover. Most men do after it's been shot through. How do you like me shot, huh? Tell me about it, Mr. Madison. How's Sophie Breton? Dead. I knew it as soon as it happened. It's a feeling you get if you've ever seen a wild man walk through a door and see him whip out a gun and take a pot shot. Is that what happened last night? Okay, okay, nurse. Helped me on with the shirt, huh? I was there. You must have figured that already. I was there and I was sitting with her, with Miss Sophie. How come? What do you mean? Well, why were you at Miss Breton's place last night? Why is anybody there? I'm not sure. You tell me, huh? Now button it up. She talks to you. You got troubles, you come tell her and she talks to you. She's got second sight. She talks to you and you go away and feel better. Drop a couple of bucks in a cigar box on your way out and figure you're getting the bargain of your life. Now, last night... Well, I was sitting there and she was talking to me. Door swings open and the nut come running in with a gun. What did he look like? You got me. Listen, I don't want any trouble out of you because I happen not to know what the man looks like. I heard of a time when they had a man busting into a classroom in a college and shoot a couple of blanks off and run right out and none of those college students... All right, just about last night. He yelled at Miss Sophie that she was a phony and shot her. Then he took off. I ran after him. Just as I almost caught him, he turned and shot me. I remember, he was a medium-sized man. I remember now. This your cigarette lighter, Mr. Madison? Yeah. Can I have it? Or you need it for a clue or something? You can have it. Hand me my wallet, will you, nurse? While you're at it, take a buck out of it and keep it for yourself. Buy yourself something. Danny? Come on in, Gino. You got something for me? Is that the greeting for an old friend? I'm sorry. Good afternoon, Gino. Did you ever consider that door should open and the face would not be mine? Never? What are you talking about? Just don't take me for granted, that's all. I warn you. What? Time drifts by and who knows what, right? Well, Gino... Just think about it, Danny. That's all. People should start appreciating people instead of, Grasby, Grabby, got something for me, Gino. Never again, I promise it. If it happens, I have something for you. If you please. The deceased Miss Sophie Breton was indeed slain with a.22 caliber bullet with identical markings according to ballistics to the slug which was lifted from Mr. Harry Madison. Go on. Miss Breton was known in her neighborhood, according to legwork done by our finest, as a lovely old lady who had a kind word for or without money. Would you care to elaborate on that, please, Gino? Glad to. She was a helper of lost souls, a thin but understanding shoulder for weepers. Also, what some people gave her money-wise, she would give to other people who had not a nickel. Danny, let's go. Why? I'm gonna set a couple doors down for last night's killing. Beat Petrone will set a.22 caliber slug. You know what I think, Danny? I think we got a maniac.22. What do you think? The word don't take long to hit, does it, Danny? Look at him. Already a crowd. Give them a chance to beat down the doors. Officer? Room down at the end of the hall, Lieutenant. Yeah, thanks. Just like it was told to me, huh, Danny? Uh-huh. Just like it was told. Man hit by.22, man real hurt, man real dead. You like my theory, Danny? What theory? Maniac on the loose, somebody who flips with a.22 in his hand, picks off the easy stuff like ripe fruit. Like that old woman, Sophie Breton, like that Harry Madison who chased him, like this man. Who looks like he tried to scream and couldn't make it. Look around the place, I'm not gonna... Why, I like it. Where's that radio coming from? Next apartment. Anything on him, Danny? No, there's some loose change, pack of cigarettes crushed when he fell, I guess. You? Yeah, I found, come here. What? These books stacked here in the corner have been running down the title, look. Same kind we found on Sophie Breton's place, all of them. Same subject, same reading matter. There's something else. What? Note over here by the telephone says Sophie on it. Sophie, 10 o'clock. Had a figure of Sophie Breton, wouldn't it, Danny? Yeah, it would. Man, he's dead. Wonder when that man with the 22 is gonna run out of bullets, Danny. You are listening to Broadway's My Beat, written by Morton Fine and David Friedkin and starring Larry Thor as Detective Danny Clover. The checkered life and sudden death of Colonel James Fisk Jr. is a long title for a fascinating crime classic, the subject of CBS Radio interest this coming Monday. Join that estimable man about criminology, Thomas Highland, weighing the astounding facts of the life and death of Colonel Fisk, whose end came suddenly in 1872. For the details here, crime classics over most of these same CBS radio stations this Monday night. The late afternoon on Broadway is a dreamy carousel, figures in pastel that drift by and spin slowly and never come back again. Just the imagined smile and the floating away. And further on the midway, juggler of buttermilk pancakes. And there, death-defying act of Jay Walker, who having reached the opposite curb, flips a cigarette at the world and turns left for an encore. And there, the strong man, holding high a bag of knishes. And his admirer, the whimsical girl with the golden hair, today a waitress at her enameled and lighted fountain of eternal orange juice. Easy time on Broadway. June, the end of the fabulous ride that costs only a dime. And all of it comes to one corner or another, turns off, ebbs, searches the side street or goes home. And where I was, house on West 19th, the seeking was over, done. Death was here and Detective Muggerman. You know what this room reminds me of, Danny? When I was a kid, I was very sloppy. This is the way my room looked. Magazines, pictures, junk, books, everything all over the place. Hey, come here. Take a look what's in the bathroom. You ever see so many medicine bottles? About nine million, huh? Same name on all the labels, John Selby. Yeah, names in a few of those books in the bedroom, too. Wondered man's name, John Selby. Probably. They'd get them down to the morgue and have whoever's playing that radio and some of the other people who live in this place come down and give positive... This bedroom probably hasn't been cleaned for a year. Never could understand why people saved old newspapers. Look at these, two-year-old horoscope magazines. For people who can't remember what happened to them, huh? Not funny, huh? Here's something. What? This Manila envelope. There's a box of them over there on the corner. New ones, flat. This one's been addressed and forwarded and returned to the sender and readdressed. First postmarked just about a year ago. Here, take a look. Should I open it? Sure. Well, don't look at me like that, Danny. Give it to me. Half of it. Let me live a little. Here. How much you hold? Fast judgment. I'd say a couple thousand dollars. Yeah, these are hundred-dollar bills. Yeah, maybe 30 of them right here. All together about $5,000. You know what? What? All of a sudden this room doesn't remind me of my old room when I was up here. Ever hear of this name? Mary Stacy. I don't think so. I thought maybe when you worked in records. Anyhow, that's the name it was addressed to on East 112. Guess I'll be seeing you, huh? Yeah. You'll find Mary Stacy up there. Tell her I'm happy for her. See you, Danny. Legwork, then. Wander a twilight of summer. Search for a woman who had been chased by $5,000 and who had in flight somehow managed to successfully avoid her pot of gold. Gift, debt, gratuity, alms from a man now dead. And know not which or why. So, legwork and search. And first address on envelope becomes a thing colored by tenement and screech of children fleet on pavement and through adjoining alley. Becomes a man in undershirt and great freckled bulging of arms on them glint of red down and suspenders loose hanging to the knees. And be told while he scratches a dachshund's ear that four years ago maybe a Mary Stacy did live there, rented a hall bedroom. Sure, Mary Stacy. Remembered because a man once had come and inquired for her after she moved. Only way anyone in the house knew she was even alive. Man given a forwarding address which Mary Stacy had scribbled on the wallpaper. Not to be forgotten, the man reckoned. And leave him and to the next address. And a woman works the soil of a potted geranium, asks, kindly hand her the mulch. Tells you, Mary Stacy had a room with her. Mary Stacy was elderly and quiet as a mouse and often wept little tears as became her. And then moved on, leaving the geranium and forwarding address behind her. And third address, a sixteen year old girl who says, you care about Mary Stacy? Grins with both hands, pushes her hair up from the back of her throat, says, yes. Mary Stacy took a room from her mom. A creep moaned and cried so a girl young and dreams to be dreamed couldn't latch onto an eyeful of sleep. And fourth address then, last address, in fall of night, the man, Mr. Remson, who offers you a rectangle of stoop. Sit, mister. Sit, you get the chance. Any minute these steps get fat and sweaty. You knew Mary Stacy, Mr. Remson? You need her for something? Just trying to find her, that's all. You need her, huh? Look, I... Too bad. Because I don't think you're going to reach her, whatever you need her for. Why not? A year ago she wandered out of here. Left all her things. Wasn't much. A couple of old cotton dresses, an apron, a box of pink face powder. Just wandered out and left them. Never came back. Mail came. I wrote on it. Not here. Is this your handwriting? Yeah, that's the Manila envelope and that's my handwriting. You know where she went? Mary Stacy? No. She never talked much except about her boy. Don't know where she went. Think about it, though. Her boy? Dead boy. Got herself killed by a man, Mary Stacy said. Anyway, if she ever had a boy, I guess she had to believe he was dead. Mary Stacy cried, she made an effort to believe. You're looking for her, right? Uh-huh. You thought of the river? Or Powdersfield? Places like that? Where Mary Stacy'd be? Think about it, mister. Mull it over in your brain for a minute. Night, mister. Danny? It's me, Ogden. Who'd you think? You're tired, huh? Real tired. Yeah, I'm tired. You get any supper? No. I got supper. I feel good, too, not tired. I'll remember to eat from now on so I can be like you. Flabby, huh? I'm getting flabby so as you noticed, huh? Mrs. noticed it, too. She likes it. Sister gives me a... There's some other time, huh, Muggerman? All right. I'll tell what the Mrs. whispered to me some other time. Right now, I got other things for you. Yeah, that's nice. Sure it's nice. Shows you're making progress. This, for instance. Friends and neighbors came down the morgue, stood in line, positively identified a fellow there as John Selby. When they left, their faces looked like, where's the door prize? I didn't give out any. That's all you got. You really are tired, aren't you? Muggerman, I... That's not all I got. While enjoying a cold supper, I dug through lots of files and records. I ran across one Mark Stacy, open file. All right. All about a 19-year-old boy, Robert Stacy, messenger for a manufacturing outfit in lower Manhattan. On payday, he carried the payroll from the bank to the factory. May 6, 1947, he was shot down in cold blood. Payroll robbery. What else? Well, this Robert Stacy had a mother, Mary Stacy. From what I found out about Mary, from vital statistics, you could have saved yourself a long walk with that minnow envelope. Mary Stacy's dead. Been dead more than a year. She was buried in Potter's Field... I have to find it here. January 12, 1952, which made me think about John Selby trying to get that five grand to her. And Selby killed. Which made me check technical on those medicine bottles we found in his bathroom. Lab boys said the medicine was issued by the public health clinic on 23rd and Lexington. Now, you get something to eat, you hear, Danny? I'll eat so she'll be happy. And in headquarters basement, dinner, standing in front of the huge iron coffee urn, and choose from the cardboard carton a doughnut with pale yellow icing. And for reading material, the sign printed by Officer Senker. Eight cents for coffee, fellas, and a dime for the crawlers. Please don't forget, thank you. Officer, in parenthesis, Jerry Senker. And call the clinic on Lexington and be told tomorrow, we're short-staffed as it is, mister. Drop in tomorrow on their secretaries. So a movie now. Get chased by a man from Mars in a three-dimensional manner. Then home, then sleep. Then a warning. Clinic again. Then you go there and a helpful secretary introduces you to another helpful secretary who does the same for you to another secretary who asks you to wait. And in a few minutes he appears again, dressed in a clean white coat, takes you by the arm and leads you into an office. The man at the desk introduces himself. I'm Dr. McGruder. I'm the police doctor, Danny Clover. This is the information you probably want. That was John Selby, wasn't it? That's right. But that name was murdered last night. That same man. Murder didn't need to take the trouble. He was a dying man, had a month, two at the most. Been dying for a year or so, incurable. Did Mr. Selby know he was dying? Oh, yes, indeed. He asked, he sensed it, and we told him. We gave him medicine, sugared water. It had a psychological effect. There's not a whole lot more here. Chart, sex phrase, but what value. Thank you, doctor. Thank you very much. Markovan? Huh? Oh, hi, Danny. What'd you get? The man at the clinic said Selby was a dying man. Yeah? Good diagnosis. He died. You get something? Mm-hmm, I think. What? Well, I've been here with my notes and records and files ever since you... What did you get? I got a file from the robbery where the kid, Robert Stacey, was murdered. It was $10,000 stolen. And we found half of it in the envelope in Selby's room. Mm-hmm, yeah. Oh, and this file says there was an eyewitness to the robbery. Oh? Yeah. He appeared at the car in his inquest. You know, got his pictures in the paper and everything. Very dramatic account how he was walking across the street when, boom, boom, there was a couple shots. Kid screaming from the sidewalk, man running away with a briefcase and a gun. Eyewitness was kind of stunned by it all. Couldn't identify the killer. You got the... Yeah, yeah, sure. Here's his signed statement, Danny. Go on, read it. Read all of it. Real interesting. Especially down toward the last part, where he signed it. Harry Madison. Mm-hmm. I'll put the call in for a squad car. MUSIC Oh, hi. Hello, Mr. Madison. This is Detective Muggerman. Hi. You don't mind if we come in, Mr. Madison? I wish you would. Thanks. How's the shoulder? Funny thing just happened. What? You remember that nurse at the hospital helping with my shirt? She just left here, redressed the bandage, did the shirt bit again. Volunteered. Doorbell rang, and she came in. And she said, Hey, you know, I'm going to get you a new shirt. And I said, Oh, I'm going to get you a new shirt. And she said, Oh, I'm going to get you a new shirt. And I volunteered. Doorbell rang, I answered it, and there she was with her first aid kit. I guess you're just the kind of fellow that draws attention to himself. I know it felt like that once. You don't say. You mind telling me what happened the night before last when that woman that Sophie Bretton, when she was killed? I told him. I told her... Tell Detective Muggerman. I even dictated it once. Can't he read? Well, we got a new girl in the shop. She misplaced the transcript. Come on, tell me. I was sitting there telling Miss Sophie about my troubles, and this crazy man burst in. You still can't remember what this crazy man looked like, can you? Middle height. I told you that. That's all I can remember. Oh, go on. He called Miss Sophie a phony, shot her, then he ran. I ran after him. I almost caught him. He shot me. Then what did you do with the gun? Huh? He said, Then what did you do with the gun? I said this guy turned, then he shot me. Laren, that was again why you went to see Miss Sophie. Troubles. Sophie had a sympathetic ear. Some people are born to listen to other people's troubles. You're a troubled man. Some days it's awful. Those are the days you don't attract attention, huh? Hey, what is this? What did you do with the gun? Gun? 22 caliber. What did you do with it? Well, you can search the place. There's no gun. Throw it in the river? I told you. Sewer? Will you listen? Garbage can? I'm trying to tell you. What? I don't know what gun you're talking about. The gun which fired the bullet which shot you, which fired the bullet that killed Sophie Bretton. Okay, Harry, now tell us who fired the bullet that killed the messenger five years ago. You? You killed that boy, Madison? Listen, five years ago a boy was shot down and $10,000 was stolen. I don't know what you're talking about. You witnessed it. And half of it turns up in Selby's room. He'd been trying to mail that money to the boy's mother. Why? How do I know? We think we know why. Figures that Selby was in on that robbery and the boy was killed. And you were in on the robbery too. I was in on the robbery too. I was in on the robbery too. I was in on the robbery too. I was in on the robbery too. Weren't you? Eye witness, very clever. Fooled everybody. I didn't kill that boy. Selby held on to his half of the bankroll money, became conscious stricken and tried to locate the boy's mother and give her his share. He couldn't find her. Then last year he found out he was dying and told the whole story to a gentle old lady named Sophie Bretton. Where's the gun, Harry? I'm telling you, I didn't kill that boy. Selby did? Yes. All right, come on, Harry. Where's the gun? The one you wounded your shoulder with. The one you wounded your shoulder with. Harry? He threw it away. I took it apart. Dropped off a piece here, a piece there. Listen. Yeah? He didn't have to tell that crazy old woman, but he did. I tried to reason with her. She gave me a book to read. Then you know what she did? What? She told me to go away and then come back. When I did, she told me she'd meditated over it and come up with I should give myself up to the police. That's what you should have done. She said if I didn't, she would have to tell the police herself. She said she meditated on that too. You had to kill Selby because you're afraid he'd tell someone else. Selby was dying, you know that. Guy starts dying, he babbles, runs off with a mouth. You don't know what he's going to come up with to say next. He goes on and on and on. Just because he's dying, he wants to get everything out before it's too late. Like I remember once just after I shot that messenger kid, I was afraid I wouldn't have time to get rid of the gun, but Selby took it from me. I can see it just like it was yesterday. I kissed that and there was... In the deep of a summer night, Broadway echoes with sounds heard only in darkness. The whispers that speckle a place where there's no sun. There's a touch on your coat and you turn, and there's no one, nothing. There's a trail of dust on your shoulder. It's Broadway, the gaudiest, the most violent, the lonesomest mile in the world. Broadway, my beat. Broadway, my beat. Broadway, my beat. Stars Larry Thor as Detective Danny Clover with Charles Calvert as Tartaglia and Jack Crouchon as Muggavan. The program is produced and directed by Elliot Lewis with musical score composed and conducted by Alexander Courage. In tonight's story, Clayton Post was heard as Harry, Roy Glenn as Remson, and Hal Gerard as Magruder. George Waltz speaking. A reminder to all able-bodied mystery fans, Tuesday night on most of these same stations, those devil-may-care amateur detectives, Pam and Jerry North, run afoul of a coat of arms in their search for clues to a baffling murder. They may need every bit of help you can rally from your armchair to aid Mr. and Mrs. North this Tuesday night on most of these same stations when CBS Radio turns them loose on their latest case. Stay tuned now for the Walt Monroe Show, which follows immediately over most of these same stations. And remember, John Lund, as your truly Johnny Dollar, brings you colorful mystery Tuesday nights on the CBS Radio Network. ...
