 Broadway's My Beat, from Times Square to Columbus Circle, The Gaudiest, The Most Violin, The Lonesomeest Mile in the World. Broadway's My Beat transcribed with Larry Thor as Detective Danny Clover. With autumn, twilight is of a new texture on Broadway. The faces of women are paler, their walk no more languid, not slow now. The swirls of mist have risen from colder waters and the sheen of pavement is chill. The hawkers have moved into doorways and the autumn deals are pulled out of topcoat pockets and the smell of mothballs is on them. And the fall slogan, you don't like it kid, get lost. Because autumn came too swiftly and you have nothing planned, you set the deal. And still it happens. You get lost. And another quality, autumn twilight on gray stone, the place of drifting and changeling shadows that move slowly or briefly on unending twilight. The segment of city reserved for the housing considering the analysis of violence, police headquarters, and in it, the room. The office where now is twilight talk and autumn moments held close against the time of their shattering. Where I was, a Detective Mugman. I've been thinking, Danny. Huh? I've been looking at this newspaper and thinking. It's been years since the wife and I have been to a football game. Together, I mean. Oh, maybe next Saturday you could too. Uh-uh. And she says she's lost a taste for it. She says too many things to do around the house, go yourself, she says. All those young kids there, she says. You think that's why then? Why what? Why she won't go. It used to be a time she and I couldn't get enough of it. College games, day, night. Now she tells me, go yourself. All those young people. That's why, huh? Maybe if I said to it, oh, hi, Gino. Come on in, join the coffee clutch. Thank you indeed. Some other time. As now, there is murder being done. What are you talking about, Gino? A relay for me to you of the very words screened by a distressed lady in the Washington switchboard only a few minutes ago. The call was traced, Danny. Where? To a house on E 63rd, 1823 East. Listed to a party name of Robert Tert. Let's go, Mugerman. Got it. Yeah. I'll take a whiff of this water glass. Make a comment, Mugerman. Something with opium in it probably lauding them. Must have been quite a party. Wonder who cried murder. I wonder who... Hey, Danny, look. Parachute. Yeah. Neck twisted. Dead. This is quite a joint, huh? Seven armed idols. Crazy looking dolls. Pictures on the wall. Your back teeth rattling, Danny? Where's that music coming from? There's the speaker. Yeah, she must be in the other room. I got a friend that's got one. She dead? No. Made the call though. Didn't even have time to hang up. You try the phone. Hello? Hello? Nothing, Danny. I think she called up and yelled murder in a con of the bird then got carried away with it all and passed out. Maybe. This room do a tier two? What? The idols again. Sort of dolls. It's going to sound silly, but I'm going to say it. Black magic, huh? Don't look at me like that. Just take a peek, will you? For instance, a doll in a baby dress. Ice bandaged. Arms and legs tibled. I mean, what's this stuff? I don't know. It looks like a weed of some sort. Seaweed, maybe. What's been done to this doll? Well, pierced with thorns. I know where that music's coming from and turned it off. Yeah. It's got to be in this room. It's the only one. Danny. The girl wasn't kidding when she called, was she? Dressed like that, tunic, Roman sandals. What is this, Margaret? I don't know, Danny. I don't have any idea what it is. I only got a name for it, probably suicide. I make a flash judgment like that because the guy lying on the floor has a cut throat and he's holding a weird looking dagger in his hand. Outside of that, I said my piece for the day. Your turn, Danny. I don't know. I just don't know. And turn and walk once more through the nightmare place. And from effigy and idle and the brilliant wings of a dead parakeet, the ebb of twilight, on the face of the stilled girl, the lacework of early darkness, the swift stroking of nighttime, and move again through the grotesque violence. From initial robes of raw silk from desk litter, other things, confirm the identity of the dead man, Robert Turk, and on the quickening flow of night the stirring of the girl. My Mara. Mara. I want to go home. Take me home. And gently. Gently get from her finally an address and nothing else. So give her into a physician's care, arrange that she be taken to her home. Then leave the place of masks and seaweed and death through the swarming of professionals with camera and dust powders. To another place then and another room, a simpler room, a planar room, where sleep is. Only the magic words for it won't come. And suddenly it's a bright October morning. Check in at headquarters. Tell them you'll be at Mara Spencer's. Go there. Darkness is no longer on her face. Only sunlight and a bright smile. And she leans against the bulk of a young man, holds his arms close around her waist as she talks to you, sways a little. So strong, so strong. My fellow's so strong. Spencer. You two don't know each other, do you? I'll introduce you. This is Johnny Longstreet, my fellow. The boy I'm going to marry. And you? Who are you? I told you, Mara, he's a policeman, honey. Baby? What, Johnny? Tell the policeman to go away. I can't do that, sweet. He wants something of me. You go over there and sit down. I'll find out what he wants. Uh-huh. Do it from here. Sweet. Sweet thing. What do you want of me? What you couldn't tell us last night because you were passed out from drugs. Was it a drug? Is that what Robert gave me to drink? He told me it was an exotic something, Johnny. He said it was just something that would make me fall in love with him all over again. Did it? Did it, honey? You go over there and sit down, sweet. Because I told you. I told you a thousand times. Nothing can make me love Robert again. Not potions, not rituals, not strangled birds. So you go over there and sit down, sweet. Two hundred pounds of college football player. And gentle. And obedient. And faithful as a hungry little boy. He throws himself at men and they're taken away on stretchers. And for me, he's a little boy. Be patient, sweet. Maybe you're not over it, Miss Spencer. Not over what? The drug, whatever it was you drank. Oh, no. Now you're wrong. Some doctor did things to me. Left me with a mind as clear as a bell. Anything you want, I'll clear it up for you. Let's start with Robert Turk. All right. With him. Once there was a cult and Robert was his high priest. Somebody told me about it over cocktails and I went with her to his place. It was exciting and dark. And Robert spoke of love to me. It was something I'd never known. Robert was a kind of man I'd never known. How long ago was that? A year ago. Like when? Then it got boring and dull and tiresome. And I resigned from the cult and from Robert. But last night he finally persuaded you to see him. You think so? Well, tell me. This was last night. Robert phoned me. Out of the blue he called me, begged to see me. And because once there had been an emotion for him and excitement, I went. And he was in his toger and he brought out all the props and he performed and said incantations and fed me a potion and twisted the neck of a bird. And I laughed at him. And he went into another room and cut his throat. And I called you people to sip my drink and passed out. That's how it was last night. Boring. That man's going to go away now, Johnny. Where were we, sweetie? Oh, Johnny. Johnny Longstreet. What a wonderful boy you are. Johnny Longstreet. Yes, what is it, you know? A lady out here to see you says her name is Turk. This is Edna Turk, widow of the late deceased Robert. Show her in. This way to see Danny Clover. Call me if you need me, Lieutenant. Thank you, Sergeant. Please sit down, Miss Turk. Robert Turk was my husband. Yes, I... I came here this morning to tell you about him because this afternoon I plan to go shopping. And I don't want any of you people coming around my house and interfering with my plans. It's nice of you to stop in, Mrs. Turk. Just go right ahead. I've learned that my husband slit his throat. Or had it done for him? We don't know. Just incidentally, Mr. Clover, I left my husband yesterday morning. It would be pleasant to toy with the possibility that he killed himself because of me. But I'm sure Robert did it for the excitement of it. You don't jump out of your seat and slam your hands on the desk and lean forward and yell, what are you saying, woman? Just go on, Mrs. Turk. Robert was out of his mind, you know. Still no reaction. Some of his best friends were witch doctors. Nothing. I mean it. Witch doctors, black magic fellows, a lot of them in Manhattan. Boys and girls who look like you and me. Only nuts. Play around with the occult for kicks. I'll want her names. I wouldn't know them. Soon as Robert put punk to his incense, I knew his buddies were coming over, so I left. Do you know Maura Spencer? A long time ago, once at a party. A hundred percent party where nothing stranger than everybody getting looped took place. Robert pointed her out to me and said she was a high priestess. At the time Maura didn't have her shoes on, so I told myself this is no high priestess if I ever saw one. What else? Nothing else. My husband was out of his mind. He was looking for kicks. He found all of them, then he ran out. Nothing else left but put knife to throat. Take a look, Danny. Hmm? Came over communication a second ago. Johnny Longstreet? Yeah, just now under a subway train at Times Square Station, fella was pushed. Johnny Longstreet dead. It's still your turn, Danny. Got a comment? You are listening to Broadway's My Beat, written by Morton Fine and David Friedkin, and starring Larry Thor as Detective Danny Clover. CBS Radio Brings you every kind of show Pleasure for everyone Wonderful hours of fun Turn your dial for a smile Entertainment all the while You'll live the best wherever you go Just tune to CBS Radio Tune in to CBS Radio Golden light over Broadway The mob hurries down Saturday street It's the day of the stadium again And the soft drink And the old locomotive yell The very small hot dog for 35 cents And it's the day when higher education comes into its own When an English student punts a bladder and everybody screams The word is boula boula A flower at the sample man And everybody's either your buddy or your arch rival Get rid of it, kid. Today it's just like going to college. Below all of it, in the subway the non-ticket holder is still proud with excitement of another kind a man who fell or jumped or was thrown onto the tracks in front of a subway train where I was above me on the platform Detective Muggerman I'm trying to tell you. All right, all right. You just stand over there Hey, Danny. Give me a hand up, Muggerman. Thanks. Any witnesses? Yeah, a couple. Just dying for the opportunity. Yeah. All right, you, mister. Tell Lieutenant here what you saw. Like a bird in flight. Look, friend. I looked up and there he was in midair. As if he was suspended. And whatever held him severed. See any one portion? No. Then gracefully he began. Go home, mister. All right, buddy. What did you see? I was standing beside him. As a matter of fact, I was practically looking right at him. Then it happened. What then? Why, he wasn't there anymore. I heard a scream and there he was like his now. Anybody push him? Oh, push him. Okay, okay. Take over, Muggerman. I'm going back to headquarters. Put it in the hat. Huh? A pool, Danny. A football pool. Don't be coy. Pony up two bits. Put it in the hat. All right. What have I got? What you've got. Note the name and you're giving 20 points. Oh. The game's over, isn't it? Forgive me. You lost. The way you've been helped or unskilled, I didn't get a chance to collect from you this morning. So I am seizing this opportunity by the horns to collect from you. Besides the hat, Gino. Huh? Besides the two bits in the hat, what else have you got? Oh, that. You're a big winner today, Gino, but don't press your luck too far. Don't be harsh, Danny. Not often I am smiled upon by Dame Fortune. What I've got as follows. Nothing new under death by subway of Johnny Long Street, full-back third-year college board. Run down a Morris Spencer, I asked for it. You got that? This I got. Gino. Excuse it, Danny. I was making in my mind an explanation to Mrs. Tartaglia. How come I got an anonymous quarter to put in the piggy bank? Uh, Morris Spencer, huh? Whatever you feel up to, Gino. Run down on the lady in question was made as per your request. These items have been found. That she was a finance to the deceased Johnny Long Street. And that she is a widow of a year and a half standing. Oh. Two and a half years ago, Morris Spencer was married to a fellow Charles Lane by name. Said fellow was found according to these records on August 3, 1949, on a sidewalk eight floors below the window from which he had thrown himself. As per testimony, a car in his inquest by his widow, Mora. Let me see those records, Gino. Goes without saying. As you review them, you will come to the place where I have made a pencil check mark easily erased beside some information which I personally thought would be of some interest to you. Well, you want to tell me about it, Gino? As long as you ask. This Charles Lane deceased of a running jump from a window from a husband of Morris Spencer was in partnership at the time of his death with one spent griffin in the novelty and election button business. This Mr. Griffin is now to be had at his home address, 1923, West 18th. I took the liberty this was of some interest to you. No apologies, Gino. You did splendidly. Thank you very much. I'm from the police. Name's Danny Clover. Well, is it going to take long enough for you to come in or are you just selling? If you don't mind. Sure not. Come on. Have a chair. Now, you don't mind me trying to squeeze into this outfit all the while there? Go right ahead. Big thing. My alma mater won today. Everybody's dancing tonight, so I got to get into a size 42 because a married lady named Janice Drinkwater is going to show up. Eh, when am I going to stop kidding myself? I'm going to give me a hand here. Thanks. Tell yourself about what? Janice Drinkwater. College when I knew it was Janice Galt. Now, I'm size 48, and every year we meet at this dance, both of us 10 pounds heavier, until each other we're both half out. Did you go to college with a man named Charles Lane? Charlie? He's dead. I know. He jumped off the porch. Very high porch. No. I didn't go to college with him. He was your business partner, wasn't he? Mm-hmm. Every year a rattle with his tie. Why did Charles Lane jump? Every year Janice straightens it for me and wags a fat finger at me. Why do I do it? Why do I dance with her and make believe to myself I can't feel the stage in his outfit? I'm talking to you, Mr. Griffin. Why did Charles Lane jump? I don't know. No idea. I was there when it happened, you know. No, I didn't. Yeah. I was there for his wife. Let's see. What was his name? Mora. Mm-hmm. That's right, Mora. Ever see her? I've seen her. But kind of a kick she on these days. What do you mean? For the party. She had a formula, a crazy death curse or something. We all sat around on the floor, beat on things and rhythm, bang things together. Half the people in the weed, I guess. Sure enough, half hour later after we'd been making jerks out of ourselves, comes a scream from the porch, the balcony. Who screamed? Mora. Screaming, screaming, crying, carrying on, pointing out to the street. Charlie jumped. Nobody else got excited very much. Figured it all happened because we'd made that circle with all that mumble jumble. You know something. What? I hope Janice doesn't show tonight, then I don't ever have to go anymore. Brought to the earth. And leave the man struggling to thin himself back into a memory. Leave a man who had been there when Mora Spencer's husband had fallen into death. And walk, then. And for a while drift with an autumn day with swarm coming into city, fighting crowd going home. And somewhere near river, find a bench, sit awhile. Watch tug and barge on autumn waters. Hold it back for a while. Then consider three deaths. Robert Turk, Johnny Longstreet, Charles Lane. Then make a decision. Leave the still place by the river. Go back to headquarters, get Muggevin in on it. Check these out of supply, Danny, in the jazz court. Yeah, all right. Post her and gun off the chair, huh, Muggevin? Oh, sure, Danny. Here you are. Oh, thanks. The way you figure, huh? The way you have to do it, huh? You got another way? No, I guess I have. A woman, she's part of a man's life. Gets to be a part of his dying. Three of them. Count them. Three. See you, Muggevin. It's your life, Danny. I'll see you. Oh, it's you. Hello, Miss Spencer, you. Mind if I come in? I wish you would. Thanks. You alone? Johnny isn't here, if that's what you mean. He's dead. Oh. Didn't you know? No. Happened earlier today. Subway train killed him. Then it really did happen. I just told you. No, no, that's not what I mean. What did you mean? Something you wouldn't understand. I knew Johnny wasn't coming back. Who are you? Are you all right, Miss Spencer? I haven't been drinking or anything. You're a policeman. I remember. That's right. Do you remember Charles Lane? I was married once to him. He's dead, too. He jumped from a place and died. Jumped? He had to. What do you mean? There were some people and we crouched together in a circle and we said some things. And we wished it. And Charles died. Why did Robert Turk die? He cut his throat. You know that. He committed suicide, too, didn't he? Like Charles. He had, too. Because you rejected him? What part of it? But this. These. What are they? Little ivory sticks. They're Chinese. These are why Robert died. You throw them like dice. And whatever pattern they make when they fall, that's what happens. Do it. You want me to? Sure. You're really interested? I want you to. Listen. Yeah? Do you know about me? I want you to tell me. All three of them. Charles and Johnny and Robert. I wanted them dead. They died. Yes. I can do that, you know. I know. Miss Spencer. Mara. All right, Mara. I'm going to take my coat off. It's warm. I want you to. And this, my gun. I'll put it here on the desk. Now, show me about the ivory sticks. You stand there, and I'll kneel on the floor. Now, come. Look. You see. What? The pattern it makes. It tells me I'm very beautiful. And I will live a long time. I'd like to try. All right. Here. You kneel. I'll stand here. What do they say? Death. But you haven't looked. They say death. Johnny did. And Robert. Charles. Now they say you. And that's why, Mr. Clover. You have to die. Because I want it. And I can do these things. Make men die. There's no more blanks in the gun. It's empty. Die. Die. Die. You killed all of them, didn't you? Yes, and you. Die. Let's go. It rolls over Broadway now. The shock of the night. The sound of it is a thing of laughter and trumpet. And a million throated voice. And from a thousand streets they gather to come here. To scream with the roar. Let the wave of night roll over them. Gather them up. And roll them into the doorway of their choice. It's Broadway. The Godiest. The most violent. The lonesomeest mile in the world. Broadway. My Beat. Ways My Beat stars Larry Thor as Detective Danny Clover. With Charles Calvert as Tartaglia. And Jack Krushen as Muggevin. Tram is transcribed and directed by Elliott Lewis. With musical score composed and conducted by Alexander Courage. In tonight's story, Sammy Hill was heard as Mara. Featured in the cast were Lee Malar, Truda Marson, and Lou Merrill. Bill Anders speaking. Next on most of these same stations. Tonight Vaughn sends his songs our way from Duke University, Durham, North Carolina. Also head for CBS Radio listeners tonight is Tarzan's gripping exploits in the city of sleep. The capital of the continent's narcotics industry. On gangbusters this evening it's the case of the Christmas trio with a strange kind of Christmas spirit. Involved in an even stranger Christmas time wedding. Enjoy Vaughn Monroe, Tarzan and gangbusters all ahead tonight on CBS Radio. And remember the comedy treat that can't be beat is Jack Benny Time. Sunday on the CBS Radio Network.