 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. Broadway settles down to another year's living. The days begin to drift backward again, away from you like they did last year. And it starts all over. Punch the timecard, smile at the boss, and the income tax forms can be picked up at any bank or branch post office. But there's still the dream, and it could happen on Broadway. It's the corner of the world where a million performers do their bit just for you. It's carnival, and a clown, and a girl with yellow hair blowing kisses. The end of a ride that costs you a dime, maybe you'll get your money's worth. But there were no dreams where I was, in a big room, the chill room, the room of the lost dead. The city morgue, the man with me, the seeker of sorrow, father. And she wanted to come home, Mr. Clover. The last letter I got from her told me how much she missed Akron. Not that she didn't like New York, but it's so big, so hard to make friends. Yeah. You want to look now, Dr. Holston? Yes. Dr. How did she die? Here. Shuck. Lean. Shuck. Where did you find her? Look, Dr. I want to know. Where was she found? The river. She's been here for three days. No, no, I want to look at her. I want to look at her face. You haven't said it directly, Dr. She is your daughter, isn't she? My daughter. Feeling all right, Dr. Yes, I just want to sit down. Sit right there. How long has Lynn been in New York? About three years. She left Akron on her 18th birthday. Didn't have much trouble getting jobs as far as I knew her last employment was as a private secretary. Private secretary? With whom? She didn't say. She just mentioned it was a real estate office and that she liked her work. Where did she live here in town? I addressed my letters to her at the Linden Apartments in Grammarcy Park. Please, Mr. Grover, leave me alone with her for a while. And know that outside the light of the winter's morning is brilliant, dazzling as it strikes the frost veiled chrome of the city. But here it must filter through steel-webbed windows, reflect off the faces of the dead, grow dim. Here it lies against the closed eyes of a man who has made the journey, found at its end, his child's death. Then his hand reaches out to the girl's forehead, draws aside a strand of hair, tries to smooth away the pain, the shock that had been frozen there, and walk away from it. Because this is an image of anguish seen too many times. Go now to the Linden Apartments, yellow ivy clinging to old marble, facing the steel-fenced winter's garden, whose paths can be walked only by those privileged for the key to its gates. Grammarcy Park, talked to a man who, among his other duties, had dispensed such a key to Lynn Halstead. You understand it's quite a privilege, our private little park. And I must say of Ms. Halstead, she availed herself of it far too rarely. For what reasons I shudder to think? Why, Mr. Clumman, why do you shudder? Well, after all, it is rather desirable to maintain residence here in Grammarcy. I could show you waitingless years long. Ms. Halstead lived here. I don't see her. Of course she lived here, but so sporadically. Weeks on weeks would go by with her apartment standing forlorn, empty, lonely. You're saying, Mr. Clumman, that she lived here, but didn't live here. Only used as a mailing address, I fear, and a kind of phone service. For what reason? I know, you shudder. Quite. You see, her mailbox is filled with uncalled for letters. Here, from Dr. Halstead. A relative? A given to me. From department stores, book clubs, and these phone messages. This man has been calling for three days now. I keep telling him Ms. Lynn isn't in. He leaves his number, not his name. Give it to me, sir. All right, of course. No one else to give it to now? He's there. Show me her apartment, Mr. Clumman. I did like it, too. It's one of our most desirable. Now I'm free to inform the management that it's Which one isn't? Just down the hall. Here we are. Oh, what a mess. What a frightful mess. The disarray, the things left about. Quite these stains on our carpets. Blood stains, Mr. Clumman. That kind of stain? What that means, she must have been here when she, here in Gramercy Park, when she. Where's the phone? Oh, there, there under that French doll. You're going to call that number I gave you, that's that man? This is the police, Mr. Blake. Where are you? 48 and 3rd. Why don't I have a coffee pot in the window? Stay there. I'll be here, kiddo. Hey, you take cream? This is fine. Your name, Gene Blake? That's right. Oh, you must be the phone call I had a little while ago. My name's Danny Clover. You're the policeman, huh? You know a girl named Lynn Halstead? Sure I do. When was the last time you saw her? You tell me first, Danny, what's the trouble? She's dad, Gene. She's not dead. I've got a date with her tonight. When was the last time you saw her? Three, no, see, four days ago. The last time you talked to her? Well, I haven't talked to her for, well, since the last time I saw her. She's dad. Cut it out, will you? This morning, her father identified her at the morgue. There's no doubt about it. I said, cut it out, will you? So that's why she's... That's why what? Well, I've been calling her, you know, to talk to her to remind her about our date tonight. She was never in. She never returned my calls. In a hospital, sick, huh? Lynn was murdered. I don't want you to tell me. I don't want you to tell me. You know her for long? August, I think it was. I didn't get to fall in love with her till September. How'd you meet her, Gene? She wanted to hear one night. Late, sat down there and had coffee. She talked to me, thought my line of pad was kind. We got along, that's all. I closed the joint, took a dancing. Either one of us did things very well or danced a conversation, things. That's why we got along so good. Did you see her often? Yeah, a couple of times a week, sometimes three. A movie, walking, a drink. It's funny though, I never took her home. She wouldn't let me. Just gave me her phone number. Do you know where she worked? The secretarial or something. A couple of times I picked her up in front of the equitable building, I guess there. But she never said. You'll be here whenever I want you, huh, Gene? Yeah. Where am I going to go? And gather up the pieces that had once shaped the pattern of a girl's life. An apartment in Gramercy Park for mail, for phone messages, for death. Her wandering onto a man who then walked with her, danced with her, loved her. A father who had seen her lying in the morgue. And against them, the barrier of secrecy, the girl had woven out of the city's darkness. Not to tell them where she worked, to give them only a phone number, a mailing address against their sudden need of her. And take what Gene Blake has given you, among other things. The name of a building, the equitable building. Find it in the 40s on Madison. Try it. And after many real estate offices, and receptionists who lip were not moist enough had to be moistened again before answering the policeman. After the long parade of friendly real estate brokers with the bone crusher hand class, and the sorrow of not knowing a girl named Blin Halstead, find the man who did know her, whose private secretary she was. John Martin, real estate. Don't look anymore. We'll find you a home. And I mean it, Mr. Clover. I'm dedicated to it. Why, it's the passion of John Martin's life, finding the right home for the right people. It must be gratifying when you do, Mr. Martin. Oh, it is. Let me touch you, it is. That photograph in your desk, Mr. Martin. Yeah. Your family? Yes. Oh, I like you for that, Mr. Clover. I like you for taking notice of something like that. Go on, pick it up. Take a good long look at it. No. Fine-looking boys. Yes, auntie. This woman is Mrs. Martin. My doll. My sister, my mother, my wife takes care of me like I was a baby with a colleague. And now you were saying about Lynn. We found her in the river, shot to death. She lay in the morgue three days before anyone identified her. Someone finally did, huh? Yes, her father, Dr. Stephen Halstead. He came from Akron to take his daughter home. She'd written him, she wanted to go home. Go know a girl. Go know a girl who works for you day in and day out. Takes your dictation. Reminds you it's a wife's birthday. Trudges across the street on her own time to bring you coffee, a snack. Then police find her in the river. You'll know them. You didn't know she wanted to go home? Oh, it's like a boat from the blue, Mr. Clover. I thought Lynn was happy here working for me. She told me many times how glad she was, how I'd helped her to finally carve a niche for herself in this crazy town. Yeah, but something I said before, Mr. Martin. Lynn was in the morgue for three days. No one came to identify her. Oh, you're saying that I should have done that. A girl as beautiful young as Lynn, she takes three days off. I'm not the man to question such whims. She could have been gone a week or a month, her job would have still been here for her. Well, there are other private secretaries. You're kidding. Non-like land, why is she? Oh, excuse me, please. John Martin, real estate. Oh, yes, yes, yes, he's here. Oh, you're Mr. Clover. Thanks. Yes? This is Dr. Sinski. It's called every real estate agent in the Ecuador building, Danny. I'm in the emergency ward. Get down here. I'm busy, I'm sure you're busy. So am I. It'll all keep just get down here fast. Dr. Sinski? Very good. Dr. Sinski? Hello, Danny. Never stops, does it? All right, just tell me what happened. The fur coat over there on the chair, she was worrying when she was brought in here at 10 o'clock. And under it, the nightgown she has on, wandering around the street that way. What happens to people, Danny? Who is she? Who is she? Wait, Miss, can you hear me, Miss? I want you to tell me your name, Miss. Name? I want you to tell me again, Miss. Lynn Halstead. Listening to Broadway's My Beat, written by Morton Fine and David Friedkin and starring Larry Thor as Detective Danny Clover. In homes all over the country, everything stops but the laughter when it's Jack Benny time. Jack, as usual, comes into the weekend blithely writing for a fall at the hands of his fun-loving gang. You can be sure you'll get it when Mary, Dennis, Rochester, Phil, and Don go to work on him. Enjoy Jack Benny time tomorrow night and every Sunday night on CBS Radio. The new year has taken hold now, and already Broadway scurries to quicken its passing. There are ways to do that. Add more neon to burn away the night times, more masters in the spectaculars to wink away the long darkness. And the illusions? No new ones, kid. Last year's models. Heated up and with a new paint job, no one know the difference. Need an illusion, kid, to pass the time for free? Just reach in the bag. Every color, every size, faded a little, worn a little. But at these prices, what do you expect? Big red rose all dewy with tears? Reach in, kid, take your pick, and hurry, because Broadway's waiting in line. But the lost girl who had wandered a city drifted on winter's wind, this was no illusion. Nor was her slow still dying. I tell you this, Danny, this girl could have stayed alive, even with the bullet wound that is in her. You mean she wanted to die? No, no, I don't think so. I think what made her get out of whatever bed she was in, that made her walk in the cold only in the nightgown and the coat, what made her do that was something else. Shock may be here, hurt may be a memory. You're saying that if she'd stayed where she was, she wouldn't have to die. What else am I saying? The wound had been tended to. The bullet removed three, four days ago, professionally. The healing had already begun to take hold. It was not the work of a clumsy man, Dan. It was the work of a professional, a doctor. You're sure of that? Some things I know, Danny. I'm saying to you, this girl undid what was done for her. Can she be moved? Yeah, it won't matter. Put her in the room upstairs. All right. We've been going all around it, Danny. We haven't let ourselves dwell on what she told us. That she was Lynn Halstead? That she was Lynn Halstead. I'll make a call. Dr. Halstead? The man who called another dead girl his daughter? That's right. Tell him to get here quickly, Danny. And what? Nothing. Just tell him to get here quickly. One more thing, doctor. What? Don't talk to any reporters. I don't want this to get out. Danny, please get this girl's father here quickly. You should only explain to me, Mr. Clover, why you asked me to come down here after all. You'll get all the explanation in need, Dr. Halstead. Very well. Is it? Never mind. This is the room. Go ahead, doctor, on the other side of the screen. Lynn. Hello, Lynn. It'll be all right now, Danny. Of course it will. All right now? Yes, I won't go away again. I waited. It was so long. It was just a little while, and then that's no more than an hour. It seemed, seemed. Don't talk, Lynn. Lynn, my daughter is dead. Yes, I'm sorry. This is my daughter. This is Lynn. That other girl, the one in the morgue, who is she? I don't know. I've never seen her before. Well, it's over. Suppose you'll have to do something about me. Instruction of justice, doctor. There'll be something to be charged with. You want to talk with me now? Outside. All right. All right, doctor. I got to New York four days ago. I came here to bring Lynn home. I found her apartment house. And I found Lynn. She'd been shot, doctor. Did you? I found Lynn. She was dying when I got to her. I didn't shoot her, Mr. Global. You can think so. I don't care. I really don't. If you want me to say I shot her, and you want to charge me with that, it's all right. If you want me to, I'll say I did. Just tell me what happened, Dr. Houston. She'd been shot. She was barely conscious. Tell you, who shot her? No. She cried when she saw me. That's all. Then she went into shock. After that, she just babbled about her childhood, about her home, about the faraway years. And you, a doctor, you removed the bullet, treated it? Yes. I didn't know whether she was going to live. I just sat beside her and waited for her to say the person's name who shot her. There were phone calls and people knocking on the door. I never moved from her side. But she never spoke the person's name who shot her. Well, how'd she get away from her? When I came to the morgue this morning, Lynn was gone when I got back. I guess she wandered around looking for me or looking for something. I don't know. Why did you come to the morgue? Those phone calls, those people at the door, I suddenly realized that one of them might be my daughter's assailant. But go on. I'm a doctor. I've been in morgue before. There was a good chance to be an unidentified girl in your morgue. There was. I identified her as Lynn because I wanted to keep Lynn alive. You did all that. You could have gone to the police. I'm here now. And you'll do what you have to do. What do you want, Gino? Well, at least look at me when you ask me, what do I want? The way you stand at the window, staring out into the nowhere and the beyond gives a person chew blames. Sorry, Gino. My eldest Tina does the same thing, a stare from cold windows. What am I to do with you two? Oh, I'm looking at you, Sergeant. I ask again, what do you want? To give you things. Like that Dr. Holstead is now being held by the DA for arraignment. Go ahead. Thank you. The girl in the morgue whom Dr. Holstead called his daughter has been identified. This time for sure. Oh? A Miss Lily Follett, the frequenter of bars where there was frequent mayhem. The last one she so attended cost her her life, her boys of acetate. It was there she was shot from there, cost into the river. Several characters are now being held on suspicion of her mother. Anything else? The rundown on the true Lynn Holstead, the girl who- Brief it, Gino. Who goes without saying. Miss Holstead left Akron arrived in our city three years ago. This checks with her father's testimony. While here attempted all the things bright out of found girl's attempt. Drama school, modeling. What else? What else is that our checkers have discovered where Miss Holstead was staying when she was not staying at the Linden apartments? Oh. Indeed. Our checkers having gone over Miss Holstead's place at the Linden with fine tooth and comb came up with a commuter's ticket to Long Island in the effects. And to Long Island they went. You want them to tell me what they found, Gino? A cottage, small, quick-sounding highway owned by Miss Holstead. Nice going for a secretary to maintain two residences. Nice going to you too, Gino. You understand everything now, officer? I think so. I can go over it for you again if you want. I'll be OK. Use this phone. I'll listen in on the extension. Go ahead. Try to act heard, officer. I'll try, Lieutenant, but I've never been shot. John, it's Lin. Lin. Lin Holstead, where you left me. You know where I am, John. Wait. All right, Lieutenant. Just fine. Sit down, Mr. Martin. I said sit down. Where's Lin? Dead. I don't believe you. That's up to you. Look, once before you told me Lin was dead, I just talked to Lin less than an hour ago. That's funny. She's dead. Where is she? In there, in her bedroom? You want to see her? Died after she called me, huh? You want to see her, Mr. Martin? No. No, I never could stand aside. Well, I guess I'll be going, Mr. Clover. I guess the papers will tell me the where and when about the funeral, huh? Don't go, Mr. Martin. Why not? Lin's not in her bedroom. She died hours ago. I don't get you. What are you doing, playing crazy games? You get your kicks, playing with a dead girl's name? She is here. She isn't here. She's dead. She isn't dead. Who called me, anyhow? A police woman. A police woman? Well, be proud. Funny, funny game, you policemen play. Why'd you come here, Mr. Martin? I'm a sucker for phone calls. A girl calls and tells me she's alive. I get happy about it, and I call a cab. That's not the reason. Well, read my mind for me. All right. You came here to finish what you started out to do, to kill Lin Halstead. I got to take this from you. No, you can just submit to arrest, come downtown, call a lawyer, and tell them you're being held for murder. They'll even let you call your family. Tell them the same thing. What's on your mind? You didn't know whether Lin was dead or alive until just now, did you? You just knew the girl who was first identified as Lin wasn't really her. You told me she was. I believed you. Why shouldn't I believe you? You didn't believe me the first time I talked to you. You knew the girl dragged out of the river wasn't Lin, because how could Lin have gotten to the river? You must have gone out of your mind, Mr. Martin. Shoot a girl, and there's no news of the shooting. Just waiting. And a girl is identified as Lin Halstead, and you knew it wasn't Lin Halstead at all. All you could do was wait. What are you mixing me up in this for, anyhow? I got a family. You had a family when Lin Halstead walked into your office. She was a beautiful girl, wasn't she? I told her that. How much were you paying her as a secretary? Well, she was a good secretary. I paid her $75 a week. I guess she could have afforded her place here at the Linan Departments and that. She started at 50, but I raised her at 75. But how could she afford to buy that cottage in Long Island? I thought about that, Mr. Martin. I asked myself a question. If a real estate broker has a friend and he wants to keep the friendship quiet... All right. All right. All right, I gave her the house. But she gave it back to you, didn't she? Everything in it. Because she found a boy she fell in love with. Love? That's love. What she had with that soup slinger in that 10-seat restaurant? She told you to sell it. Do anything you wanted with it. She didn't want any strings attached to you anymore. So you killed her. That's love. What she had with that soup slinger? Cheap movies? Walking in the park? That's love? Listen, I'd been through it when I was a young punk. You think that kind of stuff was for Lin? Saw you killed her. I thought I did. I'd sweated through it for four days I did. Let's go. She walked down on me. You think that's fair? Sure, I killed her. What do you think I was anyhow? A punk? Some young punk? What do you think I was anyhow? Broadway's quiet now. The hour without color. Six o'clock hour. The hour of going home. But in a while, the night will dip down and touch the street. There'll be fury again. A rack and roar and crowd. The puppet dance into a screaming furnace of light. It's Broadway, the gaudiest, the most violent, the lonesomeest mile in the world. Broadway. My Beat. Broadway's My Beat stars Larry Thor as Detective Danny Clover, with Charles Calvert as Tortaglia, and Jack Krushen as Muggevin. The program was produced and directed by Elliott Lewis, with musical score composed and conducted by Alexander Courage. In tonight's story, William Conrad was heard as John Martin, and her Butterfield as Dr. Halstead. Featured in the cast were High Everback, Joyce McCluskey, and Bob Bruce. If you like Arthur Godfrey, you'll love King Arthur Godfrey's Round Table. It's in session every Sunday afternoon on most of these same CBS radio stations, bringing you the best moments from all of Godfrey's weekday sessions. There's music, song, and fun with Parthagy and all the little Godfrees when King Arthur Godfrey's Round Table holds open courts Sundays on CBS radio. Phil Anders speaking. And remember, those lovable rascals, Amos and Andy, are here every Sunday on the CBS radio network.