 Broadway's My Beat, from Climb Square to Columbus Circle, the gaudiest, the most violent, the lonesome-est mile in the world. Broadway's My Beat, the exciting drama of people who walk the Great White Way, with Larry Thor as Detective Danny Clover. The miracle of June slips down over Broadway like a golden gauze, and the street slows down for the burst of sun. It's the time of vacation schedules posted near the water cooler, and the words, the magic names, Catskill, Far Rockaway, Atlantic City. And you wonder how she'll come to you this year, on a sand dune of portable radio, or with a tennis racket and golden legs, or on a horse. It's the time to turn on the dream, cotton candy time and carnival, bleachers and hot dog with everything time. It's happen, it's here again, it's June. And in the afternoon, in the E-60s, June gets an assist from the management. White stocking bowls on the lobby desk, gladiola in bases on corridor tables, and ended abruptly at the doorway number 312, where death had intruded, where I was, where Detective Muggerman was. This man was found here in his living room by a newsboy, Danny, the kid I talked to. You go to this apartment, open? Uh-huh. Left the money for the week's paper delivery on that table right inside the door. Kid would pick up the money, lock the door on his way out. No money left today, so the kid walked in a little way, and so... Yeah. Shot up close with, looks like a .38 caliber. Yeah, about that. Been dead about two hours, huh? Place is time of shooting around 3 o'clock. You know who this man is? Sure, positive identification. Name is Harry Moore, age 41, construction contractor. Firm of Moore and Nelson. No financial worries, no known enemies, no... That's real good, Muggerman. How'd you find out so soon? His wife. She's in there. Did she see it happen? No, she came in here a few minutes after I got here. Let's talk to her. Sure. Mrs. Moore? Mrs. Moore? This is Lieutenant Clover, Mrs. Moore. He'd like to speak to you. Oh, you can't come in here. This is my bedroom. I'd just like to ask you a few questions, that's all. I feel very much better. Thank you. Thank you very much. Thank you. Huh? Mrs. Moore was at a tea lunch in Danny's. She told me where. Mrs. Moore had six cocktails. I think it was only five. I was going to tell you because I don't want to lie to any policeman in the world. About your husband, Mrs. Moore. Harry's dead. This man told me. Harry's going away and never coming back. And I must be very brave about it. Do you have any idea why? One day, if I'm very good, I'll see Harry again. That's the kind of answers I've been getting down. She doesn't look real, John. You feel fine, Mrs. Moore. Head's not spinning, nothing like that. Fine. Clear-headed. Oh, I'm not drunk, if that's what you mean. Not at all. I know what being drunk's like. Yeah? I do feel a little busy. And I know why. Harry's not with me anymore. Harry's dead. And I know it. And I've got to think about it. Watch her as she turns away from you. The motion, tenuous, suspended, dance-like. Then a sudden twist and contortion as the sobbing wells like something from childhood. Watch her as she moves certainly to a couch, throws herself onto it, mutes her sobbing in a silken pillow. And it ebbs from her. Then she's still. Then she's still. Then sleeps. This is the escape of the wife of the dead. Leave there. Leave now to check on Alibi. Learn that Vivi Moore had attended the wives and girls tea luncheon from one until four. The cocktails had been served, and poor Vivi had got tipsy and giggly. It had to be put in a cavern told the way home. And thank the woman who was bored and exhausted with having arranged it all for the wives and girls. The instruction firm of Moore and Nelson and the information from the weary draftsman that he was overworked, that Mr. Nelson was supervising the current job at 30th and East River out in the sun. Then the skeleton of steel patterned and laced and riveted against the backdrop of river. The man with the straw hat tilted far back on his head. Yeah, I'm Nelson, Steve Nelson. You got something I can do for you? Police, Mr. Nelson. One of my boys, huh? Rough crew, flusty. I'll go bail for any one of them, not the crew. Harry Moore. I'll do likewise for him any time, any day. Got to tell you, though, long as I know him, you're the first cop that ever said Harry Moore to me. That gonna do him any good? No, he's dead. He's been murdered. We found him in his apartment, shot with a .38. We figured it happened to him around three this afternoon. Three this p.m. I was up 40 stories. There. You have a gun, Mr. Nelson? No gun. I asked my boys. They tell you I've got a whip studded with hot rivets. They talk like that, and I'm so good to them. Got to tell you something, Mr. Clover. What? About Harry. Not really any of my business, no skin off of my back. Tell me what? About Harry. About half for a week now, maybe 10 days, my boys been leaving me alone to handle this job. Hasn't showed up at all. I couldn't figure it. Harry's the type guy who was always right in there, made with a rivet gun, with advice, with bandages, and somebody was hurt. Couldn't figure it until... Until what? One of my boys, one of the crew, spied Harry walking skid row. You know the bar, right? Goes to show you're never alone in this town. Harry walks skid row. There's always a guy to tell you about it. A slumber guy. You know what he was doing there? Worried me too. So one night I went down, cornered Harry in a bar, said, Look pal. That's as far as I got. Look pal, I said, and then I dried up because I figure Harry's life is Harry's life. We were partners, not man and wife. I bought him a drink and said, See you pal, and walk out. You know his wife? Vivi? Yeah, I know her. You know her? I talked to her this afternoon. That child that walks like a woman, huh? That Vivi. How'd she get along with her husband? Harry told me once, said, Vivi was a romance from football grandstands in school and nighttime bonfires. He married her. They got along fine, he told me. Sometimes ice cream and cake, sometimes champagne and off the shoulder gowns. That Vivi. Quittin' time, Mr. Clover, so you and I can knock off, huh? So back to headquarters now to the photo lab, obtain a picture close up of Harry Moore, only slightly retouched. Take it and ride the night streets to the Bowery. Go to the places, the bars, and the back rooms, dedicated to knock Rummy, to regret, and to limbo, to the biggest beer in town for a dime, or six empties. Show the picture. Shaking the head means to knock Rummy, to regret, to limbo, to the biggest beer in town for a dime, or six empties. Show the picture. Shaking the head means no, and all the mother tongues gather together here. Meaning, never saw the man, meaning he'd never been in here, meaning your cops would get out of here. Walk the streets, show the picture, get the stairs, get the stairs, and the whispers would be walked away from. The policeman, the intruder upon the Tencent heaven, and at the time when one day slips into another, the time of the sprawled man in the doorway and the bus stop deals, and a little after that, after midnight, walk into another place, Benson's is called, and walk up to the bar. The man behind it flicks a corner of soggy rag to make clean the area of an elbow. What's yours? Police. I know. Why? Here, take a look at this picture. Have you seen this man? Why? Homicide. It would be. Have you seen him? You said homicide. You mean he killed somebody? He's dead. No, I'm confused. Him dead? Why don't you see him? Homicide's about as big as it can get, right? That's right. That's why I'm telling you. Yeah, I saw this guy days ago. I don't remember how many, maybe a week. He came in there as for Joe Connell. I pointed Joe out to him. Who is Joe Connell? Big guy. He comes in here for the brew, huh? Joe was there when this guy came in. I pointed Joe out to him like I told you. He walked over and talked to Joe. They went out together in a friendly manner. Joe's a big guy. Tough. Dumb but tough. I was surprised. Where do I find this Joe Connell? I can tell you where he lives, if that'll help you. Down the street, second house from the corner this side, brought a bottle to him on his third rear. This guy dead, huh? I'm really confused. I'm gonna see a show. He like crawled into the tent and grabbed the look for free. You've been shot. Yeah, yeah. You take a seat, kid. Watch this. Watch me. I'm gonna show you how a big man dies. You watch this. You know something. All of a sudden, a few real small group written by Morton Fine and David Friedgen and starring Larry Thor as detective Danny Clover. June morning is a sheen on Broadway's pavements. The street is lustrous with the glow of chrome and the brilliance of glass, reflecting the summer walk of women in their morning trials. Broadway leans against the neon railings and times handicaps, makes odds on how promises will run later this day. When the track is faster and the weather clearer. And the other diversions, the ones from out of town and flowered prints, the straw-bonnet woven for big city wear veiled and tilted to the angle safe on crowded subways. The non-crushable linen, the freshly laundered seersucker and the white purse clutch tight held close to the body. So make your pick, kid, and walk up to the window and play it across the board. It's June, the month of the winning ticket. And at headquarters, the June morning has Sergeant Geno Tataglia in it. Hey, Danny, you know what? What? That Joe Connell, the big boy you found shot up. What about him, Geno? Sinking fast at police hospital, Danny. Still in shock, still unconscious. Dr. Sinski don't hold out much hope. Wherever I am, Geno, you'll let me know when I can talk to him. It goes without saying. I've been thinking, Danny, I come up with several items about this, Connell. Like what? Like he is on the regular schedule of rousing by our boys. Our boys got the sneaking hunch this Connell is a gun for hire, a freelance hood who works for anyone with the price. Well, they got something to build that on. Two sentences for assault, brutal, vicious, no apparent motive. None that our boys could prove anyway. This gives them these hunches and then Connell. What else? What else is, according to many previous tests by prison psychiatrist, this Connell is immature for such a big boy. In IQ reports, a child would be scared to bring home. Another thing, Danny, from technical, also, and then Connell. Well, anytime you feel up to it, you know. From technical. The report that the gun that killed Harry Moore also played hard with big Joe Connell. I see. You can in touch with Mrs. Moore like I told you. Please, hospital, check me a little while ago, Danny. Mrs. Moore is in the waiting room cooling her heels for you. Like at your request, I got in touch with her to do. You did fine. Thanks, you know. Hospital's brightening, Mr. Cooper. Sometimes. Other times. Yeah. It's quiet and flowers. But then I think what happens here. Pain, sorrow, and crying out. I know what that means. I cry out. Sometimes at night I do that. And I sit up in my bed. Rowan comes to me and comforts me. Yeah. Now that you're husband. I know. Before that. All the time. Since I was small. No one comes to me. We're going to go in this room, Mrs. Moore. I want you to look at a man. I want you to tell me. What man? Why? Why do you want me to do this? You must remember it's my job to find out who killed your husband. Yeah. That's right. This man? Yeah. You ever seen him before? He's very sick, isn't he? Very sick. He's going to die, isn't he? The doctors are doing all that. I would like to touch his face. I know he can't hear me. Maybe to touch. Somehow he can feel it. Know how sorry I am. Have you ever seen him before? No. Mrs. Moore, this man was seen with your husband a few days before Mr. Moore was murdered. I did. And Mrs. Moore, the gun that shot your husband shot this man. Yes. Poor man. Do you know why your husband was with this man? Oh, no. Please take me out of here now, Mr. Culver. And leave there, walking the gleaming corridors of the hospital again. Mrs. Moore takes your arm and smiles up to you, sadly, apologetically, size. Then thanks you when you put her in a cab and tip your hat to her. Find a restaurant and coffee now and watch the fat fly on his slow trajectory across the menu painted on the window. Make a pattern with the bottom of the coffee mug on the enameled counter and think. A man respected, Harry Moore, dead. An assassin, Joe Connell, dying. And the questions, why and by whom? What chain of circumstance? Back to headquarters with it. Why and by whom? Hey, Danny. Wait a minute. He's going to your office to give you something. What have you got? Routine check, Danny. Bank account of Harry Moore. Oh, what about it? A week ago, he made a withdrawal of $1,000, even. And? Three days ago, Mrs. Moore made a withdrawal, too. Separate accounts. She withdrew $2,000. And what? Day before yesterday, she put it back. Make sense to you? Uh-huh. A lot. Hey, Danny, you down there? Yeah, what do you want, you know? So dark in these hallways, you can't tell out her from Beaselbub. Anyhow, Dr. Sinski just caught in the hospital. Joe Connell is dead. Oh. The good doctor said Joe opened his eyes and said, I couldn't take money from her. Not from her. And died. That mean anything, Danny? Everything. That's all I needed to know. You remember Detective Margaret, don't you? Yes, of course I do. But why shouldn't I? Please, come in. Thanks. How are you feeling, Mrs. Moore? Oh, very well, thank you. No more six cocktails at one sitting, huh? I told you I only had five. That's right, you did. I'd be very pleased to fix you something. I make a nice martini. My husband Harry taught me. Whenever we had guests, I'd mix the martinis and bring them in and pass them around. Harry would be proud. He'd say, my little girl may be. And the guests would all smile. And Harry would say, you know, I mean it. My little girl really did make these. Shall I fix you a... Nothing, thank you. Do you know why we're here, Mrs. Moore? That man you took me to see at the hospital. How is he? He died a little while ago. I've been sitting here all day making phone calls, arrangements for Harry's funeral, making out risks. When I set my mind to do anything, anything at all, I can do it. Mrs. Moore. Yes? Mr. Clover asked you a question. I know he did. He asked me if I knew why you gentlemen were here. I suppose you have your reasons. You'll tell me. One of the reasons was to tell you Joe Connell died. But you said that. You've already told me that. He killed your husband. And now he's dead. This man, this Joe Connell. You know why he killed your husband, Mrs. Moore? No. Or who told him to kill your husband? No. You're not drunk now, so you can think clearly. Do you know why he killed your husband? No. No, I don't. I don't. You've made all the arrangements for your husband's funeral, haven't you? I told you. You haven't made him? No. No, I don't. Beautifully kept apartment? I do it all myself. And I shop and I budget. Harry used to say, there's nobody like my little girl to run a house. I do it all myself. But why don't you come off it, Mrs. Moore? Why don't you tell us about your husband, about Joe Connell? You're a capable woman. You're not a little girl. No more. No more. That's right. So it's all right to tell us about your husband and Joe Connell. I don't know what you mean. Honestly, the way you're talking. How did you and your husband get along? We were man and wife. He called your little girl all the time? No. Not for a long time. We had a big argument. One day he screamed at me. This little girl bit gut in his nerves, huh? Listen, I'm me and I'm nobody else. I'll tell you just what I told Harry Moore. I'm me and I'm nobody else. Harry wooed me, he won me. And I'm the kind of girl he married. Up to his neck. Cut it out, Michael. We know all about it, Mrs. Moore. How your husband searched the Bowery and finally found the man he was looking for, Joe Connell. Harry did things. A lot of things. He didn't have to tell me. A man has his privacy. I know that. Did you know he hired Joe Connell to kill you? Paid him a thousand dollars to murder you because he was sick of you? Did you know that, Mrs. Moore? Yeah. One day when I was on the street, Joe got out of a car and walked over to me. He pointed a gun at me and told me to get in the car. I did. By the time we got to where we were going, Joe put away the gun. We were laughing. You and Connell got along, huh? I never met anybody like him. He told me people thought he was dumb. He wasn't dumb. I knew that right away. He told you why he picked you up in there. He said Harry had given him a thousand dollars. I told Joe I'd give him two thousand dollars not to kill me. Joe said all right. But when I got the money from the bank and gave it to him, Joe wouldn't take it. Oh, we got along fine. How? We went to the movies, penny arcades. Joe wanted to take me to Coney, but I said later. After? After what? Joe told me he was going to kill Harry. After that. Joe told you that and you didn't know anything about it? Harry wanted me dead, so why should I help Harry? Harry told me right. Joe and I figured that out together. Tell me, how did Joe get shot? His room. The evening after he shot Harry, he was showing me how he did it. He said, I took this gun and I shot him. I said, let me see. He gave me the gun, showed me how to work the safety catch and everything. I said, like this? And I pointed it at him. And he laughed and I laughed. I said, bang. I must have pulled the trigger. Joe stopped laughing. And he said, you better go home now. Lights plume upward into the sky on Broadway and night bursts open. The swarm starts its dance down the canyon streets. A little man stalks the heels of a drunkard. It's the place of darting eyes of the fleeting smile and whispers in the wind and crowd and roar in the empty hand. It's Broadway, the gaudiest, the most violent, the lonesomeest mile in the world. Broadway, My Beat. Broadway's My Beat is produced and directed by Elliott Fleur, with music composed and conducted by Alexander Courage. The program is written by Morton Fine and David Freakin and stars Larry Thor as Detective Danny Clover with Charles Calvert, Esther Taglia, and Jack Prussian as Muggevin. Featured in tonight's story were Sammy Hill, Clayton Post, Shep Mankin and Lou Merrill.