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. In the midday of summer, the sun plumps down and kisses Broadway's cheek, and Broadway loves it. The minutes are warm at the lunch counter, and the salami and cream soda never tasted so good. And walking by, the day's entertainment, the red smiles and the summer dresses and the sandaled girls with the legs of tan, and winking at you, the man with the potato peeler, which also cuts glass. Also if held just so, we'll scale a fish. Free to whoever buys a pack of marked cards to play tricks on your friends. Slice of Broadway at high noon. Good time. The noon in the summer lasts too long when you're indoors. There's a sound to it, compounded of electric fans in the aggregate, flies trying to escape against windows, and a drone that just happens to be there. Noon at police headquarters, the opening door. Danny? Come on in, Muggerman. Oh, thanks. You know, I had to cook a couple hours ago, only I got stopped. Oh? Yeah, Dr. Sinski grabbed me. Oh, I'm happy for both of you, Muggerman. What's on your mind? Dr. Sinski grabbed me and walked me into the lab and handed me a report. I'll read you on the paper what it says under comments. In my considered opinion, subject died of alkaloid poisoning, which I doubt was self-administered. Signed, Dr. Henry L. Sinski, MD. Okay, Muggerman, run it down for me. Subject's name, John Rand. Address, here. John Rand. Name mean anything to you? No. Cotton importer and processor. I looked him up. Very rich. Very sickly, I thought. What do you mean, you thought? Well, I just talked to his physician, Dr. Montoya, who refused to sign his death certificate, which is why we performed an autopsy. Dr. Montoya said, wait a minute. Well... Just take it easy for a minute, will you? I want to make sure... Yeah, here it is. Deceased John Rand, his doctor reports was a bedridden invalid, but a hypochondriac. Not organically sick at all. I see. So that when Rand died... Yesterday. Thanks. So that when Rand died, the doctor wouldn't sign a certificate of death due to natural causes. So the autopsy, so the finding of poison, so homicide. So the squad car's waiting for you downstairs. You know what? What? Department ought to have convertibles for squad cars in the summer. No? Oh, forgive me. See you later, Danny. Ride Broadway now. Play the game with the Jay Walker and match him jutted jaw for jutted jaw. And into Central Park, where sit the nursemaid and the powdered child, where stole the cup bowls. And further on, where they get tired and the grass is very green. And right turn into Avenue again, where wealth is, quiet street, where siestas have been heard about and are being taken. Downstairs from which diamond bracelets still sparkles brightly in small shop windows. And the single mannequins in Parisian style curve a wrist at each other from across the street. And the address you're looking for. Yes? My name's Danny Clover. I'm from the police. Please. Are you Mrs. Rand? Please. There's been some trouble here. Your husband? He died yesterday. Please don't ask me to talk with you. Did your doctor, Dr. Montoya, did he tell you that your husband had been poisoned? What? Well, didn't he tell you about an autopsy? Please come in. The word come through now. Autopsy. Yesterday, shock and, you know, Dr. Montoya said autopsy and I nodded, I suppose. Poison? What? Homicide. Meaning my husband was murdered. That's right. That's ridiculous. Why do you say that? Well, I didn't kill him. You hear what I said? I didn't kill him. I didn't. He's been in bed most of the time and I'm his wife and I was closer to him and I fed him and I washed him. Listen, you, I didn't kill him. Who else could have? I'm asking you a question. Dirty, stinking, rotten little. Who? I'll kill her. I'll kill her. Who are you talking about? I'm going to take a gun or a knife or whatever I can put my hands on and I'm going to kill her. Just take it easy. Tell me who you're... Ward. Ward? Bonnie Ward, his nurse. His fawning sweet little nurse. Last month he changed his will to leave her a few thousand. I'll kill her. Where do I find Bonnie Ward? She lives here. Did, until yesterday. This was her home, you mean? Practically. She had a day off. She... Yes, there was a place. Apartments, something. Once or twice I picked her up there to bring her back after a day off. I'll want the address. Anything. Just so you let me get my hands on her. Anything you want. Yes? Miss Ward? You're Miss Bonnie Ward? What do you want with her? I'm from the police. Leave her alone. Just leave her alone. Look, I... Whatever you want, in anger or pleading or if you want me to out beg, leave her alone. Well? Is she here? Doesn't touch you, does it? How a woman will lower herself... Well, just answer me. Is she here? Demean herself, crawl, grumble before people like you, and it doesn't touch you. Makes no impression. Because you're police. And a woman must scrape and bow and... Let's go inside, huh? I can't reach you, can I? Of course. Let's go inside. You didn't tell me who you were. No. Whatever hurt you have about the police. It's a simple question. Who are you? Angela Kenny, age 43, five feet, four and a half inches in height, weight 112. And Bonnie Ward, who is a practical nurse, says I'm thin and that it's an emotional thing. You live here with Miss Ward? An emotional thing that I am skinny, that I'm eaten up with all sorts of private bitterness. Bonnie says that. And... And what, Miss Kenny? Kenny says that about me. And it is Bonnie who is ill and troubled and persecuted and driven. Driven. Till one day it'll snap. Her mind will snap and there'll be people to thank for it. You and others like you. The pursuers. The relentless ones who run after sorrow with a net. Miss Kenny. Yes? Is Miss Ward here? No. Well, look if you want. Behind closed doors and in corners and under things. Look for her. I want to see how you go about it. Where is she? You won't look. She's not here. She read how you found John Rand was poisoned. She went away. Fled. Somewhere. I don't know where. You understand? I don't know where Bonnie is. Sorry. I'm sorry. Danny? Yes, Gino? Hello, Danny. Gino? You are looking well. Thank you, Gino. And you? Yes, Danny. You're looking well, too. You mean it? You're not making it up. I mean it, Gino. I mean it. No sense getting in an uproar about it. No. You have something, Gino. One chap to tell another chap that the other chap is looking fit. This is common courtesy. As we had not passed our accustomed greetings to each other earlier today, you and I, I thought only... Why make a federal case out of it, Danny? I'm sorry, Gino. Now, may I? Of me to ask, may I? Danny, Danny. Danny, concerning the all points bulletin on one Bonnie Ward, this is what you wished with your may I? Yes, Gino. I saw it coming. Concerning the all points bulletin on Bonnie Ward, she is still at large. A female answering her description was brought into the 12th precinct. However, said female avert not to be a... Don't bother with an excuse me, Detective Muggerman. Thanks, I won't. Danny, I just came in over radio. What did, Muggerman? There's a woman on the ledge, 12th floor of a building on West 23rd Square. She'll jump, drawing a crowd. They always look, Muggerman. Why don't you get on... Just listen, huh? This woman, she's screaming her name, Bonnie Ward, she screams. Watch Bonnie Ward die. We haven't much time. No, we haven't. Come on. You just said to me, Bonnie Ward, you just said the place that I could talk to you. I don't know you, and you don't know me. But I'm a woman, and you're a woman, and I say you have no right to die. Not like that. Don't die. Well, they're having fun, huh, Danny? You help melt this window. Uh-huh. Hey, 12 stories up, Danny. Alleged size of a plank. You'll take it easy, huh? If she jumps before you get to her. Bonnie. Listen to me, Bonnie. Get away from me. Just listen to me. You think they'll enjoy it if I jump? Just fall, fall, fall. They don't want you to die, Bonnie. Look at them. Look at them. And that woman, she wants me to die. You. You want it, don't you? I talked to your friend, your roommate. I talked to Angela Kenny. She said she needs you. She says she's unhappy without you. Angela? Angela said she needs me. She's your friend. She loves you. She doesn't want you to die. Bonnie. You're lying. No one wants me. I'm hated. I hate it. Even Angela. No. Bonnie. I want to jump. And I can. I can. I can. Come on, Bonnie. Come on, Bonnie. You are listening to Broadway's My Beat, written by Morton Fine and David Friedkin and starring Larry Thor as Detective Danny Clover. Next Tuesday, CBS Radio invites you to attend the opening of a hard-hitting new series titled 21st Precinct. Meet Captain Kennelly and learn directly from him the operations of the largest police force in the world. Tuesday night on most of these same CBS radio stations, here, 21st Precinct. The July winds, heavy with heat, begin their unraveling and Broadway lulls against the doorway, submits to the drifting warmth of their touch, lifts a throat to them, bears a shoulder, cocks an ear to summer whisperings, and the word eases down the street. This summer, no regret. This summer, rockets that hang in night sky and burst and never fall. This summer, the saxophone song and never ending. This summer, punk to sparkler and cascade of a million stars. Not like the last time. So dig deep for the currency that buys an ending to last year's dream. Walk with it to some upstairs place and make your bid. This could be it. And in office at police headquarters, the summer talk also of a woman held on suspicion of murder, a woman who had tried death 12 floors above July pavements. Summer talk concerning Bonnie Ward. Psychotic hysteria, Danny. That's what Dr. Sinsky calls it. When she isn't laughing, she's crying. Then she shivers. Laughs some more. Anyway. Anyway what, Margavin? Nothing. You were going to say something. What? You just have to probe, huh? Forget it. You wanted to know what I was going to say. Forget it. I was going to say anyway. Anyway you look at it, I'm sorry for her. Sorry a woman wants to kill herself. Sorry for a lot of... Well, now you know. Yeah. Anything on... I tried to get through to her. You did. So did Dr. Sinsky. I'm a department psychiatrist. Bonnie Ward's going to need a lot of help. That's the consensus. You were going to check records, Margavin. I did. I also did that little thing. Wow. Yeah, we got a record on Bonnie Ward. We sure have. Charge of murder. What? February 1948, Bonnie Ward was charged and held for the murder of a man, rich man. Name a Charles Raymond. Very rich man. Old. Invalid. Bonnie Ward was his private nurse. Just like with John Rand. Same kind of circumstances. Go on. Rich man died, left Bonnie Ward, was just a private nurse to him, left her $10,000 in his will. John Rand left her money too. Mrs. Rand said a few thousand. Yeah, Bonnie must have been quite a nurse. Wouldn't you say? A two-time winner like that? Wouldn't you say? What else you got? Well, this Charles Raymond, the man Bonnie took care of five years ago. Doctor wouldn't sign his death certificate either. Call the police. Bonnie was arrested, brought to trial. Every piece of evidence they had pointed to her guilt. Still she got off. Jury acquitted her. Danny? What? Maybe I'm crazy, huh? Deheat, huh? What are you talking about? Crazy to feel sorry for a woman like Bonnie Ward, a two-time winner like that. Crazy, huh? The muggerman doesn't wait for an answer. Throws the report on your desk, turns, walks away from you. For a while, consider documents in the matter of the state versus Bonnie Ward. Time February 1948. Occasion suspected murder of an invalid and acquittal for Bonnie Ward and $10,000 for Bonnie Ward. And re-staple the documents and file them neatly and pick up the 495 Panama in the sweat-crumpled jacket and leave. And the room where Bonnie Ward spent her time off with John Rand, murdered man, room where she spent her time off with Angela Kenny is sodden with July heat. Here by the window, Mr. Clover. It's cooler. Move to the window through a room littered with newspapers and front-page photographs of Bonnie Ward's attempt at death. Closer now to Angela Kenny, who stands at the window with a pair of scissors and carefully snips from the late edition, a five-column photo of Bonnie Ward screaming from a building's ledge. There. It's the best of the lot, don't you think, Mr. Clover? I chose it because it was the best. Why? I don't understand. I asked you why you're cutting out a news photograph of Bonnie Ward doing... I told you, it was the best of the lot. You gonna enjoy it, pin it to the wall where you can look at it any time as you... To remind me, to make me remember to what depths you've degraded a human being, all of you. Kenny is a very human being, you know, and this picture will forever prove it to me. Five years ago, she was charged with the murder of another man. Did you know that, Miss Kenny? Yes. And received $10,000 from his will and was acquitted. And hounded and vilified and pointed out by idiots on the street who had nothing better to do than destroy and shrieked with laughter because they recognized a woman who had been proved innocent. She had $10,000 to wave in their faces. With which she squandered, with which she tried to buy back some compassion, a little love from idiots. $10,000 squandered on filth of the streets. $10,000 to buy herself a husband. What? A husband. A man who grinned at her, who had wavy red hair, who was younger than Bonnie. You know him? Bonnie told me about him. Told me about Tom Pryor, her lost husband. Told me how he and I had so much in common. No use for the police, for instance, and the kind way we reacted when Bonnie felt very low and... Surely you don't wish to prolong this, Mr. Clover. Then why don't you just go? Name Tom Pryor. Description, redheaded and no use for the police. Implication, police record. So run it through the IBM at records and come up with a punched card, which in translation means this. Age, 34, 5'9 and one half, profession, chauffeur, one-time driver of racing cars. Red hair, ruddy complexion, distinguishing marks, none. Last known address, Hotel Lorenzo, a flea bag in the Bowery. List of arrests, May 1950, disturbing the peace, fined $50, 60 days in lieu of fine. March 1952, drunk and disorderly, 30 days. April 1953, drunk, disorderly, vagrancy, 90 days. What else? List of each arrest, bar, attached to Hotel Lorenzo on Mott Street. That's about all. Downtown now and through crowd to Bowery. Those who stand upon the corners in January have not altered their stance in July. Neither the standers, nor the sprawlers on the pavement, nor the one who didn't quite make it out of the doorway onto the street, only his legs did and somehow his bottle. Lorenzo Hotel, a sign that said so and that it was a family style hotel. And to the left of the entrance a bar, go in and pose a name and a badge to the man behind the bar who exchanged his glasses for another pair then points a finger to the back of the room and wipes the bar in front of you when you walk away. Tom, you Tom Pryor? Cop? That's right. How do you do, sir? George, bring us a drink, George. My special. The Tom Pryor special. When was the last time you saw your wife, Tom? Now there is a question which is harmless if I've ever heard one. It's a fella asking... George, old boy, here. Take a five. No, take a ten. Bring chains and nickels for the music box so my friend... Just bring him his chains, George. Hey, nickels. Where did you get all that money, Tom? Where'd you get yours? Must be a hundred dollars there or more. Never argue with a cop. Especially you can't run fast like me. What do you do for a living? Gopher. Working? No. Why? I happen to be in a bar drinking, sir. I've been told time and time again and with reason, sir, that alcohol and driving do not mix. Last time I heard it was from my employers. Another question, Tom. Did you kill... I did not kill anybody, sir. Thank you, George. Take a handful and play some music, huh? You ready to talk to me now, Tom? You don't touch your drink, I'll be... Oh, sorry. You ready to talk to me now? You are my buddy, sir. Tell me about your wife. Gladly. To her, I... Me. I was a hero. I dragged her out of the Hudson River so she could start life anew. Romantic story of how we met. You met... Your wife was going to commit suicide and you saved her. Sure. Long time ago, long... Five years ago? Sure. After she was acquitted of murder. You know how right rain is? That's how right you are. Go on. She had ten grand and we blew it in Las Vegas. How long ago was this? A couple of months after we married. Three, four. Our love was so fine and... So fine we didn't count an hour or anything. Why did you leave her? No dough. Besides, she was always talking about going back to the Hudson River and giving herself up or jumping off a big high tower or shooting or... Hey. You know what the doctor said? What? She doesn't get to shock anymore like that murder rap. Like, well, you know. You're no shock. She's going to destroy herself, perhaps, the doctor said. Perhaps he said. I have to mention this information to my employer at the time. Who was that? Mrs. Rand. Mrs. Louise Rand, sir. John Rand's wife? My employer. You mean you worked for her? My employer. And now, if you'll excuse me, I believe I will have a small catnap. Good night, all. How do you feel, Tom? Better? Ask you something? What? Did you get any answers out of me when I was woozy? What kind of answers? You're not stupid. What are you trying to tell me, Tom? You're not stupid, that's all. And you're going to turn right now, aren't you? Uh-huh. Figure. And stop right here. You don't have to hold on to me. She's speechless. I warned you a long time ago, Mrs. Rand. This was liable to happen. Let's go inside. What are you doing here? Oh, my. About your husband. I'm not talking to you about yours, about my husband, but him. Me. I haven't quite figured out about you, Tom. How about accessory before the fact? Hey, look what I am. What are you talking about? About a fact, about the murder of your husband. You have his murderer, that nurse. Oh, my. What's the matter with you? This is Mrs. Rand. Once she was my employer. You never did tell me, Tom. How long ago was that? Oh, about $3,000 ago. Mrs. Rand. When did Bonnie come here to work for you? After he left. After Tom, then his wife came to nurse my husband. That's right, Mrs. Rand. But when he worked here, Tom told you about his wife. Here we get on thin ice, Mr. Clover. I just happened to mention to the lady here that once my wife was tried for murder. And wasn't it a coincidence that this lady here had a sick husband who needed care, and my wife was a nurse. And how the situation was the same. Did you convince your husband, Mrs. Rand, to leave Bonnie some money? I could kill you, Tom. I sure understand why you feel like that. So Tom told you all this, Mrs. Rand. You were a woman with a wealthy husband, a husband who was too much trouble. I just told the lady here how Bonnie, that's my wife, Bonnie, how she was mixed up in a situation. That's all. Did you suggest to her that if your wife was mixed up in another situation, just like it, her whole history would be dug out again? It seems to me that this here lady suggested that herself. This lady here said my wife would have a hard time getting off a second time. I really don't know what she was talking about. You're doing real well, Tom. Thank you. Now, tell the man what else you told me about your wife. How she would kill herself if she ever got into trouble again. Did you happen to mention that to him? I know about that. You've been drunk, haven't you, Tom? Yes, ma'am. And you told him everything, didn't you? Yes, ma'am. And you think you're going to blame it all on me? I'm sure going to try to, ma'am. I've been paying him blackmail, Mr. Clover. Yeah. I've been supporting him, paying him just- You poisoned your husband, didn't you? You know what I could do to you, Tom? Yes, ma'am. No use trying, is it, Mr. Clover? We'd better go, Mrs. Randall. Hey, I'm going too, huh? That's right. You wouldn't let me drive, would you, just to drive her again? I think that'd be pretty. No. This way, Mrs. Randall. I'll open the door for you, Mrs. Randall. You're quite welcome, Mrs. Randall. In the minutes before dawn, Broadway lies huddled in a dreamless sleep. It's the time of the long night and no stars and the muted wind, and from far away, listen, the whispers gather and take away the night. 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 Mogovan. The program is produced and directed by Elliot Lewis, with musical score composed and conducted by Alexander Courage. In tonight's story, Loreen Tuttle was heard as Louise Rand, Herb Ellis as Tom, Irene Tedrow as Angela, and Truda Marson as Bonnie. George Walsh speaking. George man, you now have an opportunity to build your future in the exciting new field of jet aviation. Prepare for leadership in the jet age by serving as an Air Force aviation cadet. You'll get 18 months of thorough training in all phases of jet operation, learning under the finest instructors in the world's most advanced Air Force. Jets are easy and safe to fly when you learn the aviation cadet way. The training is rugged and intensive, the discipline rigid, but you come out a skilled jet pilot with the Lieutenant's Commission in the Air Force and earnings of more than $5,000 a year. These are things worth working for. To qualify, you must be between the ages of 19 and 26 and a half, single, and have a college education. Visit your nearest Air Force base or recruiting station for details. Act today. Stay tuned now for the Gene Autry Show, which follows immediately over most of these same things. And remember, John Lund as yours truly, Johnny Dollar, brings you Colorful Mystery, Friday nights on the CBS Radio Network.
