 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. When the rumor gets around that summer has begun, Broadway is beside itself with glee. Somebody notices the sunlight and tells somebody else, and the word gets around. It drifts across town, and a man reaches into his closet for a hand organ, puts the funny hat on his monkey and takes a walk up to Broadway, just to grind out background music for the big grin. It's the time for the Dockswant and the silken ankle and the flowered print dress. The orange juice is sweeter, the caniche is lighter, and the guy runs down the street screaming, I'm in love. It's June, and it was June under the translux too, a rare day, and the Times Square crowd had gathered there to consider it and take the story of it home to the little woman, dad, and mom. There was a man lying in the circle of their feet. He was expensively dressed. He's dead, Danny. What happened, Muggevin? Ah, come on, come on you people, break it up, come on, get going. What is it with them, Danny? What happened? How can you tell what happened? People milling around, crossing streets, going to lunch, looking at the Wandaads over there in the Times Building, suddenly a guy's face down on the pavement. Somebody laughs, drunk, and somebody sees blood. So we got him on the pavement and them watching. Uh, stabbed. Yeah. Now who he is? Uh-huh, here, Wanda, loads of identification. Yeah, Earl Lawson, Park Avenue. Earl Lawson. Earl Lawson, stocks and bonds, he's got a name. Wizard or something, makes money by the buckets. Anybody see it happen? A million people in Times Square, high noon, nobody saw anything, nobody. Now look you people, why don't you move along, go home, get out of here. The safest place in the world to kill somebody muggerman in a crowd, walk up to him, stab him in the back, keep walking. Well, it started off to be a pretty day. Yeah, real sunny. Just across the street, the file of crowd waiting for the movie that was better than life held on close to its place in line. Held on close against the insinuating whisper of the violent dead. It was a trick, kid. A trick to make you lose your place, to cheat you out of a front row seat where love and beauty and other high-class things are handed you on an air-conditioned platter. But a few were sold by the whisperer and were drawn by it and joined the cluster attending the dead man. A woman pushed her way close and turned away. She opened her purse, smeared a lipstick nervously across her lips, studied their reflection in a window, and then carefully, carefully retraced them with a perfumed scarlet. And death had raised its banner on Broadway. The home of the murdered man was a place whose sounds had been geared down to the soft purr of wealth. The swish of the ankle-deep carpets, the flute-like trills of the parakeets taking the noonday sun in exclusive cages. The butler murmurs you into the library and asks you to wait quietly. You don't dare open a book because turning a page would release a clap of thunder. And finally, when you'll wait no longer, the soft voice at your shoulder. I'm glad you made yourself at home, Mr. Clover. This is a difficult house to do that in. It's quiet, you can say that for it. You're... Harlan Lawson, Doctor Harlan Lawson. Oh, then the books on this shelf. My one literary effort. All 20 copies. 20 copies of the same drivel. New Freedom Pennsylvania, the utopia that failed. Nice binding, though, wouldn't you say? Quite expensive. That's my brother, he's everything you say. He gave me those when I got my PhD. Made a grand gesture of binding my doctor's thesis and burying it 20 times over on this shelf. Every time he fingers the gold lettering, I tell him how grateful I am. You don't get along, you and your brother? We suffer each other. Let's put it that way. He has his world. I have mine. And your world would be? The back alleys of poverty. You see, I'm in the nature of a failure, Mr. Clover. I'm a social worker. Doesn't pay very much. But I take in tears and give an exchange baskets of fruit my brother's castaway clothing. And the gestures of sympathy they taught me in post-grad humanities. But you keep on living here with your brother, with Earl Lawson. I exist here. Is this why you came, Mr. Clover, to run your hands over my brother's library? To probe into me? Or is it... No, no. Don't say to me, Earl has somehow run afoul of the law. Don't say it, because I wouldn't believe it for Earl. He's dead. He was murdered. Your manner of saying it, you leave me nothing but to believe you. He was stabbed left lying on the street in Times Square. He must have shuddered that it found him in a place like that. I'd swear he shuddered. Your brother dies and that's how it hits you? To each his own way, Mr. Clover. You're implying that it was I who killed him? Let's play it that way for a while. I dreamed the wish sometimes, but I couldn't have killed Earl. I slept the morning through. Earl's butler will testify to that. He was serving me brunch when you came in. Expensive brunch with wine. Who else would want your brother dead? Besides me. That would be your thesis, wouldn't it, Mr. Clover? I suggest the scholars approach me. Yeah, thanks. I'll try. Then back to headquarters into the desk. Get on the phone, make enquiries, send out to the newspapers for files. Read them, digest them, extract them. Start a file of your own. Label it. Earl Lawson, homicide. Fill out the form, date of birth, hour of death. Murder by sharp instrument to be filled out in detail by the coroner. And on the lines on the bottom of the page, the incidental information, jot down the phrases. A self-made man, shrewd financial mind, known enemies, probably many due to financial manipulations. Send out for coffee in the sandwich because it's suddenly nighttime. And read some more. Then your door opens and Sergeant Tartaglia is all business. Lady to see you, Danny. What does she want? She knows who killed Earl Lawson. What? Bring her in. This way to see Danny... My name is Peggy Drake, Lieutenant. Please sit down. Close the door, Tartaglia. All right, all right, you can stay. Miss Drake, the sergeant said you know... Not exactly. Danny, she told me she knew all about it. She said... What's on your mind, Miss Drake? I have the murderer's picture. Here. Here it is. Yeah. How'd you happen to take this picture? Well, I'm here on vacation. This afternoon was a good day to take pictures. And I was at Times Square. I took a lot of pictures and... Well, this is one of them. You can see for yourself. I found a store with six-hour developing service and I got them developed. I was looking through them and I saw this one. That's why... Yeah. Come here, Tartaglia. Look at this. Ray Brewer. That's right. Ray Brewer sticking a knife into Earl Lawson on Times Square. Call records, do you know? Get the last known address on Ray Brewer. And anything else they've got interesting. Yes, I did help with that. I don't know how much. Records. This man here were the ninths. His name is Ray Brewer. The known hoodlum. A record of every misdemeanor on the books. Yeah, yeah, I got a pencil. Wait till my society back home hears about this. I belong to the literary society. We have open films. What else? I suppose this will be in the papers. What else? What else is what else? Yeah. What's happened to him lately? Uh-huh. Uh-huh. How you making out, Gino? In a minute, Danny. Uh-huh. Yeah. Yeah. Yeah, I got all that. We appreciate it, and thank you. Very interesting, if I may comment, on the material gathered from records. What's interesting? Up until a week ago, Ray Brewer was confined to the county hospital for incurable disease. Yeah, I remember he was a pretty sick man. Incurable? His heart. Docs gave him a month to live. But last week, he was discharged from the hospital. How come? He was lying in the bosom of his family, as the records guy phrased it. Where is this family? 1212 West 16th, the man says. Where you going, Danny? See that Miss Drake gets home, Gino. I'm going to pick up a killer. Open up, Brewer, or I'll come in anyway. Brewer, where are you, Brewer? Huh? Out here, Danny. Taking my ease on the fire escape, watching you. Watching you spill out your strength. Throw away the gun, Ray. They tell me you've got a month. Throw the gun away. Maybe you can live a part of it out. All of it. It's arranged. I live all of it. 30 days, half, Ray Brewer. If I come out after you, Ray, it'll cut your time down to a half minute. You make me shake with fright. Stay where you are, Danny. I'll bring it to you. The gun, Ray. Now, don't drool. Gino, you'll get it. Funny, when you rang the doorbell, I thought it was a boy from Milford's. But no, it was you. How come you find me so lightning quick, Danny? A girl, a visitor, I got you a picture, sticking a knife in a lasso. I never could learn to be camera shy. Boke a camera in my nose and smiled for all birdies. Turn you back to me, Danny. I feel a new smile coming on. Listen to me. You don't turn your back, you bleed in the face. Turn. You did that. You brought sunshine into my short life. One for the road. Splintered through me, glittering, ripping into the dark cells where pain lay waiting for it. Being released, scurry darted through me, opening endless doors on endless hurt. These new ones took over. Finally gave up because they'd overdone it. I couldn't feel it anymore. Then the haul went cold on the sweat that had drenched me. And looking for Brewer, knowing he wasn't there, I'd come into headquarters and tell him to put out an all-points bulletin on Ray Brewer. Then to Park Avenue to ask a question. Why had Brewer wanted Lawson dead? What had Lawson been to a hoodlum like Brewer? Help me. Get in my back. For a long haul I could see the parakeets preening, pecking into their clipped wings. The new stillness of the man lying there with a knife in his back. Dr. Harlin Lawson. Dead. The nap of the thick-rugged furrowed where his hands had tried to tear life out of it. And suddenly the flute song of the parakeet started again. And it wasn't still anymore. You're listening to Broadway's My Beat, written by Morton Fine and David Friedkin, with Larry Thor as Detective Danny Clover. The sensational young tenor, Mario Lanza, will take the place of Charlie McCarthy and Edgar Bergen on CBS while the famous pair are on summer vacation. Mario Lanza starts his new series tomorrow, and you'll be heard each Sunday this summer on most of these same stations. And while Jack Benny is off for Korea, Guy Lombardo and his orchestra will be on hand to entertain you in CBS familiar Jack Benny Time. Dust it off, brought out of Broadway's basements, propped up on a rod and arranged tenderly at the side of last year's groom mannequins. And Broadway knows June is passing through. It presses its nose against the shop window, sighs at the cascade of white satin flowing slowly over the wax figure, sheds a tear at the coronet of cloth lilies of the valley, and blows its nose for the sweetness of it all. It's the time of youth, the two-week romp in the Catskills, the burial in the sand at Far Rockaway, the breathless ecstasy on the heights of the roller coaster at Coney, for the stay-at-homes, other suites, other delights, the subway ballgames, the band concerts in the mall, the moon-burned girls in the dark grass, and the, my hand in your hand, talk about two brothers dead of knife wounds. Summertime talk. At headquarters the next morning it was difficult to talk about anything because Sergeant Tataglia had his mouth full of tacks and his fist full of hammer. Building something, Gino? Oh, it's you, Danny. Yeah, you might say I'm building a site for sore eyes. Oh? You mind if I look? It's my pleasure. Pardon me for obstructing your view. Oh, nice. I think so also. A pinnip picture of Mrs. T hammered to the door of my closet. This I consider a worthy hobby. Mrs. T? I call Mrs. Tataglia that whenever I'm in a hurry. Consider her, Danny, in her Catalina swimsuit, Jones Beach underneath her, the Tataglia progeny forming a garland of angels at her feet. Gino, do you mind taking the tacks out of your mouth now? So as I can tell you about Ray Brewer, huh? So as you can do that. Naturally. Permit me to close the closet door on Mrs. T first. I don't want every calm dick and... Well, nothing on Brewer, Danny. The Hoedlem killer is still at large. All points bulletins have been sent. Nothing, huh? Bread and butter, there is something. I forgot. The Milfits, of which the Hoed spoke to you, is Milfits' haberdashery on Madison Avenue. But Roman Curcio traced it down after thousands of other Milfits. It seems... I'll check it. Well, don't go away, Danny. I got something else. Another pin-up? Well, you might say that. Remember that Peggy Dray came in here with the snapshot of Brewer killing Lawson? What about her? Precinct 12 picked her up last night running down East 60th Street in her... You should excuse the expression negligee. Why? Was someone running after her? The Precinct boys asked her the same question. She said no. She said she'd dead herself to do it, and she took the dare. So the boys decided on a small fine and let her go. A lonely girl in the big city. Sometimes it hits them that way. All right, if I leave now? You always leave me, Danny. I'm used to it. Go, Danny! I'm looking for Mr. Milford. Mr. Milford is dead. What? 12 years ago. Like that. Zoot! He was assessing plans with a buyer and... I know, Zoot. Who are you? Mr. Milford Jr. May I be of some service? I'm from the police. I want some information. Oh, what is it you want? The police department called you a while ago. You said you had some dealing with a man named Ray Brewer. Oh, yes, I did. I did indeed. You want to tell me about it? I don't see why not. Then tell me. Surely. Last week, Mr. Brewer entered Milford's and was fitted for a complete outfit from linens to waraches. Waraches? Boutriala, Mexico. Mr. Brewer was going to Mexico. Note that I said was. Note that. Mr. Brewer changed his mind, eh? Well, that's a man's right. Mr. Brewer decided to stay around the city. Thus he canceled the Mexican clothes and ordered town wear. Gabbardines. And he paid you? I only ask because it's been bandied about that Mr. Brewer is not a wealthy man. His friend paid me. The friend who was with him when first he ordered. This friend? Here, this man's picture in the newspaper. The very one. Dreadful clothes. Not ours. Is he from here in town? What's his name? Says right here, Harlan Lawson. Hmm. PhD. It says this chap was murdered. That's right. Do you have any idea why Mr. Brewer changed his mind about going to Mexico? None. We're so delighted, too. The first time he was in here showed me a travel brochure put out by the airplane people of Central American lines, I think. I've been to Mexico, you know, or ridden on a donkey. Thanks, Junior. Thanks a lot. May I be of service to you, Senor? I think so. I'm from the police, Danny Clover. Oh, my privilege. You wish to tour Central America to observe our police methods. It can be easily arranged. I will speak to the Latin consulate. I just want to know about Ray Brewer. Brewer? Ah, the name has a familiarity. See, see, Senor Brewer. The man who wished to live out his days in Mexico, the land of tradition and romance. He's a murderer. You think you'll make him? What a dying man sets his heart to do is difficult to restrain him from, Senor. This from my father, I learned. But Senor Brewer will not make Mexico by way of Central American lines, Senor, of this I am certain. Tell me why? Because only yesterday he canceled the ticket. It took me so long to prepare. He canceled the tour I had mapped for him, Capulcos, Apateca, the floating gardens. When Brewer came in here to arrange his trip, was he alone? With another gentleman who subsidized the excursion. This one? In the newspaper picture? See, see, this one. Dr. Lawson, a gentleman of refinement. Now dead, I perceive. Yeah. Brewer didn't give you an address by any chance. Oh, no, no, no. He simply took the cancellation money, told me he preferred your city, as who would not. You peddle tickets to romantic places, and you like it better here, huh? Who would not? Why pay extra fares, and your romance is where you'll find it? Now come in, Magdalene. Sit down. Got anything? Nothing. Guy Brewer's hiding someplace where I can't even begin to guess. Nobody knows anything. Stool pigeons, old friends of Brewer's, not a thing. If he gets out of the city, it's going to be tough. Yeah. How do you figure it, Danny? Figure what? List, the case, the killing of the Lawson brothers. You know what I mean. You piece it all together, it comes out easy. Show me. Sure. Harlan Lawson wanted to get rid of his brother. For money? Maybe. But more than that, I think. Earl Lawson was a man who beat up the world. Harlan just stood there and cried for it. Harlan was a social worker, Danny. He probably did a lot of good where it counts. Sure he did. But I met Harlan. He impressed me, my government. He felt sorry for himself. So he finds a little hood like Brewer hires him to kill Earl. Like you said, Harlan was a social worker. Brewer was in a charity hospital. That's what he met. Harlan found out Brewer only had a month to live. Promised him a fling that month in Mexico for killing brother Earl. Well then why did Brewer turn around and kill the hand that fed him? If we go on the assumption that he killed Harlan too. Brewer killed twice, all right. The knife in Harlan matches the stab wound in Earl. He killed both brothers. But why? I don't know why he killed Harlan. Another thing I don't know is why Brewer changed his mind about going to Mexico. We found that object. Danny, all I can say is thank goodness. Let's say it and sit down in a corner. Muggevin and I were discussing this. It's about Peggy Drake. Peggy Drake. Say isn't she the girl? Yeah, the girl who took the snapshot. She should have taken the snapshot and left the city. What? Just a few minutes ago at 5.00 midnight to be specific, she had a to-do with a cab driver. Tried to force him to take a wardrobe trunk in his back seat. He took a window while so forcing. Quite a scene. The police suggested a moving company. And... And what? Give me a breathing spell, Danny. And Officer Padunik suggested his father-in-law and stood guard over the trunk until his father-in-law, the Murphy Movers, hauled it away. Thank jeep as this girl leaves for her hometown of New Freedom P.A. in the morning. Where? New Freedom, Danny. The trunk has already left by Murphy Trucking Company and the girl Peggy Drake leaves tomorrow leaving the police only again wave the finger under her nose. Highway Patrol, Mugman, pick up that van. Escort it back to Peggy Drake's place. Right there. What do you know? So that's why Brewer changed his mind about going to Mexico. Then I waited. It was a little less than an hour when the phone call came. The Highway Patrol had picked up the van at the entrance to the Delaware Bridge. There was plenty of time. Time to grab a bullet chili and walk over to the 60s into the rooming house where Peggy Drake was staying. Inside the banisters of the staircase had been worn smooth by a thousand respectable hands and the color had just begun to drain from the flowers and the wallpaper. On the third floor landing was a trunk beside a Detective Mugman. She's in there, Danny. Does she know we're here? We talk loud. She knows. Stay with the trunk, Mugman. Okay. It's you, Mr. Clover. Glad you're here. Come in. Please, come in. What goes on in your town? I don't understand you people. Something wrong, Peggy? It was all that noise a little while ago. I opened my door a bit. I saw my trunk. Explain it to me, Mr. Clover. You were sending it back to New Freedom, huh? Of course, where I live, where I came from. That's where you met Harlan, wasn't it? What's he got to do with it? I need some sleep, Mr. Clover. My bus leaves early tomorrow. You're not leaving. You want to bring your trunk back in here and unpack? Not leaving. Wait a minute. Mugman, bring that trunk in here. What are you doing? I don't have to unpack. The trunk's pretty heavy, Danny. I need some help. Okay. I'll give you a hand. You better grab the handle on the other side. Okay, Danny? Uh-huh. Wait outside. I wish you'd tell me what this is all about. How long did you plan to stay in New York, Peggy? Four days. You needed a trunk that big for a four-day trip? That's a brand-new trunk, Peggy. Yes, I just bought it. It's for things I want to take home. Books, lamps. Books, huh? I like books. Let's see what you bought. Don't open that. Why not, Peggy? Leave me alone. What's the girl have to do? I come here for a good time. I say you had quite a busy trip. Running down the street at night in a negligee? I had something to drink. I didn't know what I was doing. Then creating a stir with this trunk with a cab driver? It wasn't my fault. People here aren't helpful. Peggy, we're looking for a man, Ray Brewer. We want him for two murders. Brewer? You know him, Peggy. You took his picture. Brought it to me. Well, that's right. I remember his name. I'm sure you do. Let's open the trunk, Peggy. No. Don't get it out of here. Take it away. Later. You took the picture, Peggy, because you knew the murder was going to be committed. The murder you planned so well with Harlow. Get it out of here. Just get it out. Give us a picture of the murderer. You figured by the time we found who he was, traced him, he'd be roaming around Mexico. By the time we got to him, he'd be dead, because Ray Brewer only had a month to live. I didn't do anything. I didn't kill anybody. It was horrible. One thing was bothering me, Peggy. Why Brewer changed his mind about going to Mexico? He saw me taking his picture. We didn't tell her we were going to do that. You double-crossed him, huh? That's why he killed Harlow, and that's why he was going to kill you. I ran from him. Somebody grabbed me by the shoulders and choked me. When you finally got back here, Ray Brewer was dead. He didn't live his month. His heart gave out. Let's open the trunk, Peggy. There he is. Ray Brewer. I won't look. I'm not going to look at him again. All the while, I was putting him in there. Staring at me. Staring. And I couldn't get the trunk closed. His hand. I was alone. His face. The remnants of the night are driven back into the earth. You walk the streets, and from behind a doorway, you hear the old sound, the sound of weeping. You know the night time will never leave. It's found its refuge. It's Broadway. The gaudiest. The most violent. The lonesomest mile in the world. Broadway. My Beat. Broadway is My Beat stars Larry Thor as Detective Danny Clover, with Charles Calvert as Totaglia, and Jack Krushen as Muggevin. The program was produced and directed by Elliot Lewis, with musical score composed and conducted by Alexander Courage. In tonight's story, Peggy Weber was heard as Peggy Drake, Ted Osborne as Harton Lawson, Anthony Barrett as Ray Brewer, and Don Diamond as Milford. For a full hour of outstanding musical entertainment, plus one of radio's biggest cash awards, play Sing It Again every week over most of these same CBS stations. Laugh along, win along with Jan Murray as he picks up his coast-to-coast telephone and invites you to sing it again and land a big batch of loot. It's exciting. It's outstanding radio entertainment. Stay tuned now for Sing It Again, which follows immediately over most of these same CBS stations. Bill Anders speaking, this is CBS, where you meet a venture with Charlie Wilde Sundays on the Columbia Broadcasting System.