 Crime and Peter Chambers, created by Henry Cain, transcribed and starring Dane Clark, a private investigator, duly licensed and duly sworn Peter Chambers. You're a private eye. That's your business. Anything else? That's for laughs. You've got a slant of sun coming in the office window. Your feet are on the desk and you're relaxed. Business is lousy, but you've got no kicks. You're young. You're strong. You've got a few bucks in the bank. And it's a beautiful day. Peter Chambers. All of me, lady. Beautiful day, isn't it? Not for you. Not for long anyway. She's a cute little trick, but nervous as a puppy with fleas. She's wearing a tan suit, modes of her figure and properly protruding. The rest isn't perfect tastes. Black nylons, black shoes, black blouse and black gloves. So she spoils it. She dips into a bag and what she produces doesn't quite go with the ensemble. Because now she's wearing a pearl-handled gun and her right fist. Looks like a 38 and is pointing directly at you. So you scrape back out of your chair and you go to her. Stand back. Stand back, I tell you. Honey, you're not even holding the gun right. I know what I'm doing. Keep away from me. You're shaking like you're practicing to be a coach dancer. Relax, little lady. Keep away, please, please. Okay, now. I've got the gun and you're still shaking. Now sit down, lady. What's your name? Elsa Corey. What do you do? Do? For living. A gun maw, you ain't. I'm an actress. Working? Yes. Come on, sister. This is like pulling teeth. Let's have it all in one lump. I have the second lead in the lady dances. It's in rehearsal. It's my first real job. It's produced by Jack Burke. He hired me. Anything else? Where do you live? 10-13 East 39th Street, 2B. Please don't point that gun at me. It's your gun, remember? Okay. I drop it in my jacket pocket like so. See? No more gun. Now, what's this jiggle all about? Jiggle? Look, it's a beautiful day. I'm sitting around with my feet on the desk, screaming my own personal little dream, so a dame drops in, wriggling around a Roscoe, and the Roscoe is blinking its eye at me, so I got a right to ask. What's it all about? Well, I... I can't... Oh, that's coherent. Now, let's do it incoherent this time. I... I came here to kill you. Why? I was sent. By whom? Bruce Burke. Bruce Burke, huh? Well, it's all in the family. Jack Burke, Bruce Burke, two lonely brothers. Well, I never met your producer, but Bruce. Brucey Boy, I know. I'm sorry. I'm genuinely sorry. Believe me, I don't think I could have... I couldn't. I know I could have... All right, Elsa. Elsa, Corey, Simondown. Just make yourself at home. I'll be back. Where... where are you going? To pay a call on Brucey Boy. Maybe he can fill me in where you can't. I don't go away, baby. Pop will be back. Bruce Burke. A crumb right out of a bread box. A bum with a couple of million bucks. A sharp shooter that owns a nightclub called The Flame. You put the light out on The Flame about a year ago, hooked him for watering his stock. So, it's a beautiful day, only for you. Suddenly, it's beginning to shape up cloudy. You get to his park avenue address, stick your thing around the buzzer, and nobody's home. When you've been there before, a 12-room suite for Brucey and his misses, plus she's got an apartment on the side. And just for kicks, you try the knob, and very conveniently, the door's not locked. You're inside, but you don't go far. Bruce Burke is napping, face down. Only when you go to turn him over, Brucey Boy's napping days are finished. The guy stiff as a bugle, two bullet holes in his face, and his rigid leers like a spiteful grin. And suddenly you feel it. Call it extra sensory perception. You know you've been yanked into a deal that you ought to get out of, fast. You do a B-line for the door, you pull it open, and you're face-to-face with Detective Lieutenant Louis Parker, New York City police, homicide. Hi, Pete. Fancy as they say, meaning you here. Same fancy goes for me. What brings you? Jingle on the phone, what they call anonymous. Oh, I see. Come in. Thanks for the welcome, Shamas. Hey, what have we got here? Corpse. Body used to belong to Bruce Burke. Plus. Plus what, kid? Plus I've got a hunch, a little frame job with me in the middle. Take a look at this. A little encumbrance I'm carrying in my pocket. I handle it, you notice, by the muzzle. Pearl handle 38 Revolvo. Okay, what scoop? Break it, Lieutenant. I've a vague notion you're going to find two shells discharged. I also have a notion that ballistics will show that the two bullets in this monkey came out of the gun you're holding. Two hunks of lead, Mr. Figures. And my fingerprints on the handle and my fingerprints on the doorknob. And me and Bruce Burke supposed to have the feud going. I hope you got a good story for me, kid. We've been friends a long time. And a little dame wearing gloves. I'll bet mine are the only fingerprints on that Roscoe. Better be a good story, kiddo. Salut, Lieutenant. Lendoneer. You tell him the tale and he listens. Oh, he's an old friend. You've worked together for years. He promises a thorough check on the situation and you promise to be down to see him to check the check. You leave him the pearl-handled pistol and you leg it to the next spot that might furnish a little information. The Lady Dancers is rehearsing at the Asker on 48th Off-Broadway. Backstage, there's one solitary guy working a song on a piano. Well, what do you want, pub? Looking for Jack Burke. I'm Jack Burke. Stands there from the piano, a very fashionable type. White hair, slender figure. $200 suit. Well, what is it, young man? What do you want here? I thought there was a rehearsal going on. It's off for a while. Oh, may I ask you? No, you may not ask. What do you want here? Oh, name's Peter Chambers. I'm a private detective. I'd like to inquire about a young lady. And this is Elsa Corey. I'm not messing into the affairs of every private chummas that comes barging backstage for some cockeyed reason of his own. Look, Mr. Burke. I haven't got the time. Now, just one little minute, Mr. Burke. Oh, like that, is it? You want to play tough, boy, huh? Willie! A muscle-bound monster comes ambling out of the wings. The guy's six-foot-four and practically as wide as he's long. Willie's got a face that's half moron, half pig. And the part of the pig is dangling in a couple of ham-like hands. But you're not worried about Willie. You've got a large ego and a lot of confidence. And you think you can take Willie if you had the time, but right now you don't have the time. So you turn from Willie to get back to Jack Burke. But you've underestimated Willie. Willie's not as amiable as he looks. You get a hit in the head like a stroke of paralysis. And the lights blaze and start whirling. And then there are no more lights. There's blackness. Whirling, spinning, black, blackness. You open your eyes and you're sitting on the sidewalks pro like a drunk that forgot how to stop. You're back against the stage door, but it's locked. You've got a bill to collect with a joker named Willie and a larger bill with his boss, Jack Burke. But you can't now. Thoughts juggle in your mind and then you know where you're going. Loretta Burke is the wife of Bruce Burke and she's got a lush little cave of her own on Central Park South. You head for it thinking about her. Loretta Burke, who managed a nightclub called the Flame. You head for a digging and then you're there. Hello, Mr. Chambers. What do I owe the pleasure? A lush blonde, 30 years younger than Bruce. A page boy blonde with shining hair and shining green eyes. And a figure that brings it to a full stop. Loretta Burke and silver lounging pajamas. Always nice to see you, Mr. Chambers. May I offer a drink? You may. I can use it. Here you are, Mr. Chambers. Thank you. Well, you're not yourself today, are you? Don't be in your dreams. Well, for a very recent widow, Mrs. Burke, you're certainly bearing up staunchly. I didn't know that you knew. Well, let's do a reverse on that, sweetie. I didn't know for sure that you knew. Look, tough boy, I don't believe in mourning. I don't wear my heart on my sleeve. Well, what do you wear it? Inside, where it belongs. And a gal with a lousy reputation, but in my own peculiar way, I loved him. Maybe you did in your own peculiar way. Well, let's put it this way. Whoever killed him sooner or later is going to face up to me. Now, you got any comment, Mr. Chambers? I don't know. This started off as such a beautiful day, and me sitting around thinking about how business is lousy. Maybe you ought to get out of here and see if you can't stimulate a little. Gentle hint, Mrs. Burke? I've got a lot of things to do. I get it. Well, one question before I leave. You know a little name by name of Elsa Corey? Never heard of her. Bye now. See you around. You bet you will. Outside, you call the office about Elsa Corey, but, of course, our little birdie has jumped the chicken coop. You do a small debate with yourself. Corey or Parker, which one first? But you promised the lieutenants or your Mosey police headquarters downtown. You're jogging up the steps when you see him coming out in a hurry. Well, the private eye, or is it the public enemy? You coming to give yourself up? Lieutenant is jocular, but he looks worried, and when a friend looks worried, you'll begin to worry. That was the murder gun, Pete. No question. I'm working it slow, working the angles first because you're involved. But that little Elsa Corey better be around to back up your story. Well, what else is new, Lieutenant? Jack Burke's been scouting for dough for a show. He needs money. Bruce's wife, that doll, always needed dough. Well, they're both falling into it. How? Bruce Burke's will. Jack gets half the estate, Loretta Burke gets the other half, plus the nightclub goes to her. Real cozy, huh? I look pal, you're not one for throwing stones. Not in this case. So far, all I've really got is you. Yeah, yeah. Even a doll or a tenant, a living, breathing doll. Well, don't depend on it, Pete, not for too long. I know you, but there's a DA's beginning to champ at the bit, so let me go to work now, huh? Where you heading for? Date with Jack Burke. Jack Burke? Where? Cast him already, upstairs, private room number four. Look, Louie, one more favor. Give me a 10 in the head start, huh? Head start with whom? Jack Burke. Well, to collect, and it's overdue. 10 minutes, Lieutenant. Ah, please, Louie. Okay, but, uh, I hope you know what you're doing. Oh, I hope so too. The Casa Moretti is in Greenwich Village, and it serves the longest, skinniest, most flavorsom spaghetti west of little town called Rome, which they tell me is Nittaly. Casa Moretti has a downstairs dining room and an upstairs private room where you can run yourself a tether-tether or a banquet on your mood. Your mood right now is for a little private chatter, and you rub your knuckles against a door marked four. What? You again? Now look here! First you clip them because you owe it to him. No! Then you close the door. Then you drag him into the room. You give him a quick frisk, but there isn't a thing on him that's incriminating, so now you pick him up and deposit him in a chair and you slap him back to consciousness. What? What? Live it up, Mr. Burke. Come on, listen to the birdie sing. I'm listening. And you're no birdie. What do you want? A bit of polite conversation, nothing more. Well, what do you want? Johnny, one note, that's me. A little lady by name Elsa Corey. Noa? Yes, she's the second lead in the show we're rehearsing. Noa, any, uh, better than that? She's an actress in my show, period. Have it your way. Corey, to her, she says your brother is sent her to see me. Did you introduce her to your brother? No. You happen to know if your brother was acquainted with her? My brother is dead. I know that. And from what I hear, you, a private eye by the name of Chambers, you hated his guts. I'm supposed to know all about that, too. All right. Is there anything else? No, no, I told you all I wanted was a bit of polite conversation. Well, then get out of here. Say it nice. Would you please leave, Mr. Chambers? Oh, a pleasure, Mr. Burke. A pleasure indeed. There's one stop left. You've done the merry-go-round. You've gone the full circle. Elsa Corey said 10, 13, East 39th Street. Turns out to be a tinderbox. Ram Shackles, an ancient barn on a prairie. Young actresses don't have it too easy, and that is a problem. You climb up to 2B and you knock on a door that's thinner than Melbourne Toast and has about as much resistance. Nobody answers. You turn and leave, and all of a sudden, a hunch comes up and clobbers you. You shove a shoulder at the rattletrap door and you lean hard. You're inside now. A little room with the barris of trimmings. And your hunch is paid off because you're not alone. Elsa Corey sits in a chair and looks at you, but her eyes aren't blinking. Elsa Corey. Her face mottled and blue bruises on her throat. Elsa Corey strangled to death. So it's still a beautiful day. Only it's not day anymore. It's night time. You've gone home and you've put in a little afternoon sleeping, but it hasn't helped. You're weighed down deep in a jam and you feel it beginning to close in. How goes it, Pete, boy? Pretty bad. Yeah, bad. Detective Lieutenant Louis Parker, a nice guy and a good friend, but the expression on his face is that of a pole bear with rheumatism doing his job on a rainy day. Ain't good, pal. Stinks, in fact. Elsa Corey, she's dead. Yeah. We've got another one of them phone calls. Anonymous. I can clear that for you. Like how? I made that phone call. You did? Yeah. I busted into her place and I found her. Like what you found when you got there. You know what it means, kid. I got an idea. You had worn little out an alibi witness named Elsa Corey. Now she ain't with us no more. Where does that leave you? Behind the eight ball only keeps getting smaller. Pete, you know how I feel about you, but I want to come downtown with me now, fella, and tussle it out with the DA's people. Well, must we? What's left, kid? Well, I've got a little night duty to attend to. I've been sort of resting up for it. Night duty? Yeah, look, look. Let's make a date, Louis. I either collect a killer for you or I present myself. Present yourself when? Let's say tomorrow morning. Brighten early tomorrow morning. You either get a closed case by then or you've got me. You know, I only work for a living, Pete. I can get kicked off the force. I never crossed you up, Louis, ever. It's been a long time now, you and me. It's, well, it's one for the story of books, a private eye and a public cop who can work together and respect each other. We got a deal. Deal it is. Bye, Lieutenant. Bye, Detective. The Flame is a nightclub on the outskirts of town, and that's your next stop. And the last stop, you figure, one way or another. You get the car out of the garage, you drive up and park in their parking lot. The club is a distance off, and you crunch through gravel on your way. You see a uniformed cop a distance off, but you don't see what's right close near you. Easy does it, mister. Well, if it ain't little Willie. That's me, pal. Willie's loaded with artillery and is jammed to your ribs. Back up to that shed, mister. Double time, we do it. But you're not having any. You're not turning your back on Willie. You did that once and once enough. So the left comes down on the gun, and the right goes to the chin. And down goes Willie with me on top of him. The gun gets kicked out of the way, and Willie absorbs a few additional wraps, and then my hands are around his throat. You're choking me. That's the general idea, Willie. Let up, mister. Let up. New position, Willie. Now I'm sitting across you like you're a hassek, and my fingers are still around that bull neck of yours. And you're a little weaker, Willie. You're quite a little weaker. Talk, Willie. What? What do you want to know? Why did you conch me backstage at the Ascot? I... I got the signal from Jack. You work for him? Yeah. Okay, I think we're in rhythm now. Why did you cloak Bruce Burke? I didn't. Oh, you need a little more pressure on your throat. Is that it? No, I... I had nothing to do with Bruce. Okay. Elsa Corey. Talk it up good now, Willie. Well... Okay... I went there. 39th Street. Jack sent me. I did a job on a leg. Jack told me to do. Willie passes out of the picture. You get up off him, collect his gun, and go looking for the cop, and latch you on to Willie with instructions that deposit him in the lap of Detective Lieutenant Louis Parker. Then you brush it your clothes, and you make for the nightclub. The joint is jumping and it's temptation, but you haven't got the time. You steer through the joyous people from the door marked Office of the Manager, and you open it without knocking. Well, Peter James, we were just talking about you. Close the door. The other half of that wee is Jack Burke. He's in the tuxedo. And Loretta is in the red off-the-shoulder job that almost gets your mind off your work. But the old mind comes right back to attention because dear Loretta shoves a lily-white hand to the desk drawer, and it comes up caressing an ugly 45. Sit down, Mr. James. Oh, thanks. I'll stand. Jack and I have been chatting about you. In what connection? In connection with the death of my husband. Lady, you're pointing that gun in the wrong direction. What are you talking about? I'm talking about Jack Burke, who dreamed himself up a fool-proof little murder. Only I'm going to take it apart for him right now. This better be good. Listen, this guy isn't a jam with his show. He's looking for money all over town. Do you know whether he has Bruce for a loan? Yes, I know he did, and Bruce turned him down. Bruce had no confidence in the lady dancers. So bright boy figured one out. If he bumps Bruce, he gets half of his estate. Even if he can't get the loot right away, he can borrow on a strength of it, so he kills him. He's a liar! Who knows a little dame, second lead? Elsa Corey, this kid doesn't know where she ends up. So he gives her the cleaned-up gun, and she's wearing gloves, so it's still clean. What is she supposed to do with it? She's supposed to come to me because Jack thinks I have blood between me and Bruce. She's to threaten me, not shoot me. No, no, nothing like that. And she's to tell me that Bruce sent her. Bruce? Why Bruce? Because this guy figured it exactly as it happened. I took the gun away from her. I went to Bruce to find out what it was all about. The door was conveniently left open for me, and I found Bruce like this bum had left him. And then a cop shows spurred by an anonymous phone tip. Cute, huh? Cute enough. Where's the girl? That's Elsa Corey. Yes, where is she? Where is she? Look at him wiggle, the big producer. Where is she? She's dead. What? He wasn't going to let her hang around to testify against him, was he? She ever hear of Willie? Of course. Willie choked it to death. Proof, proof, proof, not words. The law is caught up with Willie. He's yodeling out there like a broken-down jukebox. Well, that's proof against Willie, not proof against me. Look at him squirming like a rat with his tail in a trap. Look at him. How much more proof do you want? The lady looks. Guilt is scribbled on him like a devil has written on his forehead. She lifts the gun, and for a minute you think it's for you. But it isn't. There isn't much left to look at when you get to him. And all of it is very dead. All right. It's over, and it's done with. Mind if I sit down for just a couple of minutes? Sit. It was a beautiful day before it shaped up cloudy. What are you talking about? Then a dame comes in and threatens me with a gun, and I get myself jammed up with the laws and murder suspect, and I get pushed around by an ape named Willie, and then I almost catch up the wrong end of your 45. But it's finally developed into business. Business? From whom? You. Me? For you as a pokey, maybe with a good lawyer, who knows, it turns out justifiable homicide. That's business for a lawyer, not for you. True enough, but a lawyer's got to have facts. Now who's better at getting up facts for you than yours truly? I'm beginning to see what you mean. How much? Well, for a lady who's coming into a million, plus a swanky nightclub, a house of $5,000. You've talked yourself into a client, Mr. Chambers. You're hired. Thank you, ma'am. Thanks a bunch. And there you've had crime and Peter Chambers. Dane Clark was starred as Peter Chambers. Crime and Peter Chambers, transcribed, was created, produced and written by Henry Cain. Others in the cast were Bill Zuckert, heard as Lieutenant Parker, Fran Collin as Loretta, and Everett Sloane as Jack. It was directed by Fred Way, and this is Fred Collins inviting you to tune in again next week, same time, same station, for Dane Clark in Crime and Peter Chambers. Visit with Febra McGee and Marley tonight on the NBC Radio Network.